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A Tricked Life

A Tricked Life

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A Tricked Life

369 pagine
4 ore
May 29, 2020


An edgy love story about hope, lies, and determination.


Modeling meant everything – until it didn't. For Ana Martins, an awkward but pretty American teenager living in Brazil, winning a modeling contest on a mysterious app should bring instant fame as she travels to Miami. However, when her entourage stops midway for photoshoots on a Caribbean island, she is almost tricked into a life of sex slavery. Her savior is a wealthy tourist from Canada whom she meets; he has soulful green eyes, chiseled features, and a daredevil persona. Smitten himself, he vows to help rescue her from her perpetrators, even if it puts his own life in jeopardy.


Much like "Twilight" only heavier.


Normal paperback page count would be around 200 pages.

May 29, 2020

Informazioni sull'autore

The author, a Canadian transplant having lived in Southern California for most of his adult life, began his writing career penning 16 Hollywood screenplays in variety of genres. Wanting to expand his creative world, he has now transitioned to writing novels and has completed three so far; The Doomsday Drifter, Wrecking Man, and The Lost Safari. The college graduate in business also owned a wine company at one time and dearly misses it. When not punching keys, he loves to spend time with his family, drink red wine, and diss movies he hates. Check out his website for more books and free script reads:

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A Tricked Life - Mark DaSilva

A Tricked Life

Mark DaSilva

Published by Mark DaSilva, 2020.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.


First edition. May 29, 2020.

Copyright © 2020 Mark DaSilva.

ISBN: 978-1393736974

Written by Mark DaSilva.

Also by Mark DaSilva


The Doomsday Drifter

Wrecking Man


A Tricked Life

Watch for more at Mark DaSilva’s site.


Even though it was late afternoon, the young girls wouldn’t wake the hell up. There were eight girls asleep in four sets of bunk beds, a few of them snoring. They were wannabee models between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, pretty, thin and foreign. Most came from South America while a few arrived from the Caribbean, all with diverse looks and shades of skin tones. They knew English, as most did, and Talon preferred they spoke that way. His Spanish was rusty and the few times he tried to use it, he got frustrated and resorted to his native tongue anyway.

Work was needed to be done and so far, the girls were falling behind schedule once more. The party was about to begin and Talon couldn’t afford to wait again.

Twirling a baseball bat he carried for intimidation, Talon smashed it over the closest bed, the bunk’s wood cracking on impact. That roused the girls right away. Some of them screamed while the rest cowered under their blankets. 

Wake up! Get dressed right away! he yelled. Since you’re late again, there will be no dinner! The girls hopped from their beds quickly and undressed. Talon smirked at the purpose of not feeding them; alcohol hit the models quicker and they felt more at ease as a result. There were plenty of other drugs to be had, of course. They could snack later.

Talon glanced away as they dressed; he had no desire to watch them naked. He did, however, catch himself in the full-length mirror along the closest wall and flexed his muscles, pivoting to scrutinize each angle. Talon was a tall man at six foot two, clean cut, tan, and in his own words, buff with rock-hard abs. A former model once, he was damn proud of his continued good looks and he absolutely glowed at the notion that some referred to him as a living, breathing Ken doll. His blond hair thankfully showed no tint of God-awful gray despite reaching forty years of age, his eyes were a mesmerizing deep-sea blue, his cheekbones firm and statuesque, and his lips full and sensuous. In spite of his attractiveness, the girls were frightened of him and he was mighty fine with that. Although he was easily old enough to be the father of any of them, he didn’t treat them as such either. Not when they landed in America, anyway. On the boat ride over though, he was different. Kind, attentive, endearing, and trusting to all of them. He had to be. He had to have the girls at ease. The trip from the Dominican Republic was long and arduous sometimes and having upset little bitches on board would only add to his misery.

However, once they got ashore in the good old USA, he was all business. Hard, authoritative, downright mean. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He loved that. All acting.

Hurry up! he barked. We don’t have all damn day!

