AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Anna.”
I open my eyes and find Lucas standing in front of me. He’s illuminated as though standing under a stage spotlight. “Lucas.”
“It’s okay. I’ll protect you,” he says, holding his hand out to me. I take it, and he smiles wide, but then the smile fades, and a tiny mark appears on his forehead, growing bigger until it’s the size of a quarter. Blood pours down his face like a tap being turned on.
“Lucas!” When I reach for him, I see the gun in my hand, my finger on the trigger. I blink, and the boy standing in front of me is no longer Lucas, it’s the boy I shot.
He collapses to the ground at my feet, and I fall to my knees.
I jerk awake and sit bolt upright, dragging precious oxygen into my lungs. My eyes sting, and the saltiness of my tears lingers on my lips.
Rafael reaches for me, his hand stroking down my back. “Anna?”
I can hear him. It’s faint and unclear, but I can hear him. The ringing in my ears has lessened, but the throbbing pain is still present. “I’m fine,” I whisper, not wanting to raise my voice in case he hears how hoarse it is. I swallow around the lump in my throat, choking it down. The room suddenly illuminates, and I squint against the light. Rafael sits up and grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him. His brows pull together in a frown, and his thumb swipes below my eye, wiping away tears.
“Talk to me. You fucking scared me earlier.” His voice is muted, as though he’s underwater, but at least I can actually hear him now.
“I couldn’t hear you.”
He tilts my head to the side, glancing at my ear before pulling my gaze to his again. “Another nightmare?”
I nod.
“You were saying Lucas’s name.”
I open my mouth to explain, but quickly close it as a broken sob threatens to tear up my throat. “I’m fine.”
“You know I hate that word.”
I close my eyes and immediately the image of Lucas’ face with a bullet hole in his head appears behind my lids. Then like a faulty film reel, the image flits between Lucas and the dead boy. “Talk to me, Anna.”
The dam bursts and all the emotions I’m trying so hard to keep bottled explode. The sob breaks free, and the tears follow. I know it’s weak. I know I should feel nothing, but I do. Rafael’s arms come around me, and he tugs me into his lap, pressing his palm to my cheek. “Shhh, it’s okay.”
“I killed him,” I cry, trying to breathe through this...whatever this is. Guilt. I think that’s it. Just the sheer weight of unimaginable guilt.
“Who?”
I turn my face into his chest, wishing he could protect me from myself, from my own egotistical need to try and be something more than a slave. “A boy.” I sniff. “He was going to shoot me. And…I pulled the trigger. I didn’t look.” My voice grows more hysterical as I speak.
“It’s the cartel, avecita,” his knuckles stroke down my cheek, “It’s kill or be killed.”
“He was just a boy. Younger than Lucas.”
“He would have killed you.”
“But he was too young to know…”
He kisses my forehead. “I know you think that, but that’s not the way it works in Mexico. If he’s old enough to kill, he’s old enough to be killed.”
I sniff back the tears, trying to be strong, but I know that the boy’s death will stay with me, possibly forever. It’s the first time that I’ve really weighed the gravity of taking another life. The first time that I’ve stopped and thought about all that was lost with the simple pulling of a trigger. “I should be harder.”
“No, little warrior. You shouldn’t. I’ve been telling you, you aren’t your sister. You feel because you’re good. You shouldn’t want to change that.”
“I hate this.”
“You hate that you killed him? Or you hate that you can’t stomach it?”
“Both.”
“That’s okay. Killing shouldn’t be easy, but it’s harder when they look young and innocent. I’ve killed more innocents than I care to remember.”
“Do you ever feel bad?”
He sighs, his chest expanding under my cheek. “Honestly, no. I grew up in Juarez. I used to catch the bus to school and drive past bodies in the streets every morning. People die. It’s the way it is.”
“Do you believe in heaven and hell?” I pull back so I can see his face.
“I’m Catholic, so yes.”
“Do you think you’re going to hell?”
He huffs a small laugh, his warm breath blowing over my scalp. “I told you I’m not a good man.”
“Do you believe in confessing your sins?”
His lips twitch. “It’s been a long time since I confessed, avecita.”
“Do you truly believe that if you confess, then you are absolved of your sins?”
“Honestly? No. I think that’s too easy, that a man must truly want to repent his sins in order to confess and be freed of them.”
