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ISABELLA
I learned at a young age, everyone wears masks. For example, take my mother, Sonia Terrero. She’s known as the Queen of Terror, violent and cruel. She tortures and kills without blinking an eye. She takes pleasure in destroying things.
But when she’s with her custodian, Hugo, she becomes nothing more than another love-starved woman, and it’s given Hugo more power than he should have.
Then there’s me. The Princess of Terror who’s expected to follow in her mother’s footsteps.
Stepping into a pair of Stuart Weitzman stilettos, I check my reflection in the full-length mirror. I look like the perfect socialite in a shimmering black, backless gown with a plunging neckline. It’s a risqué dress with a split skirt and cut-away sides.
It fits my act as the silly little Princess of Terror who likes to dress up in the most expensive clothes.
That’s if anyone recognizes me at the party I’m planning on crashing at the exclusive club. Thanks to it being Halloween and the sugar skull makeup I have on, I doubt I’ll be caught. If I was in Columbia, my so-called friends might recognize me, but here in California, I’m just another girl with too much money looking for some fun.
A slow smile curves my lips.
It’s all about the risk for me. The adrenaline rush of walking into the unknown and not knowing what the next second holds in store for me.
I live for the rush.
It’s the only thing that makes me feel alive in the cesspool of death and depravity I’m stuck in.
No, not stuck. I’m no one’s prisoner.
I can walk away right this second, but I won’t. I’ll keep playing the dutiful socialite. The selfish and stupid heir to the Terrero cartel who spends her mother’s bloodstained money on all the luxury life has to offer.
It’s all for them. The girls and boys the cartel keeps luring and snatching off the streets. I don’t care about the drugs my mother floods the world with.
I only care about the innocent lives she destroys.
My smile grows as I lift my chin, my brown eyes filled with the courage it’s taken to become my own mother’s worst enemy. I’m destroying her from within. I’m the Trojan horse she never saw coming.
She’s never abused me. Never sold me. I was sent to the best private schools in the US. I attended St. Monarch’s in Switzerland for the best training. It would be natural to follow in my mother’s footsteps.
Only it isn’t. Not for me. I’ve seen too much horror. Too many children broken and used until they were killed. Seeing an innocent being torn apart leaves a stain on your soul, and I’ve seen enough to coat my soul crimson.
I’d like to think I take after my father even though I don’t know who he is. When I used to ask about him, my mother would just say she was with too many men to know which one was the father.
The anonymity gives me the hope that somewhere in my ancestral line, there was a good person. Someone I take after and that this evil isn’t the only blood flowing through my veins.
I’m expertly skilled in both masks I wear. The Princess of Terror – who only cares about the luxuries the cartel can give her.
Then there’s Isabella Terrero – the woman who spends her nights freeing slaves. The trained fighter who never misses a shot. The daredevil who knows no fear.
During the day, I drive around in my Audi R8 Spyder, and at night I go against the cartel with my Yamaha motorcycle.
Like I said, everyone wears masks.
Turning away from the mirror, I pick up my Jimmy Choo clutch that holds my credit card and phone. Walking out of my hotel suite, I take the elevator down to the lobby, leaving my two so-called bodyguards behind, blissfully unaware of my plans for the evening.
They’re probably stuffing their faces with food in their hotel room, thinking I’m tucked safely in bed. Jorge and Rico aren’t the best guards. Far from it. They’re more for show than anything else, which makes it easy for me to come and go as I please. My mother figures if I get myself kidnapped or killed, I don’t deserve to be her heir.
As I make my way to the exit with the grace of a princess, eyes follow me. The women watch me with envy and the men with lust.
The hotel arranged a limousine for me, and as I step out of the building, the chauffeur hurries to open the back door. Elegantly, I slip inside, and a couple of seconds later, I’m driven to the club.
I have no idea whose party I’m crashing. During lunch, I overheard two women my age gushing over this party being an event not to miss.
If it turns out to be boring, I’ll leave early. Hopefully, it won’t be a waste of time but an exciting thrill.
When the limousine pulls up to the club, I wait for the chauffeur to open my door, and then I step out right in front of the entrance. I don’t bother looking at the line snaking along the front of the club but walk toward the bouncer, who looks more like an ape than a man.
His eyes scan over me, and then he unclips the golden rope and nods at me. Inside, tiles gleam beneath my heels as I’m stopped and searched before being allowed to enter the first floor, where the elite are getting drunk and rubbing more than just shoulders. Music makes the air tremble, and colorful lights flash over the interior. I glance at all the tables, most already occupied.
Lifting my gaze to the second floor, where the VIP area has been cordoned off for the party, I watch as a woman dressed as a vampire hugs another woman who looks like an Egyptian princess.
I don’t see any bouncers vetting the guests, and it makes the corner of my mouth lift into a pleased smile.
Glancing to the right of the second floor, I take note of the narrow hallway that’s been decorated for Halloween.
I walk toward the stairs that go up to the second floor and fall in behind a group of four people. When we reach the top of the stairs, the four begin to greet their friends, and it gives me the perfect opportunity to slip past them.
I make my way to the bar and order red wine. When the bartender slides the glass over to me, I take hold of the stem and then turn to look at the private dance floor where a group of women my age is dancing and laughing.
Just as I take a sip and the wine bursts over my tongue, the hair on the back of my neck rises. I feel a strong presence coming from my left as someone stares at me. Slowly turning my head, I keep my demeanor calm. Then my eyes collide with dark ones, and the immense intensity coming from them delivers a punch to my abdomen.
The man is also wearing sugar skull makeup, sitting like a king at what seems to be the main table.
The music instantly fades, and my heartbeat begins to speed up as I meet the gaze of the thrill I’ve been craving.
You’ll do.
