Jungle Girl

Jungle Girl

    Perched high in the treetops overlooking the green canopy of the Cambodian jungle, Jorani sat motionless, listening. She wiped sweat off her brow and lifted the binoculars, scanning the area. She’d been given strict orders to seek and destroy and she relished her task.
    She shifted for a better view, knowing that soon she’d be doing what she did best--killing.
    Dressed to match her surroundings in a tight green tank top and khaki cargo pants, raven hair pulled off her face in a ponytail, Jorani was next to invisible. The blade of the knife strapped to her ankle felt cool against the sweltering heat.
    Her victims never stood a chance. They never suspected the stunning, lithe woman they encountered was a savage murderess. The victims came from time to time, foreign men, trying to break up her master, Narin’s, notorious ruby trade. What was it to them, things that happened in the jungle? Jorani didn’t know and didn’t care.
    She appreciated the beauty of the blood-red rubies, but her real passion lay in tormenting the men who sought to destroy her beloved master. Narin knew, and approved of, her ruthless methods, calling her his “vixen huntress" a badge Jorani wore with pride.              She would put on a dress, go into town and hunt down her prey, following him, until he noticed her. Inevitably, the men, often married, would be drawn to her exotic beauty. Thinking her the perfect zipless fuck, an uneducated Cambodian woman in land far from home, they would seek to claim her. Jorani would oblige and, when the moment was right, often in the throes of passion, she would strike. She smiled, remembering her last victim. She’d toyed with him, asking him which part he wanted her to cut first, remembering how his eyes had widened as his face paled, powerless to fight her as she held him like a vise, deep inside her. She’d never been caught. Sure, the authorities knew of the jungle killer, but they wouldn’t suspect a woman, and many of them were owned by Narin as well.
    Rustling sounds below brought her back to the present. Ready. Her body tensed in anticipation. She saw the man, an American, making his way through the dense underbrush that comprised the jungle. He wasn’t alone. Another man, shorter and a bit portly, accompanied him. The second man appeared winded from the long trek through the jungle and lagged behind. No match. Knife between her teeth, Jorani shimmied down the tree and leapt silently to the ground. Orphaned as a young girl, Jorani had been raised in the jungle at Narin‘s compound. She knew this area like the back of her hand and could easily navigate the tangled undergrowth--an unfair advantage. Jorani didn’t care about fair.
    She was upon the second man quickly. Reaching from behind, she sunk her knife deep into his gut and heard him grunt. She blocked his fall with her body to lessen the sound, rolling out from under him and, once again, locating her ultimate quarry.
    She spotted him about fifty yards ahead. The American was focused on making his way through the vines and hadn’t noticed what had happened behind him. Without knowing him, Jorani hated him. Hated the cocky way he moved through the jungle--her jungle--as if certain he would be the one to bring down her master. Jorani watched him, letting her anger toward him grow. She owed Narin, both her master and her lover, her life. No one would harm him.
    The American looked to be about six foot two and one hundred and eighty pounds. He was solid and muscular and dressed in black from head to toe. This one posed a challenge. Jorani had studied him from afar when she’d spotted him in the city. Her uncanny ability to size people up quickly told her that he was not as stupid as the other men she‘d been assigned to. This American seemed serious, completely immersed in his attempts to eradicate Narin, and Jorani had known trying to bed him would be futile.        Knowing he would ultimately come to the jungle where Narin lived, she’d waited patiently, day after day, from her vantage point in the tree. Her patience was about to pay off.
    Jorani silently tailed the American, waiting for the chance to make her move. Her chance came quickly.
    The American must have realized his partner was silent, because he turned and looked behind him. Jorani ducked out of sight behind a tree. She peeked out; he was coming this way now. Jorani felt her adrenaline surge, blood coursing through her veins. She gripped the knife and crouched, waiting for what seemed like an eternity.
