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My arms are so bandaged up I feel like a mummy at the museum.
White cloths wrap around my scratched arms; the dull pain hardly registers. Instead, I think about how nice it would be to take Oscar to the museum someday; to have a normal, simple life. We could see real mummies and I could be a real mother...
Is that even possible anymore?
Even if Angel does miraculously return, even if he does somehow defeat Dante, this country seems to be unraveling too fast to ever stitch back together. Juan said Dante has his tendrils in the highest offices of the land. There can’t be any coming back from something that has been so corrupted... right?
What could Angel do about it? What could he do about me?
If he does return, am I even ready to forgive him for being gone for so long?
What has he been doing while I’ve been a prisoner?
I broke into Dante’s mansion without any tools or resources or experience or anything. All I had was a mother’s desire to stay alive for her son’s sake. Sure, it cost me some cuts and some bruises and a scary amount of blood loss, but I’m not like Angel. If I can do it once, then he should have been able to do it by now...
I glance longingly out of the tinted back window of the limo I’ve been stuffed inside. Dante still hasn’t shown his face since the incident, but I can feel his commands in everything his men are doing. There hasn’t been a single second where I haven’t been under some kind of surveillance since that night, and, as far as I can tell, they don’t even know that I was lying when I suggested that someone had tried to break in.
Maybe because it’s the half-truth. Someone was trying to break in. Me. And I succeeded, but at what cost? My skin is torn and my heart is shattered; I can’t imagine that I’ll be able to see Oscar anytime soon.
Outside, posh skyscrapers and fancy restaurants give way to more down to earth establishments. Through the unbroken alleys, I can see the hazy slums rise up the hill to our right. Busy crowds rush about freely in the golden light that falls over the earth just before dusk. I envy them all. Oh, what I’d give to be poor and happy again. At least then I’d be able to look after my son like he deserves to be looked after: by his mother.
... But
if I had never tried for a better life, if I had never gone to that gala and worked for those dates and stepped in front of the brooding bad boy in his weathered denim jacket, then I would have never met Angel, and I would have never had Oscar...
My old life doesn’t seem worth living without my son. There isn’t a chance in hell I would give him up to go back to my old life. I’m his mom, and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I have a family again, even if it’s just a family of two, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to protect it.
I miss you, baby.
The limo suddenly grinds to a halt and I’m flung forward. My seat belt catches me around the gut and a gust of air races from my lungs. It’s nothing compared to the brick I smacked myself with on the balcony, but it still hurts enough to cry out.
The greedy eyes that have been watching me through the rear-view mirror for the entire trip don’t seem to care. Instead, they finally dart away, grabbed by something else happening up ahead.
I try to peer through the partition, but my seat belt catches me again. My hands are too stiff and sore to do anything about it. I’m useless.
“These fucking savages,” the body guard in the passenger’s seat growls. I hear the now all too familiar click of a gun being primed as he unlocks the car door and pushes it open.
The sound that comes next isn’t as familiar, but I immediately know what it is. A bloody gurgle replaces the body guard’s growling as his throat is cut; the unsettling sound is quickly followed by a muffled gunshot and a spray of blood. Before the driver can cry out, he’s met with the same fate.
I yell in fear and scramble up in my seat, desperately reaching for the door with one bandaged hand and trying to unbuckle my seat belt with the other. The fresh corpses in the front are pulled out of their respective doors just as my seat belt clicks loose. My door isn’t budging, though; it’s practically bolted shut.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I can smell fire in the humid air. Howling wind rushes in through open doors up front...
Then a new head pops in through the partition.
My heart nearly explodes.
No way.
“Hey there, little bird.” That smile. Those dimples. The emerald green in his eyes is still just as vibrant as ever.
Angel Montoya.
He lunges forward through the little partition and his lips meet mine. My tied tongue unfurls as he pulls back—a thousand questions race through my mind, but only one comes out of my mouth.
“Where the hell have you been!?”