They were in South Beach, Miami, overlooking the ocean but the girls rarely saw the Atlantic. The house was a two-story mansion housed in an elegant, gated community rife with impeccable homes, top-notch security, and wealthy neighbors. Marble floors, Greek statuettes, and expensive furniture filled the interior. Talon considered the décor ghastly but admired the money spent by its famous owner. Only the one bedroom reserved for the girls looked shabby, resembling a college dorm room at times, but with a constant stream of young pretties flowing through, it was hard to maintain.

In total, the mansion had twelve bedrooms; a master bedroom reserved for the owner, two others for his assistants like Talon, one for the housekeeping staff, two more for security and then the girl’s room. The remaining five rooms were used for sexual services and cleaned promptly after each use. The cellar did contain a bed as well but rarely did a customer utilize it for an overnighter.

The windows were nailed shut and heavily tinted. Just for extra measure, they also had decorative bars over them but you had to see those from the outside.

Which the girls never did.  They were never allowed outside.

Five minutes! Talon bellowed and left the room with a scowl. He also allowed them the use of two bathrooms across the hall. He wasn’t a complete monster, after all.

While waiting, he used that time to stare out one of the tinted windows to the outside. Poolside, a handful of younger men in their late twenties and early thirties lounged both in and out of the sparkling water. They looked like rich kids, fit, sunning themselves as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Drinking and eating, enjoying the rich life. He envied that.

That was the façade for the neighbors though. What the nosy couldn’t see were the guns the chiseled men held under their blankets. It was part of their job, working security. Keeping the girls inside, keeping the outside world in the dark.

He found himself staring at the men longer than he should. One man in particular caught his eye, he with the dark hair parted to the side, chocolate brown eyes, thin moustache and flat, tanned stomach that glistened in the sun with the tanning lotion applied there.

Raoul. New to the team and eager to please.

Yummy, Talon said. He dared not smile though. Image was everything and the girls needed to be kept scared.

Behind him, the girls were quiet, huddled together as they dressed. Their eyes were bloodshot, their hair tussled. None spoke. Their makeup was smeared and they looked a mess but he knew they’d straighten themselves out because the promise of a modelling career demanded such applications to transform plain to beauty in an instant.

Then again, being here, modelling was not exactly the exciting profession they hoped for, was it?

The fact the girls were smuggled in illegally by boat meant correct procedures for entering the country were not followed. Sex trafficking was a major crime. Talon knew he’d have to evade capture by any means necessary if a cavalry of do-gooders tried to intervene. Finding out what really went on behind these closed doors required tremendous payoffs to local officials and expensive lawyers. Talon was fortunate his boss spared no expense because if Talon was ever caught red-handed, the list of his crimes would put him behind bars for a very long time. Prison was not where he wanted to go back. Ever.

Girls! a woman said from behind Talon. Let’s get going, please!

The girls all nodded okays. An older, hefty woman named Auntie Mae stood next to Talon with a smile. She was in her mid-fifties, had curly red hair, squinty blue eyes, and cherubic rosy cheeks. She tried in vain to hide most of her large weight under a sun dress filled with flowers but it never worked. Her face was pleasant to look at though. Almost motherly. Talon thought of her as the bigger version of Lucille Ball.

Come along, my pretties. I want smiles. I want happiness, she said without an ounce of threat. She fussed with some of the bedsheets and pillows. The girls always relaxed when they saw her. Auntie Mae gently tapped each one on the shoulder.

Let’s give the customers a reason to smile, she cooed. Put on your best behavior and everything will work out. Come on now.

The short Columbian girl was last to dress. Her large brown eyes were baggy, her long dark hair matted from troubled sleep. Auntie Mae stopped her and gazed at her cheeks. They were bruised. A black eye was forming.

Oh, my poor dear, Auntie Mae said. We’ll get some makeup for you. Finish up. The Columbian girl nodded and finished dressing.

Talon noticed the Columbian trembled terribly, however. He waltzed up to Auntie Mae and quietly spoke. We’ve had trouble with that one. She was lifeless. Exhaustion apparently. The customer complained and got angry.

Well, they pay good money. Have her wired with drugs, Auntie Mae whispered, straightening a bed. Something to make her lively.

I think she’s a lost cause, Talon remarked. Like her twin sister.

