Noah found Racheal curled on the red velvet chair, staring out at the swaying palm trees beyond the arched window. Her shoulders were hunched, face half-hidden by the curtain of her hair.
"Why the long face?" Noah's eyebrow arched.
Racheal's head snapped toward him. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "I wish I'd never met you."
Noah leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "That's harsh. Don't you remember I pulled you off the streets of Sumer? Promised you a modelling career? Gave you a ticket out?"
"You didn't give me a career." Her voice cracked like thin ice. "You sold me into prostitution. You trapped me by putting me into debt, by saying I owed you because you'd covered the costs of travelling. I should never have followed you to Cascadia."
"You know travel doesn't pay for itself. It wasn't easy trying to smuggle you into Cascadia through the boat-"
"You lied to me, so you could exploit me. You know, I was vulnerable, and foolishly I trusted you."
"Without me, you never would have met Osa," he countered smoothly.
Racheal let out a bitter laugh. "Osa isn't charming when he adds another wife every time my monthly curse comes." Her eyes hardened. "You trapped me here."
Noah sighed. "You didn't think you could keep him to yourself? Not when he's the ruler of Cascadia..."
"I want to leave him! But I can't, not when I can be killed for it."
"How did you know that?" Noah raised an eyebrow.
"One of his wives told me he had his guard shoot a woman with a gun because she refused his advances. So, she went with him, scared that the guard would kill her if she said no."
"Well," Noah said finally, tone flat, "there's nothing I can do. You'll have to get used to it."
Racheal pressed her forehead to the glass. "I wish there was a way out."
The palm trees kept swaying, indifferent.
**********
The full moon glowed amongst the black clouds. Jared hides behind the trunk of the tree. If the guards spotted him, he could be wiped out. He had to escape the camp—starvation was only days away now that rations were being slashed for the new influx of prisoners.
This is my chance.
He sprinted low across the docks to the stack of barrels. Heart hammering, he gripped the lid of the nearest one and heaved. It wouldn't budge—the lid was bolted shut. He dug into his pants' pocket to pull out a sharp rock. With the rock, he unscrewed the bolts from the barrel and slid the lid off.
Success.
He picked up the barrel. Dumped the green bananas into the ocean. To avoid suspicion, he returned the barrel to its original spot. The space was brutally tight—knees jammed against his chest, shoulders scraping wood. He pulled the lid over his head and sealed himself in darkness.
Thirty minutes later, footsteps approached. Two workers.
"Gerald! I can't lift this one!" one yelled, pounding a fist on the lid. The impact vibrated through Jared's skull.
Jared's heart sank. Panic rose inside him.
What if they searched inside?
Gerald's voice carried from the boat. "I'll get the trolley."
The worker yelled, "I don't think there are bananas in here."
Jared's heart skipped a beat.
"I should check inside."
Sweat ran down Jared's cheeks. His lips trembled. If they discovered him, the guards would be called. He would be killed.
"Stop! Trevor, don't open it!" Gerald barked. "You'll spoil the whole load. Just lift, damn it. You've been whining all day."
Trevor groaned. "It's heavy as hell—"
"Put your back into it!"
To Jared's relief, they hoisted the barrel. Straps cinched tight around it. The trolley wheels rattled as they rolled him onto the boat and into the shipping container. The door clanged shut.
Two hours passed in suffocating black. Jared's breath fogged the icy air inside the barrel. No grumbling voices from the workers, no faint drift of cigarette smoke through the cracks—only the distant thrum of the ship's engines.
It was safe.
Jared eased himself out, legs trembling as he unfolded from the cramped fetal position. Knees ached from being jammed against his chest for hours; every joint protested. Stretched cautiously, rolling his shoulders, working blood back into numb limbs.
Dim overhead lights revealed rows of barrels filling the metal container—two hundred of them.
Dumb, blind luck that his plan had worked. The ship lurched again, riding another rough swell, heading God-knows-where.
At least, he was free from Osa's regime.