Naughty Temptations

Chapter One

Chapter One

ADDISON

Stepping out of the taxi, I stood for a moment and enjoyed the light fall breeze ruffling the hem of my cotton peasant dress. It was a beautiful night with millions of stars visible in the inky black Moroccan sky. A variety of people, Casablanca locals and tourists alike, rushed here and there, rarely slowing to appreciate their surroundings, but not me. In my line of work, I make time to appreciate the world around me because I know how quickly freedom can be taken away.

The miniature, nearly invisible device in my left ear crackled to life, bringing my focus back on task. “We’re a go.”

Fluffing my hair with my left hand, I spoke into the microphone embedded in my bracelet. “Heading in. Watch my six.”

“Always!”

I knew Darren’s response indicated more than just watching my back. He wanted me and expressed that desire in no uncertain terms. Smart, handsome and charismatic, sadly Darren wasn’t the man for me. Another held my heart. Three men actually, but that’s a story for later.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the restaurant doorway and requested a table for four. To avoid any missteps, I always stuck to the same role—a young, naive American tourist meeting friends who don’t show up because I’m mistakenly at the wrong restaurant.

In reality I’m a well-trained undercover operative working to take down s*x traffickers, one cell at a time. Most people don’t realize that s*x trafficking has become an international multi-billion dollar a year enterprise. They just can’t believe it happens in their seemingly safe little worlds. I knew the ugly truth.

After having nearly been snatched and sold as a s*x slave at the tender age of twelve, saving other girls is my driving force and life’s passion. A dirty little secret kept from my family, who would not approve. Hell, my overprotective stepbrothers would lock me away somewhere to keep me safe if they ever found out about my real job. They believe I travel as a saleswoman for an international high-end software manufacturer and have a security team that shadows my every step. I do everything possible to keep that lie alive and believable.

I’m getting too old to be used as bait and won’t be able to pull this off much longer. On my last birthday I turned twenty-three. With the right hairstyle, makeup, clothes and behavior, I can pass for seventeen or eighteen but s*x traffickers want young girls, teenagers mostly. Innocent girl who are easy prey. Soon, I’ll have to work behind the scenes, do something boring. Collect intel or plan ops, let someone else put their ass on the line. I loathe the mere idea.

There’s a dream I’ve had for many years that I know not to truly hope will ever come true. It involves a quiet life in a small town and a business I’d run with my stepbrothers. I don’t care what kind of business, perhaps something in tourism. Too many things would have to change and the stars would all have to fall into perfect alignment before that could ever happen. So it remains my own private, guilty fantasy I dust off and rely on when I’m feeling alone and yearning for a different life. But for now, it’s game on. I have a job to do which requires keeping my head out of the clouds and on the job.

Seated at a table, I pretended to read the menu while circumspectly scanning the room. I quickly captured the interest of several men and an older woman. She sat silently at the end of the bar sipping a drink. The moment I’d been targeted was clear when she dipped her chin in a nod to a young man leaning against the wall near the restroom.

Straightening, he headed across the room attempting to appear casual. He started to walk past my table then turned as if having just noticed me.

“Hi,” he greeted. “You speak English?”

He fell into a predictable pattern, claiming to be from Chicago, visiting Morocco on vacation with his friends, who he’d lost track of. Invited himself to join me because he hated to see a pretty girl dine alone. Yadda yadda, yakety yak…

When the check arrived, he gallantly paid for the meal then made his move. He knew a place just down the street with great live music where we could dance and have coffee or a drink.

I played hesitant at first. “I don’t know…”

He insisted it was close by and safe, even pulling the waiter over to offer reassurance.

I pretended to reluctantly give in. “Oookay. I love to dance.” Wiping my mouth with the napkin, I made sure the mic picked up my cue to the team. “Let’s go.”

“On the move,” came through my earpiece.

Those three words set the team in motion. A man and woman posing as a couple out for a stroll would follow at a discreet distance. There were also team members in three strategically positioned vehicles at the ready should they be needed. As added protection my bracelet had a tracking chip. We wouldn’t be going far.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I looked to the left, spotting Adam and Raina, but not allowing my gaze to linger. My would-be trafficker, Tazim, indicated we should turn right. We were walking casually along a sidewalk lined with cars when his hand came to rest at the small of my back. Two fingers tapped against me and I felt a pinch.

Instantly, my head spun and I started to stagger. Before the realization sunk in that he’d stuck me with a needle, I reached out to support myself on a parked van. Only my hand never made contact. The van door slid open and gloved hands grabbed my shoulders, pulling me into the darkened interior.

*****

The jarring whine of a car horn had me jerking awake. A gentle swaying motion coupled with the rhythmic whoosh of tires on asphalt and hum of an engine should have been soothing but my internal alarms were blaring. Something had gone terribly wrong.

Be calm. Remember your training. Stay still and assess.

My head pounded, and my thoughts were sluggish but I forced myself to breathe slow and easy while evaluating the situation.

Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. I’ve got this.

I was engulfed in darkness, unable to see anything. Blinking my eyes didn’t help and I realized my lashes were brushing against cloth. I’d been blindfolded.

While I clearly heard the sounds of a vehicle in motion the rest was a void. No voices, no music on the radio, nothing to give away another presence, yet I knew someone was near. Someone had to be driving, after all.

In the enclosed space without any windows open all I smelled was the faint metallic scent of rust and my own musky sweat.

This is bad. So bad.