Don’t worry, she will make money for us. One way or another, Auntie Mae said and paused, glancing around. Where is the twin, by the way?

In the cellar, Talon admitted, matter-of-fact.

Barbaric, Auntie Mae said but flashed no emotion. How long has she been down there?

Since last night. Her customer was not very nice either. Who was it by the way?

Hasan. Sadistic freak from Qatar with the short fuse, Auntie Mae said and rolled her eyes. She’ll need to be cleaned then.

The thought disgusted Talon but work was needed to be done. I’ll go fetch her.

Talon left the room as Auntie Mae barked some orders to the girls. He descended the long, spiral staircase and checked his watch. It was six twenty-one. The party started at eight pm. Talon had about one hour and forty minutes to get them all ready.

Workers, all dark-skinned, foreign and in tuxedos, were quickly assembling for the festivities. They swept, polished, and dusted a large gathering room filled with dark wood furniture. A magnificent stone fireplace was the focal point. At a long, cherry wood bar, a bartender silently wiped down glassware. A waiter cleaned silver serving trays.

Talon called the room stuffy. It had no panache.

He made his way to another door in the hallway that led to the cellar one floor down. When he shut the hallway door behind him, he expected a whimper or scream to come from within but none came. As he stepped down the small stairs, the quiet gave him some relief. Against the farthest wall, he saw the Columbian twin held up by her arms shackled in chains, her head drooped. Her naked body was bruised, scratched, and bloodied between her legs. Other forms of torture and captivity were present down there, as they were in all the other homes. The cellar was reserved for the truly perverted.

That cost extra.

The Master encouraged it. All his little beauties performing for the big leagues. They believed they’d be models. Glitz. Glamour. Thrust into the spotlight. Strutting on the runways. Partying with celebrities.

It was all lies, of course.

Then again, the poor never had any power.

Talon walked up to the twin and touched her head. Like her sister, she was bruised, a black eye already formed. When he slapped her to wake up, she barely flinched. He checked her pulse and found it weak. She wouldn’t make it much longer. Whatever the sicko Hasan did to her down here, he did a number on her, that was for sure. The Doctor was too late to call and the cellar may be needed again. Time was not on her side so he did what he had to do.

He cupped her mouth and nose with both hands and pressed her against the wall. Her eyes opened and fluttered briefly but she didn’t put up much of a fight. Within a minute, she was gone.

Dead girls in the dungeon.

Sometimes, that happened.



In the suburbs of Belem, Brazil, with hot waves of humid summer air blowing freely through her long brown hair, Ana Martins hopped along a busy cobblestone street chewing on an apple and texting on her phone. Her skin was a light olive color, her eyes an emerald green. Her eyebrows seemed perpetually lifted above her small face. Cute, just not overly. She was fifteen years old, tall, and very fit otherwise. Over her shoulder was a gym bag and she was dressed casually in jeans and a colorful, flowery shirt.

did u hear from the NuVenus agency yet? Ana texted her friend, Carolina.

no, came the response, followed by, where u at?

Ana thought for a moment and then texted, give Tomas body blows.

he’s cute but too old for u, lol, came the reply.

Ana clicked off her phone and pocketed it. Outside a boxing gym, she discarded the remaining fruit into a waste basket near the front door and strolled inside.

Minutes later, with her hair tied in a ponytail, Ana threw a right punch against a man who was in his mid-twenties, had cropped hair like a Roman, a robotic stare, and wore a white track suit. After he successfully blocked her punch with a padded glove, he swung his right hand at her, but she ducked underneath it.

His name was Tomas and he was her trainer. The pair were inside a boxing ring surrounded by other fighters, who were mostly male, that trained on mats, punching bags, and weights outside the ring. Photos of Mixed Martial Arts legends adorned the walls.

Good instinct, Ana, Tomas noted in Portuguese. Watch my hips.

Ana nodded and continued to bob and weave. She threw a barrage of punches that Tomas checked with each glove. A well-timed kick sent her trainer a step backwards.

Ouch. Good one, Ana, he said, wiggling his sore hand as a result.

