"Don't let up. We have not sent them to the border yet," James urged.
James's voice crackled over the phone. He had reason to be concerned; after all, they were dealing with Francisco.
Bruce's response was swift and unwavering. "Okay, sir. I will inform you of everything after boarding those girls out of here."
With those words, Bruce hung up the phone, his mind focused on the task at hand. He knew that their operation had to proceed smoothly and without a hitch if they were to avoid Francisco's interference.
However, as Bruce lowered the phone, an unexpected touch on his head sent a shiver down his spine, like the cold steel of a pistol against his skin. His eyes grew wider with realization.
At that moment, Bruce had a sinking feeling that they had underestimated Francisco's cunning and determination. He had never imagined that this audacious move would occur at the eleventh hour.
Gritting his teeth in anger and frustration, Bruce refused to give in to the fear that threatened to consume him. Without looking back, he spoke with a determined resolve, his voice carrying a note of defiance.
"This is our port, Francis. We also have some regulations in our realm. You can't do this, and you know it better," Bruce asserted.
He understood that only Francisco would dare to challenge their operations in such a daring manner.
But Francisco, with his trademark audacity, showed no signs of backing down. He suddenly pressed the trigger, the gunshot echoing through the port as he fired.
"I am free to do whatever I want," Francisco declared, a chilling confidence in his voice. "I will own the whole seaport because I am the king here."
[Bang]
Before Bruce could react, agony erupted from his leg, and he let out a visceral cry of pain. Francisco had shot him, and the searing pain left Bruce incapacitated, unable to move as he clutched his injured leg.
"Ahh," Bruce whimpered.
He struggled to maintain his composure, his body trembling from the pain.
**
The deafening sound of a gunshot shattered the eerie silence inside the cabin, jolting every girl within its confines. Fear gripped their hearts, and panic spread like wildfire among the captives.
"Oh my God, what is going on over there?" one of the abducted girls whispered, her voice trembling with fear.
"They... they will kill us," another girl uttered, her voice choked with sobs.
These girls, victims of a cruel and heartless trade, were being transported to foreign lands.
In the cabin's dim light, their faces were etched with terror and despair. They clung to one another, seeking solace in the midst of their shared ordeal.
The girls huddled together in the dimly lit cabin, their voices trembling with fear and desperation.
"I want to live, not die." A girl sobbed, her words a poignant plea for survival.
"Me too. I don't want to die." Another one whispered.
The grim reality of their situation had left them feeling helpless.
But amidst the tears and fear, one of them rose to her feet. She spoke with a calm assurance that belied the grim circumstances.
"Girls, don't worry. We will be alright," she said, her voice carrying a note of hope. She possessed a striking presence, tall and possessing a figure akin to a celebrity, her beauty highlighted by hazel-green eyes that seemed to hold a glimmer of optimism.
Hearing her words, another girl stood up.
"Alright? How? Don't you understand what they are planning to do with us? They will sell us," she said, her gaze lowering as she whispered her fears.
"After that, I'm not sure where we will end up."
Inside the cabin, the grim reality of their situation weighed heavily on the 15 or 17 girls who were hostages.
Among the captives was a girl whose eyes were hazel-green; her name was Hazel, and she had been duped by a woman, finding herself trapped in this nightmarish ordeal. As she spoke, her eyes narrowed with determination.
"Just trust me, nothing will happen to us."
Another girl spoke up, "Please don't give us false hope, girl. You are well aware of our future. They are going to sell us. It's human trafficking."
Hazel opened her mouth to offer reassurance, but her words were silenced by the sudden cry of another girl—a heartbreaking plea that pierced the air.
"I want to go home," the girl cried, her voice trembling with sorrow and longing. Her youth was obvious, likely no more than 15 or 16 years old, and her vulnerability tugged at the heartstrings of the captives.
Hazel, with a heart full of empathy, approached the young girl and gently took her hand, offering a comforting presence.
"Hey, everything will be okay," Hazel said, her voice soft and reassuring. "The police will save us, I tell you."
The young girl gave a slight nod, her trust in Hazel evident.
Drawing the girl close, Hazel wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly.
But just as a fragile sense of solace settled among the girls, another gunshot rang out, this time dangerously close to their cabin. Panic and alarm swept through the captive group, their hearts racing as fear overtook them.
The young child, trembling and frightened, clung to Hazel, her small frame shaking. She whispered in a trembling voice.
"I don't want to go. I want to see my mom."
Hazel held the trembling girl firmly. But the fragile peace they had found was shattered when the cabin door burst open and a group of 7 or 8 masked men stormed in, their guns raised menacingly.
The sight of the armed intruders sent shockwaves of fear rippling through the captive girls, and their collective screams echoed in the confined space. Each of them felt a surge of panic as the men pointed their guns in their direction.
Amid the chaos, a man in a mask entered the room, wielding a rifle with a commanding presence. It was Francisco, the enigmatic and ruthless figure who had loomed over their lives like a dark cloud.