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1
In terms of morality, I am far from a saint. That’s why I’m not afraid to venture alone into Hell—at least figuratively—even if it means risking my life. The fact is that I forfeited my soul a long time ago, but I was damned well before that.
It might be said that I grew up in hellfire. There were more bullet holes in the walls of my childhood home than toys. Being raised by addicts left me with no concept of true goodness, let alone love. What it feels like. Tastes like.
Until the Devil himself “rescued” me, my life was devoid of any genuine compassion. How tragic is that? In that moment—between misery and pain—one man took advantage of my broken soul and fed me a taste of what he claimed was happiness.
Dios mío, I can’t deny that it felt like bliss. And agony—there was no pain like it. I hated it. I craved it. My young mind could not comprehend this bittersweet emotion. It can inspire the loveliest sentiments, and drive you to commit sins you never would have imagined.
In all fairness, I’ve cured myself of that aching, illness of love once. I swore to never let myself be guided by it again.
Several years later, however, I am stripping naked before a man who reeks of stale beer and corn chips in a rundown club. All in the name of love. It’s one of the most degrading experiences of my life, and that’s saying something.
But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Franco.I chant his name like a mantra, and concern for him alone makes this worth it—feeling inconsistent air conditioning cool the sweat on my bare skin as the man in front of me pats his beer gut with one hand while twirling my panties around the index finger of the other.
Franco. Franco. Franco.With his innocent hazel eyes and delicate features that resemble mine. My sweet little boy. For him, I will endure anything.
“Small tits,” the man before me says disapprovingly. “But your ass is fine enough. I’ll put in a good word to Hugo’s crew, but I don’t think they’re looking for any more girls. Here—”
I receive my panties and eagerly slip into them before pulling on my shorts.
“Too many risks nowadays,” the man adds, “and, no offense, you don’t look like a pro, baby.”
I fight to conceal my disgust as he smiles to reveal a blackened front tooth.
Damn it.Who knew men rumored to be slavers could be so picky when recruiting fresh bodies? “I really need the money,” I say in a tone that I hope conveys desperation.
Too much desperation. The man chuckles and grips the front of his stained jeans. “If you need money, sweetheart, I can help you…if you help me.”
“Ah.” I don’t let my hopeful grin falter. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As I walk out of the bar into the sweltering heat, I don’t feel as dignified as I would like to think. The truth is, if he had offered me the chance to meet Hugo Garcia in person, I would have sucked anything he wanted. After a raid at the border sent all nearby governments into a state of alert, the narcos have been cautious. Despite Hugo Garcia’s arrogance, he can’t take the risk of accidentally hiring an undercover cop or reporter who is eager to unearth another aspect of the syndicates’ web.
Though, if I were a reporter, I’d be less scrupulous about getting what I want.
A juicy headline isn’t in my sights, merely an audience with Hugo or someone with a fraction of his power. While Garcia isn’t at the top of the food chain in terms of cartel bosses, he’s powerful enough. With his collection of strip clubs spread across the county, he controls the flow of illicit goods in and out of the city. Someone like that would have no trouble smuggling a woman and a child out of the country. In theory, at least.
The reality is he’s the last on a dwindling list of contacts I’ve tried to meet with. It’s time to stop playing games in the hopes of catching notice. I’ll have to come up with another way to gain the attention of a narco boss if flaunting myself before them isn’t enough.
And fast.
The clock on the dashboard of my battered van is a cruel reminder of how little time I have left—just twelve hours before Braulio’s gone for good. If I can’t find some way of stopping him… Franco will be out of my reach, at the mercy of a man too cruel to ever have custody of a child.
The name Braulio Rivera is enough to frighten even the normal citizens of this city who pretend ignorance of our thriving drug trade. He is as inescapable as a shadow, and thanks to my foolish sister, he’s inextricably linked to me by his sole son.
My nephew. When Tiena disappeared a month ago, Braulio cut contact with anyone outside his inner circle and began selling off bits of his operation. Through rumors, I’ve learned that my hunch is correct—he is leaving tonight with his son. I’ve been in the game long enough to recognize a cut-and-run when I see it.
Whatever Braulio plans to run from has him spooked enough to reject any attempts to meet. Phone calls. Visits. My last venture to one of his compounds nearly got me shot—a clear enough warning that I’m no longer welcome in his orbit.
But while he knew my sister intimately, Braulio doesn’t know the first damn thing about me—I won’t lie down and accept his tyranny without a fight.
I have fought and fought for the last few weeks without gaining any actionable intel. Finding another narco powerful enough to disrupt Braulio’s plans and get Franco out of his grip was supposed to be a stupid butdoableplan.
Hugo Garcia was my second-to-last resort. Only one man remains, but I know better than to attempt to draw his notice... Or maybe Idida few hours ago before winding up at yet another dead end.
Desperation leaves no room for logic or fear.