    At long last he was upon her. Jorani jumped out and with a savage kick to his back, took him down. She knew he’d have a gun and wanted to disarm him quickly. Jorani took advantage of his surprise, slicing off the ankle holster. She kicked the gun away as he gained control, flipping her over. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled his head down toward her chest. Knife hand free, Jorani brought the blade up and jammed it into his chest, right below the breastbone. The American quit resisting and collapsed on top of her, his full weight on her. Jorani struggled to roll him over and pulled the blade out. She watched as blood began to seep from the deep wound. She raised her hand, ready to stab him again when she heard a sound that caused the hair to stand up on the back of her neck. She froze. Glancing to her left, she saw a lone tiger, drawn by the smell of blood, nearing her first victim. Bloody herself, Jorani knew she had to get quickly to safety.
    Jorani looked down at the American. He’d already lost massive amounts of blood. Satisfied that he’d soon bleed to death, and, if not, the tiger would take care of him, Jorani darted through the underbrush toward her master’s home, happiness and pride filling her heart.    She hummed as she ran, excited to report back to Narin. The vixen huntress strikes again.


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    Jorani looked through her prized knife collection, searching for her favorite Leatherman Ukiah hunting knife. There it was. Jorani took it and removed it from its leather sheath, inspecting the 3.75 inch blade. Freshly sharpened, it glistened in the lamplight. Jorani loved it best for it’s nylon handle which kept it from getting slippery when she was dealing with lots of blood. It was a perfect tool for slicing through muscle and, sometimes, bone.
    She dressed in her large room, part of Narin’s heavily secured fortress tucked away deep in the jungle. Jorani stepped into a black leather miniskirt and pulled a tight black tank top over her head. She glanced in the mirror. Nice. There was no way Chann, the fool, could resist her. Sheathing the knife, she tucked it low between her breasts, her bra strap holding it in place.
    Tonight’s adventure was personal. Narin had strictly forbidden Jorani to avenge Vannak’s murder, but she had grown up with Vannak--he was like a brother to her. When she found him, he was dying, his throat was slit. Chann had carved his name in blood on Vannak’s stomach. Ever since, Jorani had vowed revenge. Now it was time.
Jorani heard the high-pitched whine of a dirt bike’s engine. She swiped mascara across her lashes and grabbed her purse. She stepped into black stilettos and applied red lipstick at the same time. Jorani hurried out the door and, hiking her skirt up to the danger zone, hopped on the back. Phirun, one of Master’s guards, had snuck Jorani out on several occasions in the past, and Jorani paid him handsomely for his discretion with rubies pilfered from Narin‘s collection. She always chose smaller rubies that were less likely to be noticed missing.
    They zoomed off through the darkness following the jungle trail. Time was of the essence, Jorani wanted to be long gone before Master’s return. He would question her on where she was going and she wanted to avoid that. He would also want her to pleasure him. It wouldn’t do to approach Chann with another man’s scent on her.
Low branches scraped against their arms and legs as the sped through the trees. With any luck, she’d be back before Narin, but, if not, she’d deal with the consequences later. Her focus was entirely on Chann. Anyway, Jorani doubted Master would kill her. She was indispensable to him.
    She closed her eyes, savoring the jungle heat that never went away, even at night. Jorani inhaled the scent of jasmine and clung to Phirun as they bounced over the rough terrain. She was calm, ready.
    The terrain evened out and Jorani opened her eyes. They were on open road, heading toward the beachside city of Kampong Saom, where she’d gotten word Chann was staying. Soon, he pulled up to the curb at the Mealy Chanda Guesthouse, and Jorani hopped off, straightening her skirt. She climbed the stairs to the restaurant, knowing Chann would be there drinking. It had been many years since he’d seen her and she’d grown into her once gangly body. He wouldn’t recognize her now.
    She spotted him in a corner, drinking alone. Jorani slowly crossed the room, taking a stool at the bar. She ordered an Anchor draft beer that she didn’t intend to drink. Jorani took a sip and turned to scan the room. Chann was heading toward the restroom, his drink still on the table. Perfect. Jorani didn’t want to mess this one up so she’d brought insurance. She walked by his table, quickly slipping the Rohypnol from her purse. His drink was dark, Jorani giggled--this was too easy. She slipped the pill into his glass and was back at the bar before he returned. Now, she waited.
    Sure enough, upon his return, he picked up his glass and headed her way. He sat beside her and she ignored him, sipping at her beer, waiting for him to finish his drink. When he was done, she turned his way.
