Chapter Text
Panama
1999
The scalding sun hits your slightly burnt face as you lie in the concrete floor of the patio, legs crossed and arm behind your head. You’ve been in this hole for a month and Rafe is nowhere to be seen. Why did you even agree to come on this treasure hunt again? He was supposed to have arrived weeks ago.
You met Rafe in college; a scrawny, pale and reserved Rafe. You both attended history class, and you’d often find yourself observing him from the other side of the room. He was thin and shy, yet graceful, with his always perfectly combed hair and expensive clothes. You’d heard a lot of rumors about him, about his parents and mostly about his wealth. He was indeed a mysterious boy, but once you got to know him, oh he sure had a lot more characteristics to himself. He was a rich boy, an arrogant and pretentious rich boy. He wouldn’t take a no for an answer and you’d seen him loose his temper rather quickly. You two had actually been in a couple arguments before, because you didn’t enjoy being relegated as Rafe usually did to everyone around him. However, you did consider him a friend, and as soon as he spoke of Henry Avery’s missing treasure, you knew you had to come. Right? You’d gone through a lot to be here, under covered in a male-only Panamanian jail working for him, or, with him; Rafe wouldn’t just leave you here. You cut short your beautiful long wavy hair, wrapped your chest in God knows how many bandages so your breasts wouldn’t give away your sex. And you didn’t mind; as long as you were getting half the treasure.
Lately, however, rumors had been spreading around the jail. You’d hear the prisoners chatter in doubt, certain looks heading your way. Supposedly, Vargas, the prison warden, is the only one who knows you are a woman, as he’s being bribed by Rafe, but at this point you aren’t even sure.
You get up and stretch, looking around you: several groups of prisoners scattered through the yard: to the left, a group of four by a table playing cards, screaming and cursing so rapidly at each other, not even your five years of spanish can help you understand; to the right, two smoking while playing poker, and a dozen more dispersed, exercising and chatting. You start walking through the yard, headed for the door that takes you inside. This is the only time you have to safely speak to Vargas, and you need it. As you approach the door, Gustavo steps in front of you:
“A donde vais, Daniel?”
The grin on his face makes you feel nauseous. As a matter of fact, he fucking disgusts you. Gustavo has some sort of knack at provoking others, and you have been ignoring him since the first day you came in.
You frown and roll your eyes as you move your hand:
“Que quieres, Gustavo?”
The inmates in the yard start to get up and closer to where you two are.
You slowly look around you and when you glance back at Gustavo, his tanned and robust body is standing much closer to you than before. He’s now saying some spanish gibberish as he reaches for your arm and grabs it. Your eyes widen and you attempt to break his grip, but he squeezes harder and you know you’ll have a mark tomorrow.
If you make it to tomorrow that is.