Sorry, Ana said but she threw a left jab and followed that with a quick right punch. Tomas blocked both blows and shifted to the right.

Keep moving side to side, Tomas said. Aim for my head. That’s it.

Ana nodded, shifted, and delivered a strong front kick once more. Her foot smacked Tomas’ left glove that time and knocked it back.

Are you trying to hurt me, girl? he asked. Because if you are, I like it. He followed that up with a wink and said, Come on! Again!

They continued to spar with jabs, punches and kicks. Each one the trainer blocked with his hands, legs, and arms. Ana didn’t seem to tire and kept at it, despite sweat beads rolling down her cheeks.

A girl showed up ringside. Ana became distracted and lowered her arms. The girl looked sad and offered a small wave.

What’s wrong, Carolina? Ana asked as she came to her friend. Carolina was smaller, had radiant blonde hair but looked frosty with too much makeup. A few of the other men glanced her way but she was oblivious.

Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt, Carolina said.

That’s fine, Ana replied. Is everything okay?

Ana, we have much training still, Tomas said from behind.

Just a minute, Tomas, Ana said and waved him off.

Did you get your text from the agency yet, Ana? Carolina asked as Ana slid between the ropes and climbed down to the floor.

Ana hoisted a nearby towel from her gym bag and wiped her sweat. No. I’ve been training for an hour since we texted. Did you get one?

Like fifteen minutes ago, Carolina stated. Check your phone.

That was quick. Is it good news?

Not for me. I didn’t win, Carolina said.

Ana slumped her shoulders as she reached for her bag. Well, if you didn’t win, neither did I. From inside her bag, Ana whipped out her phone, turned it on, and searched for her messages. She saw the most recent that just had an obscure phone number. It started with, Congratulations! You have been chosen to represent the NuVenus Agency in our worldwide model search!

Ana gasped and showed it to Carolina who’s face clearly sank when she saw Ana’s gleaming text. I’m happy for you, Carolina stated, although it was forced.

Why would they want me and not you? Ana asked. I don’t believe it.

What is it? Tomas asked as he leaned over the ropes from high above.

Ana won a modeling search, Carolina announced. She’s going to America.

Tomas looked genuinely surprised. Ana? Really?

What does that mean, Tomas? Ana asked.

Caught off-guard, Tomas relented. Nothing. I didn’t know you were a model. That’s all.

Neither did I, Ana said and put the phone away. Maybe I shouldn’t go. I don’t want to be there without you. You were the one who told me to enter the stupid contest.

Don’t be an idiot, Carolina smiled that seemed earnest. You have to go. This is the chance of a lifetime. You get to work with Alister Reven!

Are you sure?

Of course! Carolina stated and then grabbed Ana by the shoulders. We need to do your makeup!

Wiping more sweat, Ana felt self-conscious about her looks and spied herself in a big mirror. You think so? Do I need a haircut?

Carolina seemed genuinely excited and said, Let’s go to Lucinda’s Beauty Shop and do some shopping!

I don’t have any money though.

That’s okay. My father is rich, Carolina boasted and flashed a credit card.

He won’t notice?

Pfft. He’s a doctor, he’s too busy to care.

Okay, but don’t spend a lot. Let’s go! Ana squealed a bit loudly. Other guys stopped and took notice.

Ana! Tomas called. Come on up! We still have time to train!

Tomas, the hour is up, Ana said and grabbed her bag. I’ll see you tomorrow. Carolina pulled on Ana’s arm and motioned her to leave.

Ana! Wait! Tomas yelled.

Sorry Tomas! I have to go!

The Belem New York Market was small, tucked in between two other buildings; one a realty office, the other an appliance repair shop. Signs on the market windows advertised deals on fruit, beer, and cookies. The city of Belem, Brazil, lingered in the background, the much taller skyscrapers and apartment buildings much more dominant than the suburbs where the market stood.

Inside, the market was filled with groceries stacked on four aisles. A produce section was off to the far right, a meat counter to the left. Soft music played on a speaker as customers pushed small shopping carts around.