    “Hi handsome,” she gazed up at him from under her lashes. “Know where a girl can go to have a little fun?” She had less than thirty minutes before the drug hit him and wanted to get him in position.
    A cheesy grin spread across his wide face. Chann had put on weight over the years and lost his boyish good looks. Now, he simply looked aged and tired. His brown eyes were dull and lifeless. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know where you can have a good time. Come with me.” He dropped some bills on the bar to cover their drinks and led her downstairs and into his room. Jorani walked to the window, noting the excellent view of the Gulf. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to enjoy the view.
    Chann backed her toward the bed, his rum-soaked breath turning her stomach. He tried to kiss her and she turned away. “Let’s get to it,” she said, tugging him down toward the bed. Turning away from him, she pulled the tank top over her head and slid the knife under the pillow. Chann pushed up her skirt and unzipped his jeans. No foreplay going on here. That was ok, Jorani didn’t think she could stand to have his hands and mouth on her. Jorani removed her black panties and Chann shoved himself roughly into her. She stifled a whimper, forcing herself to forget the pain and focus on the outcome.
His movements were sloppy and she could tell he was already losing some muscle control, a desired effect of the drug. Time to strike. She rolled him over and climbed astride him, taking control, rotating her hips. Chann’s eyes closed, his body tensed. He was getting off too quickly. Now. In one fluid motion, Jorani retrieved the knife and held it to the hollow of Chann’s throat. Would he die the same way as Vannak, or would she toy with him first?
    She watched his face. He felt the blade against his throat and his face registered surprise, but the reactions were coming too slowly. The drug had taken full effect. Dragging this out wouldn’t be any fun for her now.
    “What did you say your name was?” he managed to say, his words sounding thick.
    “I didn’t, but it’s Jorani.”
    A long pause, and then, “I knew a Jorani once.”
    “I bet you did,” she smiled down at him, waiting for it to register with him that she was Vannak’s jungle sister.
    A few beats later it did. Poor Chann was trying to put two and two together and he’d arrived at four too late. He squirmed, trying to coordinate his movements and get out from under her. Not gonna happen, buster. Game over. Jorani sliced his throat from ear to ear, watching with satisfaction as blood poured from the gaping wound.
She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Ten pm. She’d better hurry. She showered quickly, removing all traces of him from her body, then washed the knife. Jorani pulled her clothes on, grabbed her purse and went back to the curb where Phirun was waiting.
    “Success?” he asked.
    “Of course.”
    Phirun claimed the middle of the road on the way back, skillfully avoiding cars, hurtling them home. They reached the jungle and zipped down the trail. The fortress came into view. All was dark but that didn’t mean Master wasn’t home.
Jorani thanked Phirun, promising to pay him soon, and slipped into the house. She listened for a beat; it was silent. She walked down the hall to Narin’s room. Empty. She breathed a sigh of relief and climbed the stairs to her bedroom in the dark. Undressing quickly, she climbed into bed, wanting to be asleep when Master returned. She rolled over and her leg touched something. A hand covered her mouth to mute her scream. Jorani froze. Narin.


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    Narin pushed Jorani down on her back and straddled her, surrounding her with his large form, pinning her wrists over her head. “Where have you been?” his voice was rough.
Jorani was silent.
    “I know where you’ve been. Chann was in town. You went to him. How dare you defy me?” Narin raised his hand and slapped Jorani hard across the face. She was accustomed to violence from him when she had angered him.
“Say something to defend yourself.”
Jorani remained silent.
    Narin slapped her again, then leered at her and said, “I see you’re ready for me.” He looked her up and down with his rat-like black eyes. Narin kept Jorani’s wrists bound with one hand and spread her legs with the other. He forced himself inside her--not twice in one night--Jorani was still hurting from Chann and Narin was actually trying to cause her pain. She bit back a cry; she would not give Narin that satisfaction.
    Jorani understood his anger and accepted it. She would take the punishment, but she would not cower to any man. Narin didn’t understand what Vannak had meant to her, couldn’t comprehend their bond. He only sought to keep Jorani’s kills to a minimum to avoid unnecessary trails that might lead back to his operation.