I tried to swallow but my lips wouldn’t close. There was a pressure on my tongue and at the corners of my mouth, which tasted foul and felt drier than the Gobi desert. Yet a cool, wet line of drool slid along my left cheek. I moved my tongue around and encountered rough cloth. I’d been gagged.

Instead of resting back on a padded seat, I lay on my left side on a cold metal surface with raised ridges approximately every four inches. My shoulders ached from my arms being pulled awkwardly behind me, wrists pinned together with scratchy rope. I couldn’t tell if my bracelet was still on my wrist and presumed it had been removed. Similarly, my legs were cramped, calves pressed against the backs of my thighs, ankles bound and connected to the rope on my wrists. My feet were cold and bare so my boots had been removed, which meant my knife was gone.

I could pull the underwire from my bra and use it to pick the lock on handcuffs. Zip ties were even easier to get out of. The knife had been my back up for rope or cloth restraints. Without that I wasn’t getting free anytime soon.

Panic swelled and I struggled to breathe, my lungs burning, desperate for oxygen.

Dark memories and images flashed through my foggy brain and anxiety tightened my chest. I struggled to think rationally and force it down. The past could not be permitted to interfere with the op. Even though things had gone wrong, my team wouldn’t be far behind. They’d pulled me out of bad situations before. None half as dangerous as this but they’d get me out. I had to trust in them.

Talking to the team wasn’t an option but I should have been able to hear them. Yet the earpiece remained eerily silent. Rubbing my left ear against what I presumed to be the floor of a van let me know the device was gone. Either it fell out or had been removed.

Not ideal but I could still make this work. I had to.

I fought to keep my breathing even and walked through the evening in my head. Everything had gone exactly as planned. I’d gone to a popular restaurant and told the hostess I was waiting for friends. The target hadn’t wasted any time, approaching me within a few minutes of my arrival. He flirted, acted charming and eventually made the offer to take me somewhere else.

We’d been walking down the sidewalk, cars crowded in at the curb, and I’d felt a prick on my back. The drug had hit my head before I’d put two and two together and someone pulled me into a parked van. That’s the last thing I remembered before hearing the car horn.

Christ, where the hell was the team? How long had I been out?

The driver likely believed I’d be unconscious for several hours. As part of our mission protocol, I took a drug inhibitor prior to going in, which was why I’d woken. That meant I’d have to play drugged until the team got to me. And that wouldn’t be long. They had to be right behind us because no one has ever managed to get me to a second location.

Come on guys. No need to wait. Right about now would be an awesome time for a rescue.

Seemingly endless miles passed in silence giving me way too much time to think and worry. With each stop, start and turn, my body shifted and swayed. Seconds turned into minutes and time lost meaning.

Short of breath, I panted into the gag, which in turn had my dizzy head spinning again. My skin grew increasingly tight and sweaty, covering muscles that trembled, and every hair on my body stood on end. The rapid beating of my heart drummed in my ears as butterflies pummeled the walls of my queasy stomach. Everything ached and it became increasingly difficult to combat the panic.

God, get me out of this in one piece and I’ll quit. No more excitement. No putting myself in danger. I’ll find some nice, normal guy, buy a house and a dog, make some babies.

It sounded good even though I knew it would never happen. Normal wasn’t in the cards for me.

The vehicle swayed as it turned and gravel pinged against the undercarriage. A plaintive squeaking of brakes accompanied the vehicle stopping a short distance later. Keys rattled, a door opened then closed and feet stirred the gravel before the sliding door whooshed open. Rough hands pulled, shifting me along the metal surface. The rope holding my ankles to my wrists was cut then I was lifted. The gag muffled my oomph as I came down over a shoulder and all the air was knocked out of me. I knew it was going to hurt like hell when circulation returned to my legs. For the moment, they hung limply.

Dangling upside down, I listened for anything that might give away our location. Wind whipped my hair around and I heard the steady beeping of a backup indicator as men shouted to each other in Arabic. As we continued to move, I heard the lapping of water and then the man grunted as he started heading upward. His boots pounded down, creating a sound I decided was the rattling of metal stairs. The kind that would be used to board a freighter.

A port? f**k, this was beyond bad!

The deep moan of a boat horn and briny scent of salt in the air confirmed my suspicion. There were several ports in Morocco—Lord only knew which one I’d been taken to, but a port meant they intended to take me into international waters.

Where the f**k is my team?

Someone nearby spoke. I understood enough Arabic to make out a rude comment about my ass. While my body’s thin and willowy, I have a large, round butt. The vibrations of my kidnapper’s laughter rumbled through his chest just before the arm wrapped around my legs lifted and his palm landed a hard slap on said substantial ass. I barely managed to bite back a curse.

His movements leveled out and became smoother as he moved forward. I heard the squeal of metal on metal as a door opened followed by a loud clanging as it closed. There were more voices, this time carrying the echoing quality of an enclosed space. Another metal door cried out its protest and I was lifted then dropped face-first onto a thin, musty mattress, the gag muffling my cough. A metal door slammed then I heard the jangling of keys and the snick of a lock.

Christ, I am so f****d!

I’d heard enough victims’ stories—I knew what would happen. They’d force feed me drugs to keep me docile, get me addicted. While at sea, the traffickers would pass me around until they got bored with me. When we reached our destination, I’d be sold as a slave—either for domestic or s*x work. After several years, when I was used up, I’d be killed and tossed out like yesterday’s trash unless I found a way to commit suicide before then.

Either way my life would be pure hell until I died.