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“What’s going on here?”
“We are to protect these women. Boss’s orders.” The second says.
Women? I move past them, and neither tries to stop me. When I step inside the barn, it’s carnage. The stables that once housed Rafael’s horses have been converted to a temporary camp of sorts. Each stall has three or four camp beds in it, each housing a girl. A slave.
He’s saving them, all of them. I walk slowly down the barn, glancing through the open doorways at the girls, most of them sleeping. It’s late, and the eerie silence seems so at odds with the sheer volume of people here. I exit the barn at the other end, and for a moment, I just stand there, inhaling the fresh air. He’s saving them, and that makes things just a little bit brighter. My actions may have torn us apart, but they helped these girls. That has to mean something.
Tilting my head back, I look up at the stars scattered across the darkness, and I smile. I remember Rafael once asked me why I like the dark so much. I told him that you can’t see the stars without the dark. Never has that been truer. He’s managed to find some good in the horror of war, a silver lining to our heartbreak, and I can’t help but love him all the more for it.
A movement to my left has me whipping around and reaching for my gun. A girl freezes, her face only just illuminated by the low light cast through the open doors of the barn. I relax and release my gun, holding my hands out to her to show I mean no harm.
“Sorry, you startled me.”
She says nothing for long moments, simply watches me. “I won’t hurt you,” I say.
“I know.” She moves closer, and I can clearly see her long dark hair and her tanned skin. Green eyes watch me carefully from beneath long lashes. She’s beautiful, and I know that beauty will have been her curse in the Sinaloa. There’s a sadness that clings to her, and I know it well.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Bella.”
“Bella. I’m Anna.”
“You work for them?” She jerks her chin in the direction of the other end of the barn where the guards stand.
“No. I’m...” What am I? “A friend of Rafael D’Cruze.” She frowns and wraps her arms around herself. “He helped me. Just like he’s helping you.” Her eyes slowly meet mine, and I see the suspicion in them, the utter lack of trust. Sweeping my hair away from my neck, I tilt my head to the side and show her the tattoo just behind my ear. The coiled snake with a slave number imprinted on its scales. “You have nothing to fear. I promise no one will touch you here.”
“Why? Why would he save girls like us?”
“Because he’s a good man,” I say quietly. “One of the best.”
“He’s a cartel boss…”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t a bad man as well. You’ll be fine here, but I have to go,” I whisper, knowing I can’t delay the inevitable for much longer.
“Please don’t,” she says in a rush. “Don’t…don’t leave us with them.” Again, she glances sheepishly towards the guards.
“Have they hurt you?”
She looks at me with sad, resigned eyes. “No, but you know it’s just a matter of time.”
My heart hurts for her, and so without thought, I grab her and pull her into a hug. Slowly, she winds her arms around my back, before her shoulders sag. I can’t explain it, this feeling, this bond, but we are undoubtedly sisters. Bound not in blood, but in suffering and understanding. Me, her, little Zara; all survivors of some of the greatest horrors imaginable. I don’t need to know her because I know her soul. I know what it takes to survive the places we’ve been. When she finally pulls back, she swipes at tears on her face.
“Look, I have to go back to New York with my sister…” She drops her gaze to the ground and nods.
“Of course. I’m sorry.”
“Hold on.” I walk back inside the barn and jog to the other end, approaching the guards. “I need a phone,” I say to one of them. He glances at his friend but doesn’t move. “Just a burner. I know you probably have ten in the car.” I jerk my thumb towards the Hummer parked up a few feet away.
“I’ll have to ask the boss…”
I roll my eyes. “Do you know who I am?”
“Angel De La Muerte,” the other one says. They think I’m Una. I glance down at my black jeans and tank, the two guns fastened to my chest. I guess I do look like her. I’ll take it.
“Don’t make me shoot you,” I say because it’s exactly the kind of arrogant threat my sister would make. The difference being she can back it up.