    Jorani, looking for solace from the searing pain of Narin pounding into her, retreated into her mind. She thought of Phirun, the one good thing in her life and her only friend, deriving some comfort from the image of his sweet face as Narin brutalized her, raped her. Phirun would be there for her when this was over.
Narin had forced himself on her before, but never as savagely as now. Usually, Jorani went to him willingly, ready to do his bidding. Master did not want compliance tonight.
At last Narin, dripping in sweat, grunted and rolled away. Jorani rubbed her wrists, trying to relieve the burning where he’d held them. But Narin wasn’t done with her. “Stand up!” he said. Jorani stood.
    Narin slapped her again, with the back of his hand, his diamond ring slashing her face. She stumbled backward, toppling against the dresser and banging her hip on the corner as she fell. Narin loomed over her, slapping and punching her repeatedly in the face. He grabbed her hair, dragging her halfway across the room. Jorani muffled her scream.
    “Get up!” Narin said. She scrambled to her hands and knees trying to stand and Narin kicked her in the back, sending her face first to the floor.
    “Bitch!” Narin spat on her. “That will teach you to betray me. Next time, you will die, just like Phirun.”
    “No!” Jorani screamed and stood up, anger flashing in her eyes. She lashed out at him, but he avoided her strike. “Not Phirun. Why kill him?”
    “He was a traitor. Just like you.”
    Hot tears streamed down Jorani’s face. She never cried. But now she sobbed, her cries growing louder, sounding like a wounded animal.
    “Quit crying and fix yourself up,” Narin commanded. “I have an assignment for you.”
    Jorani stilled herself. She had to get it together. Through all his cruelty, she’d always adored Narin, sought his praise. He’d had Phirun killed. Jorani’s blood ran ice cold in her veins. Right now, Jorani couldn’t get past that thought but she knew she must. She needed to remain calm, give herself time to think of what to do.
    “Yes, master,” she said, bowing at the waist.
    Narin nodded. “That’s better.” He left, slamming the door behind him.
    Jorani went to the mirror. Her lip was split, her nose was bleeding, there was a big gash across her left cheek, and blood trickled between her thighs. What kind of job was she going to accomplish looking like this?
She dressed in black cargo pants and a black t-shirt and padded down the stairs. Hatred brewed inside her, something she never thought she would feel toward Narin. She eyed a vase as she made her way down, imagining smashing it over his head, but Narin would be on guard, expecting an attack. Not yet.
    No matter what, Jorani knew she must keep master away from his rubies. He’d been away for a week and she’d paid Phirun off in the meantime. If he weighed his stash, he would notice some missing. In the morning, Jorani would go to Phirun’s quarters and search for the stones. If she found them, she would return them to Master.
Narin was waiting for her in the foyer.
    Jorani cleared her throat. “I’m ready for my assignment,” she said, meeting his black gaze.
Narin laughed, an evil sound that arose from deep in his belly. He opened the door leading into the cellar. “You first,” he said, pushing her toward the stairs.
    Jorani descended the rickety steps one by one, eyes adjusting to the dim light. She reached the bottom and stifled a scream. Phirun was there, naked and dismembered. There was blood everywhere. Jorani bent over and vomited, retching and choking, tears streaming down her cheeks again.
    “Now that’s not nice,” Narin said in a silky voice. “You’ll have to clean that up later. But for now, you’re going to stay here and look at what you’ve caused.” He grabbed her and shoved her back against the wall. Narin chained her wrists together and looped them over a wooden beam that ran the length of the low ceiling, forcing her to stand with her arms outstretched overhead. “Sweet dreams,” he said, kissing her softly on the cheek. “I expect better behavior tomorrow.“ With that, he went upstairs, closing and locking the cellar door behind him.





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    The American was far from dead. CIA agent Jake Adams was a little worse for wear but alive and kicking. He examined the array of stitches snaking across his chest. The jungle girl had done a number on him with her knife and he was still very sore, but she’d miscalculated. The doctor said she‘d missed his heart by millimeters.
    Now he had two enemies in Cambodia.
    Jake paced the small, sticky hot hotel room, frustrated that his injury had kept him from tracking Narin and freeing Kampong Saom from the notorious ruby smugglers. He was ready to hunt again.
