Ramona"s prayers had become a silent incantation. “Please God, let me die now,” she begged. The oily gag in her mouth allowed for little air, giving her hope she might suffocate. Anything would be better than what Louis Santos said he had planned for her.
With hands and feet tightly bound, Ramona had no hope of escape. And she was afraid to open her eyes again. The last time she had looked out the car window, she had seen Louis standing near the dock talking to a man whose face reminded her of a drawing she had made of the devil when she was four years old. In the moonlight, his skin looked as though it had melted in the fires of his Hell.
With one last hope for survival, Ramona willed her eyes to open again. Louis and the man with the scarred face were standing over a box that lay on th
