“Is that a threat?”
Tate looks offended. “It’s the truth. I would never threaten you. That’s not my way.”
I reject all the times he proved that to me over the last few months. My anger gets the best of me. He’s a narc. He’s been using me. How does anyone forgive that? Or forget it? A black hole of rage settles in the pit of my stomach.
“Are we finished here?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“For tonight. But I’ll be back.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
“I don’t think I am,Tiburona. I know you better than you think I do.”
“You can go on believing that. But the reality is you don’t know shit.” I pull at my restraints.
“You don’t know shit either.” He stares me down. “I’m not giving up on you that easily.” Tate stands and knocks on the metal door. A moment later, Lopez reappears. Bile stings my throat as he unlocks my cuffs and releases me from the table. The glint in his eye is perverse when our skin grazes. I’m fucked in every direction. With Lopez and Tate and my unforeseen future.
It’s a miracle I make it back to my cell without being groped, but now I know why I'm minus a roommate. I have someone on the outside looking out for me. The mere thought of Tate has my insides boiling. Has rage clawing up my esophagus, and murderous thoughts poisoning my mind.
How could I have been so blind, so stupid, so naïve? I let my fucking guard down. I opened my heart. And I let myself believe I could have more.
What a fucking moron. I roll over into the fetal position on the mattress that’s harder than a fucking rock. I stopped feeling sorry for myself years ago. I stopped being a victim. But it’s pretty hard to stop those ingrained feelings from cropping up again when you have everything to lose. I smother myself with the pillow. I won’t cry. No, I won’t allow myself that. March would tell me tears are just weakness leaving your body. But tonight, fighting them off feels like it gives me strength. It’s one of the few things I can still control. And I need that feeling. I need that power to keep myself grounded. To keep my wits about me, and my emotions numb. I need to be the shark I am to survive the bloody waters.
* * *
Three daysI’ve been in this hell hole.
Three days since I’ve seen Tate.
Three days I’ve circled like a shark keeping predators at bay.
My trial is next week, and then my fate will be revealed. I’ve met with my lawyers, and although their designer suits sparkle and their attitudes toward winning borderline on arrogant, I can’t help but think about what Tate said.The evidence is stacked against you.
As much as I hate him, and I do hate him for lying and betraying me, I still got the same feeling of sincerity that made me trust him in the first place. Which pisses me off to no end. Because I truly want to believe that he doesn’t care about me. Believe that it was all fake, but the way he looks at me with those eyes. With those earnest, full-hearted eyes. It’s hard to doubt him.
Do I take my chances and get convicted? I feel like it’s my only option. I can’t flip on Stef. I could never live with myself.Iwent to recover the shipment.Itook the chance.Ihave to pay the price. I just wish I knew who tipped the cops off. I have an idea. I mean, who else could it be? Raffi wants the Deltoros gone. He’ll pick us off one by one if he has to, but why not just kill me? It doesn’t make sense. My worry for Stefania grows. Can Marco truly protect her? Is he powerful enough? Will Raffi be satisfied with me rotting behind bars and Stefania under his thumb? Too many questions without any answers.
The guards do the last head count before retiring us to bed. This is the worst part of my day. Standing around aimlessly and waiting for all inmates to be accounted for. It takes forever. And makes me antsy. I don't like being crammed around a bunch of women with little to no supervision. It feels like an attack waiting to happen.
I’ve seen my fair share of fights already, but luckily haven’t engaged in one. Which is weird, if I’m being honest. A new girl with known ties to a drug cartel? I must have some enemies. But as far as I can tell, the only person I have to look out for is Lopez.
We finally start moving out of the common area and back toward our cells. In a single file, we walk up the stairs like zombies. There’s a small commotion behind me, and I glance back to see what the problem is. A girl with dark hair comes up on me fast, and before I have time to react, I feel something sharp stab into my side.
“A message from the outside,pendeja,” she hisses before all hell breaks out on the stairs. Pushing and shoving ensues, and she tries to stab me again, but with all the chaos, I manage to fend her off. I swing and hit her on the side of the head. Then, I’m pushed, and I lose my footing. A bunch of us tumble down the stairs, and guards are trying to pull everyone apart. There’s screaming and fighting, and the girl keeps on coming. I kick my foot out when she gets close, knocking the shiv out of her hand. She jumps on top of me, and I see stars from the pressure on the wound on my side. She grabs my hair and starts smashing my head against the concrete floor. Everything goes blurry and then goes black.
* * *
I wakeup feeling no pain.
The room is white and sterile and smells like alcohol.
There is a line of beds on both sides of me and a softbeep,beep,beepin the background.
I look up at the morphine drip and thank God for legal drugs.
“And she’s back.” A woman in a white coat and black, thick-rimmed glasses stands beside me. “You’ll survive. The wound went deep but didn’t hit anything vital. You do have a concussion,” she rattles off my diagnosis. “I’ve seen worse. You can rest here the rest of the day, then back to your cell.” She’s way too damn chipper to be a prison doctor.
“Thanks.” I drop my heavy head and close my eyes.