      He wanted to take the bitch down before more people lost their lives. Taking her out would, in fact, be a pleasure. He rubbed a hand over two days worth of stubble on his chin. Ah, what the hell? Dr. Pomona had advised him to rest for a few more days, but he was done with these cramped quarters. Jake threw on a black t-shirt and grabbed his gun and keys off the dresser. He locked the door behind him and headed for the old beat-up Jeep parked on the street. It was dark outside, and tourists were boozing it up in local restaurants and beachside bars.
    Jake started the ignition and froze, not believing his eyes. Coming out of the Mealy Chandha Guesthouse was none other than the succulent jungle girl, dressed to kill in an all black get up that showcased her phenomenal legs. Just looking at her could cause a man’s heart to stop. Unless, of course, that man was someone she’d tried to kill.
    Jake couldn’t believe his sheer dumb luck. He watched the jungle girl climb on the back of a motorcycle and take off. Jake followed at a distance, taking the main road out of town, over flat terrain. He could see nothing but road and trees for miles ahead.
    Up ahead the bike disappeared from the road. Jake squinted, trying to see where they’d gone. He slowed as he approached the spot where they’d gone off the road. And that’s when he saw the path leading into the jungle. Turning his headlights off, he followed, grateful that the Jeep was already beat up--dense undergrowth was scraping against its sides as he bounced down the narrow lane.
    A few moments later he saw a clearing. He parked and set off on foot, the sound of crickets masking his footsteps. The night was sultry and he swatted at the bugs swarming around him. Through the branches, he saw jungle girl getting off the bike. He edged closer. She was saying something to the driver, then she leaned over and kissed him. Taking advantage of her distraction, he slipped up to the front of the house and crouched by the door, hidden in the shadows.
    Jungle girl opened the screen door and unlocked the main door. She paused before entering the house, then hurried down the hall. Jake slipped in after her, letting the door bang closed behind him. He ducked behind a door and waited.
    Jungle girl came back his way and returned to the front door, locking it. Then she climbed the stairs to the second floor. Jake listened.
    At first all was silent, then he heard sounds of a struggle, arguing. Narin. Jake stayed in his spot, listening. He couldn’t tell what was going on upstairs but it didn’t sound good.
    At the same time, the front door opened again and he heard something being dragged across the floor. A door to his right opened and there was a lot of bumping as something heavy was taken down the stairs. A few minutes later, the person came back, devoid of their cargo. He watched as a muscular bald man with tattoos covering his arms exited the front door. One of Narin’s many guards.
    He heard a door slam and heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. The person stopped in the foyer. Narin. He was right there. Jake quieted his breathing, taking stock. He wanted to look out but couldn’t take the chance of a loose floorboard revealing his location. He had his gun in hand, ready to make his move when he heard someone else, someone lighter, descending the stairs. Jungle girl. She conversed briefly with Narin in Khmer and a door was opened. They went down the stairs, and their voices faded away. He waited, wanting to follow them, but his gut telling him to stay put.
    Again, he heard what he thought were sounds of struggle. Then the heavy footsteps returned. Narin closed the door and Jake heard a key turn in the lock. What was going on?
    A car pulled up to the front of the house, tires crunching over gravel. Moments later, Narin returned, to the foyer. From this vantage, Jake was able to see he was clad in a black suit and carrying a suitcase. Narin went out the front door, slamming it behind him.
    Was there anyone else in the house? Jake crept out from behind the door, his gun in front of him. It was eerily quiet. He walked down the hall to the master suite and found it empty. Same with the living room. He climbed up the stairs and found two more sparsely decorated bedrooms and a bathroom, all empty. He paused in the room that looked occupied, assuming it must belong to the jungle girl. There was fresh blood on the floor by the dresser.
    Curious now, he went back downstairs to the locked door. Narin had left a key ring hanging on the doorknob. Jake unlocked the door and listened, hearing a woman weeping. Gun drawn, he crept down the creaky stairs. The dank cellar was lit by a lone light bulb. He peered around the corner. A bloodied male body was lying on the floor, having obviously seen better days. More of jungle girl’s handiwork? He edged around the corner into the main room.
