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Who wouldn’t?
I find his athletic body attractive and his face gorgeous. If only I knew more about his sexual preferences. My fantasy is to fuck dream girl while he’s fucking me. Not that it’s possible. The woman I see every night is just a mirage, but what if Derek and I…
Stop. He sees you like a kid. The stupid teenager who could barely hold his head and had a hard time holding a spoon.
“It’s been more than a year since he woke up. Are we doing something wrong, doctor?” my father questions and then curses in Spanish under his breath.
So far, he believes I don’t understand shit of what he’s saying.
“Sorry, Papa,” I say, looking pathetically sad and so apologetic.
One day I’ll discover his endgame and escape from this place. There’s a plan. Thanks to the software Derek provided me, I’m almost fluent in Spanish, French, and Italian, and I’m currently learning Arabic. Neither one of us understands how I learn so fast, but we’re not sharing this information with my adoptive father. I’m just happy to continue absorbing everything I can with the hopes of getting the fuck out of this house—alive.
This man, Ricardo Zamudio, claims to be my father. I doubt we’ve ever been so close. My gut says he’s using me for something. I just don’t know what. It probably has something to do with my memory. Maybe I know the passwords to his bank accounts or hold some key information to expand his cartel.
I also don’t like that I’m living with a drug dealer. Google has told me he’s a fucking cold-blooded asshole. Am I like him? I hope not. If only there was someone who could give me the answers to my questions. What if he killed them all?
I have theories on how I ended up here—other than he assassinated my family. He recruited me under false pretenses, and I had to join him to avoid getting killed.
A few months ago, when he realized my body was ready to do more physical activity, he had his men teach me how to use guns.
Since D saw potential, he’s been taking me to his house so I can learn to fight and do more than just shoot a regular weapon. He says I have a good eye and could even become a sniper. Also, he wants me to be ready in case I have to run.
I appreciate what Derek is doing for me, but it feels like they’re training me to be a part of the Zs, and it feels wrong.
I refuse to be a part of them, but I don’t seem to have many options available. Do I?
If I recover my memories, will my father let me go, or will he kill me?
My instincts scream that what’s locked inside my head is the key to my future but can also lead me to my impending death. Even if I remember, I’ll fake ignorance. At least until I figure out a way to get out of here.
“Mr. Zamudio. As I explained to you when I first diagnosed your son, this can take time.” The doctor pauses, pressing his lips together. “We’re talking about years. His body and mind are strong enough to continue doing his daily routine. Get him back into the rhythm of what he used to do before the accident. The brain is like a muscle, and the more you exercise it, the more it’ll respond.”
My father nods as if he understands and is willing to support me. The vein throbbing on his forehead tells me a different story. If he could, he’d pull out his AK-47 and kill us all for not doing what he wants. I’ve seen him do it a time or two. He’s a man-child who leads one of the deadliest organizations in South America.
“What do you recommend?” Derek finally speaks.
The doctor shakes his head. “There’s not much we can do. We have to give him time.”
“So we don’t need Dr. Doyle anymore?”
My back stiffens at my father’s question.Ineed Derek. He’s the only person who understands me. I can’t imagine what it’ll be if he just packs up and… I’m having trouble breathing.
“You don’t,” the neurologist confirms. “I read his report, and Travis doesn’t need him anymore. Dr. Doyle, if you need a job, I can use a man like you in my practice.”
You can’t have him. He’s mine,I want to say, but I remain quiet, trying to keep my breathing even.
“Are you sure about that?” I finally speak. My voice is calm—unaffected.
If there’s something I’ve learned, it’s to keep my emotions even—unless I’m too fucking frustrated. Then everyone knows I’m fucking angry and ready to draw blood.
“Travis, you’re doing remarkably. I would recommend you continue… What is it that he did before the accident, Mr. Zamudio?”
I glance at my father, wanting to say, “Yeah, what did I do, and who the fuck am I?”
My father clears his throat. “He helped me with some of our customers. Also kept the books and made sure our computer systems worked well. I have servers in one of my houses.”
It doesn’t surprise me that he mentions computers. There’s something about them that I find fascinating. I would love it if I could learn more.