With a new haircut style, makeup, and a blue apron for work, Ana began stacking oranges in the produce section. A man approached from behind and stood there, beaming. Ana felt his presence and turned quickly.

Dad? What’s up? she asked.

My baby girl, her father, Marco, said and hugged her. Ana dropped a few oranges on the floor as a result. Marco was taller than her, had salt and pepper hair, the same green eyes as she, and a business-like face. Carolina told me you won the beauty contest, Ana!

No, Dad, it was a modeling contest.

Same thing!

Well, this is different. They want me to fly to America.

Marco released her but held her hands. What do you mean?

Supposedly, I am to report to the airport and fly out with some other girls and travel to Miami, I think.

What happens then?

Ana took his aside and explained what little she knew. At the end, Marco continued to beam.

A day later, back at the gym, Ana smacked a punching bag with Tomas holding it for her. Ana wore basically the same thing as before but Tomas was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. They had the gym to themselves with parts of the gym dark. Sweat was rolling down Ana’s neck. Ana began to tire and stuck out her tongue.

Okay, Tomas said, noting her strain. Let’s go to jiu-jitsu.

But I like the old Luta Livre. I still like to hit, Ana whined, hitting the bag once more with a solid right punch. Luta Livre was an old Brazilian martial art that concentrated on strikes and kicks. Since the rise of popularity of jiu-jitsu, Luta Livre took a back seat in self-defense. My father trained in it too.

The ground game is better. You know that, Tomas answered. Jiu-jitsu stops the biggest enemies quickly and efficiently.

Fine, Ana said and followed him.

They made their way to a mat when Ana went into a defensive pose with her arms slightly out, her body bending down. Tomas did the same until he lunged forward. Ana quickly wrapped him up like a snake and took him down. Tomas was taken by surprise and was shocked to find himself ensnared by her arms that locked around his head but he was quick to adjust from her move as he shifted his lower body, swung his arms around Ana, and held her there. She fought to regain control, but his tactic worked and kept her in place.

Expect the unexpected, he whispered to her. Don’t believe you’ve won until your opponent truly submits.

Ana didn’t listen and struggled harder. She growled and thrusted her hips up and down, trying to get leverage with her heels but Tomas was too strong.

That’s when Tomas kissed her. On the lips. They were stuck there, briefly, with Ana’s eyes going wide. Shocked, Ana flung him off her and stood quickly. What are you doing? she cried out. We’re supposed to be friends!

You’re cute, he said with a smile. He patted her side of the mat for her to come back down. Come over here.

How can you do this? she gasped. We’ve known each other for a long time!

I see the way you look at me, Tomas said. I know you desire me.

You have a wife and kid!

This is just for fun, he said. What they don’t know won’t hurt them. Come now, I can make you into a woman. No one will ever know.

You are too old for me, she said and walked off. She picked up her bag and stormed to the door. Tomas gave chase and caught her before she could leave.

Stop! Ana! Don’t leave! he yelled, gripping her arm.

Let me go! she yelled and pulled off.

Oh, so what are you going to do? Be some slutty model now?

Ana pulled the door open. What difference is that to you? I’m out of here!

Tomas closed it and moved in closer, almost pinning her. He stared into her eyes and said, You are better than that. You have potential to be a great MMA fighter. Don’t ruin it, my dear. You and I, we can be a great team. Come back and train some more.

Ana gritted her teeth and shoved him backwards. There’s more to life than MMA, asshole.

You are still a virgin, aren’t you? he asked, stifling a laugh. I should have known. I mean, what are you waiting for? Marriage? There’s nothing wrong with fooling around. Unless you are scared, of course.

Get away from me.

So, that’s it. You’re scared of sex. Being intimate with someone. You’re just a frightened, little child.

More than ever, Ana wanted to punch him. I quit!

Tomas shook his head. You’ll never make it, you know. Being a model, he said. You’re not a true Brazilian where real models come from. Go back to America.

Ana kicked him in his groin. Tomas fell to his knees in excruciating pain. Expect the unexpected, she said and opened the door once more.

Ana burst through the market doors and headed to the rear of her family store, sliding between patrons and their shopping carts. Her face was flushed, her

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