    Jungle girl was standing there, arms chained over her head. Though her face was tilted down toward the floor, he could see that it was bloodied. Looks like somebody fell out of Big Daddy’s graces. She didn’t notice him and he stood still for a moment, assessing the situation. Satisfied that there was no one else here, he moved into the center of the room.
    “Well, well, well. What have we here?” Jake asked, gun pointed at jungle girl’s chest.
    She jerked her head up and her eyes widened as recognition set in.
    Bulls-eye.


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    Jorani knew she was dead.
    “Is this your handiwork?” the American asked, waving his gun toward Phinnuk’s bloody body.
    Jorani said nothing. Her arms ached already from being stretched overhead. Mostly she was annoyed--she did not like her vulnerable position here. Did not like being at the American’s mercy.
    “Cat got your tongue? Tiger maybe?” the American asked, a cocky grin on his face.
    Vulnerability made her angry. Jorani spat at him.
    The American laughed. Then he pulled up a stool and straddled it, watching her.
    “Aren’t you going to unlock me?” Jorani said at last.
    “That might be able to be arranged,” the American said, much to Jorani’s surprise. Was he insane?
    “You killed my partner,” he said.
    “So I did. Do you want me to apologize?” Jorani asked, cooly. If that’s what it took to get him to set her free . . .
    “Nah, that’s ok. I didn’t like him much anyway.”
    Jorani couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “Well, then, what did you have in mind?”
    The American stretched his denim-clad legs around the sides of the stool, drumming his fingers against the seat. “Help me take Narin down.”
    Jorani’s blood ran cold. How could she betray Narin? He raised her. Without him, she would have been left to die in the jungle. But still, he’d chained her up here. And he’d had his men kill Phinnuk. Both actions were unforgivable.
    The American spoke again. “Here’s the thing. It looks like you’ve gone and pissed Big Daddy off.” He eyed her, taking in her tied up and bloody situation.
    Jorani wanted to kick the smug smile off his face.
    “And,” he continued. “It smells pretty bad in here,” he glanced over at Phinnuk.
    “So far, you’ve shown you have a strong grasp of the obvious,” Jorani snorted at him.
    “Fiesty, fiesty. What’s your name sweetheart?”
    “What’s yours?”
    “Jake. Talk to me.”
    Jorani said nothing.
    Jake shook his head and got up. “I guess it’s no deal. That’s ok. I’m not chained up,” he said, moving away. “And I can leave whenever I want. I don’t need you.” He started up the stairs.
    “Wait,” Jorani said. “My name is Jorani. Let me go and I’ll help you find Narin.”
    “Jorani,” Jake said, drawing out her name, blue eyes locking with hers. “I’m not sure I really need your help. I’ve already found my way here.”
    “You do need my help. You don’t know when Narin will return. And you don’t know where the guards are located. Or the rubies.”
    Jake considered her words.
    Jorani continued. “We need to get out of here now. We are not in position to take down Narin and his men at the moment.”
    Jake cocked an eyebrow. “We?”
    “Yes.”
    Jake paced, hands in his pockets. “Why should I trust you? After all, you tried to kill me.”
    Jorani blew out a breath. “Because. That was before I wanted Narin dead.”



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    “Alright, I’ll unhook you. But you only get one chance.”
    Jorani nodded.
    Jake walked over to her, taking the key ring from his pocket and loosening the chains.
    Jorani struck. She kicked him hard in the stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs. Jake stumbled backwards, doubling over. Jorani scanned the room wildly, searching for a weapon, knowing Jake would overpower her physically. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a screwdriver lying on the floor. Perfect. She turned to get it and--oof!--Jake leapt in the air, grabbing her by the legs, taking her down.
    “You lost your chance,” he growled in her ear, wrestling her hands behind her back.
    Damn it. She shouldn’t have paused, should have kept on kicking him. A potentially deadly error in judgment. Was she losing her touch or was karma coming to bite her in the ass?
    Jorani struggle against him, but he had her pinned, the full length of his body holding her down. She turned her head and bit him hard on the shoulder. His only reaction was to slam her head into the ground.
