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Leaving Colombia will be a defining moment for me, like the day I arrived here, and the day I discovered my birth mother dying in the bathtub two weeks later, the red from her wrists pooling on the white tiles below with a steadydrip, dripsoundthat haunts me even now.
Then, I think about Ella—that perfect little blast of sunshine—who’s never known that color, despite her own father dealing in it.
Unbeknownst to her, she changed the direction of my life on a beach six years ago, and for that I’ll cherish and protect her until the day I die.
She’s the reason Santiago’s proposition is the easiest ‘yes’ I’ll ever make.
My past threatened her today.
My past will keep on threatening her.
But not if I fly away and never return.
* * *
In the end,I go straight home.
There’s no detour to the village for a quick fuck, followed by ten seconds of bullshit pillow talk. Something inside me has shifted, caught up on the same breeze that’s blowing the old woman halfway across the sky and I’ve lost interest in easy pussy tonight.
The kitchen is deserted as I let myself in. The lights are off and there’s a lingering smell of spices from a dinnertime I never showed up to.
I pause by the island to listen to the muffled laughter coming fromPá’sstudy across the hall. He’s in there drinking bourbon with Santiago again. Their fighting days are all but done now that they own Washington, the CIA, FBI,andthe DEA. Their coke flows freely from here to the US. Every port and customs official up and down the East Coast have been stung by the cartel’s scorpion motif. They fear it, as well as respect it, and soon it’ll be up to me, Sam, and Santiago’s much older daughter, Isabella, to build on their empire of sin and make it our own.
I’m climbing the stairs, craving nicotine again, when a wave of uneasiness hits me out of nowhere, doubling me over, and flooding my mind with dread.
What the…?
I freeze, counting off my inhales and exhales in the darkness as I wait for it to pass, and then I hear someone breathing behind me—a rasping, croaky,should-be-deadkind of breathing—that sends a violent shiver down my spine.
“Who’s there?” I snarl, spinning around, but all I see are a medley of shadows, pierced by silver spears of moonlight.
Ella.
The urge to check on her is overwhelming, and I take the last few steps at a run. When I hit the hallway, I move quickly toward the yellow light stemming from the crack underneath her door. My hand is reaching for the handle when a piercing, animal-like scream from inside shakes the whole damn house awake.
!Dios Mio!
Barging into her room, I see the empty bed, and follow a trail of discarded bed clothes into her bathroom.
“What—”
“Edier! Help her! Help her!” Her sister, Thalia, flings herself on me, her tiny body vibrating with fear and misery. “She won’t stop shaking and crying. I’m so s-scared!”
No.
Beyond her, Ella is curled up on the white tiles at the foot of the bathtub.
Drip, drip.
Her back is arched at a weird angle, her limbs outstretched and rigid as if someone is driving a million sharp needles into them. When our eyes lock, I see so much pain in hers that my dead heart stutters. Her cheeks are wet with tears and there’s a strange red rash staining the bridge of her nose. I don’t even need to feel her skin to know she’s burning up with fever.
This can’t be happening. The bruja cursed me, not her.
“How long’s she been like this?” Pushing Thalia to one side, I scrape a hand through my hair and think fast, barely holding back the wall of panic that’s threatening to crush me.
“I just f-found her a few minutes ago.”
“Go get help, Thalia…GO! YourMamá,Papá, anyone! Wake the whole of Colombia up if you have to!”