    Then, Jake, still gripping her wrists, dragged her to her feet and took the chain that had bound her before. He wrapped it tightly around her wrists--makeshift handcuffs--and locked it once more. Jorani rubbed her wrists together, trying to slide free, but the chain was too tight.
    “You may as well settle down,” Jake said, pushing her toward the stairs. “You’re coming with me.”
    “I’ll scream and alert the guards,” Jorani threatened.
    “Already thought of that,” Jake had a pocketknife in his hands. He cut a length of fabric from his t-shirt, stuffed it between her teeth and tied it snugly around her head. “There you go,” he said.
    Jorani went limp. No sense struggling now. She needed to save her strength for when she had the opportunity to do some damage.
    “That’s more like it,” Jake said, giving her a push. Jorani walked up the stairs with Jake on her heels.
    Jake put a hand on her shoulder and guiding her along outside and toward the jungle path. All was quiet except for the crickets.
    “See, Jorani, your problem is you don’t listen,” Jake advised her as the trudged down the trail.
    Jorani grunted against the gag.
    “All you had to do was cooperate and this wouldn’t be necessary.”
    They reached the Jeep and Jake loaded her into the passenger side and took the wheel.    They sped back toward his hotel. Cops were swarming the street, lights flashing, sirens wailing. Oh, God. They’re looking for me.
    As they parked Jake said, “Look. It’s going to seem weird if I walk you in chained and gagged. Do you think you can just walk with me nicely long enough to get inside?”
Jorani nodded, not wanting to draw any attention to herself at this point.
    “On second thought, I’m going to leave your hands tied behind your back and we’re going to pretend to be lovers returning from a night out, ok?”
    Jorani nodded again.
    Jake removed the gag and Jorani gulped in a breath. He positioned himself behind her wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling at her neck. Jorani tried not to notice the warmth of his breath as they walked toward his room.
    Once inside, Jake led her to the bed. “I haven’t quite figured out what I’m going to do with you yet, but for now, I’m going to keep you here.” He unwound one length of chain, securing it to the bedpost before locking it back. “Do I need to gag you again?” he asked.
    “No.”
    Jake switched on the TV. An excited young reporter was babbling about a murder. Jorani watched as Jake took off his ripped shirt, revealing muscles that came from real workouts rather than gym machines, looking at the stitches snaking across his chest. The reporter informed them the murder had occurred at the Mealy Chandha Guesthouse next door.
    Jake spun around, facing the TV. A gory picture of the dead man, his neck a gaping wound, filled the screen. The reporter continued: the suspect was a woman, matching Jorani’s description, seen drinking with the man hours earlier.
    Jake turned his head slowly toward Jorani, scorn darkening his eyes. “You did this. What kind of crazy bitch are you?” He walked toward the phone by the bed. “I’m turning you in. That’ll get you off my hands.”
    “No!” Jorani shouted.
    “Give me one good reason why not?” Jake cocked his head, phone in hand, waiting for an answer.
    “You need me.”
    “We’ve already discussed this. I don’t. Not really. The Intel I need, I can get on my own.”
    “It will be a lot quicker with my help.”
    “I can’t trust you.”
    “Yes you can.”
    “Give me one good reason why.”
    “Untie me and I’ll show you.”
    Jake looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Jorani met his gaze and held it. She saw it in his eyes first. “Ok. But this better be good.”
    Jake reached around her, unlocking the chain and unwinding it from her wrists. Jorani tried not to recoil from his nearness, his heat. If she flinched, he’d think she was going to attack him again.
    She stood and removed her cargo pants. Jorani sat back on the bed and showed him the insides of her thighs, marked with dozens of jagged scars. She watched his face as he realized she’d been cut multiple times.
    “He cuts me here, where no one can see. He cuts me each time he rapes me. It‘s his mark.”
    Jake turned away. “Put your pants back on.”
    Jorani dressed and sat on the bed. “So, you see, I can’t take this abuse from him anymore. He not only hurts me, tonight he had my only friend killed.”
    “The one in the cellar?”
    “Yes.” The tears threatened to come but Jorani wouldn’t let them.
    Jake paced the room, anger evident in his jerky stride. He turned and looked back at Jorani, an evil glint in his eyes. “Let’s get him.”



Continued . . .