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“Mexicans,” the driver grits through his teeth, and I can see his eyes darting all over the street in search of a way out.
The Escarra? They can get us even here? I squeeze the back of his seat and look up. Through the windshield, I see men in masks surrounding our car, raising their guns, and god, I hope the car is bulletproof.
“Mom, I’m scared.” Misha tugs at my dress with tears in his voice, and I pull him into my arms and shut my eyes. At the same moment, the Mexicans open fire.
The car is bulletproof, but no material can survive dozens of bullets from every side. The windows crack, the car doors bend from the impact, and it feels like we’re in a tiny box shaken by a giant hand. Everything vibrates at a crazy speed, the window on my side bursts open, and I instinctively shove myself down, covering Misha with my body.
God, let us survive this. Please, I can’t let them take my son away, not like this, not—
A loud crash interrupts the Mexicans’ fire, and they start yelling something. I open my eyes just enough to see that there’s some commotion outside, when all of a sudden our driver grips the wheel and the car jolts forward. No, what is he doing? Does he want to kill us?
I look up as much as I can from my position, and I see Louis’s car right in front of ours. It looks like he just smashed himself into the Mexican car, forcing it to the side of the street. It doesn’t clear the road, though, because his car is still in our way. But while I watch him with bated breath, Louis sharply backs up, almost hitting the pole—and it gives us a chance to escape.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
I open my mouth to tell the driver to get the fucking car moving, but the Mexicans open fire again, forcing me to drop back into my position. I can hear Misha sniffling, his body trembling in my embrace, and I hold him close while our car finally starts forward.Please, get us out of here, please, get us out of here…
But the car stops in just a few seconds, and I can still hear the Mexicans’ voices behind us. What the hell is he doing?
“Drive away! Get out of here!” I yell at the driver, looking through the rear windshield—and that’s when I realize what he’s waiting for.
The Mexicans start running after us, but Louis pulls the car in their way, hitting two of them off their feet. They scream louder, and the second car tries to turn around to drive after us, but Louis’s car doesn’t let anyone pass through.
My heart jumps to my throat when I see Louis jump out of the car and almost fall to his knees. His coordination is probably affected by two consecutive crashes, but after a couple of stumbles, Louis focuses enough to run forward. The Mexicans try to shoot him, but they’re clearly out of bullets, and even though I know little to no Spanish, I can recognize that they’re cursing.
“Thanks, brother.” Louis jumps into the front seat with a wide grin as if he hasn’t almost died three times in the last five minutes. God, why does he have to be such a show-off, and why do I still find it hot?
The driver finally takes off, and I close my eyes and breathe out, slightly swaying Misha against my chest. He’s still crying and shaking, tearing the delicate lace of my sleeves with his fists, so I murmur to him that it’s alright, I’m gonna keep him safe. He doesn’t let me go until we get to Louis’s house, but at least his sobbing turns into sniffles.
“Well, here we are! Home sweet home.”
Louis turns to us from the passenger seat, still smiling as if nothing has happened, and I can only glare back at him with the fire of my frustration. Was the whole damn ambush a joke to him or what? I mean, I know what the rush of adrenaline can do to your brain, but I think it’s been enough time for him to cool down a little.
I don’t know if he catches my frustration or finally reads the room, but when neither of us reacts to his words, Louis shrugs and points at the house. “Let me know if you need anything. Your rooms are on the second floor, so…feel at home! I’m gonna call someone to pick you up, Hector.”
Louis and the driver finally leave the half-destroyed car, and I can hear them talk about a glass of whiskey as they walk to the doors. God, this must be the worst wedding day ever.
“Mom.” Misha tugs at my sleeve again and looks up at me with swollen eyes. “I don’t want to go there with him.”
“I know, honey.” I run my hand through his hair and cup his cheek before looking at the house over his head. “But it’s safe. Trust me.”
No matter how much I hate Louis, I have to admit that he’s been nothing but gentle so far. I mean, he risked his life to get us out of the trap, and that means something…even though I still don’t understand why he did this. Am I supposed to show him my gratitude? Damn, I guess I am.
I coax Misha into getting out of the car with me, and we both linger for a second to take it in. It’s smaller than Father’s mansion and doesn’t have as many fences or guards around. It doesn’t look like Louis hasanyguards, for that matter, but I guess it’s not that important when you live on your own, huh?
Instead of defensive walls, Louis’s house is surrounded by a belt of gardens that open up to acres of lawn from every side. In the distance I see lines of hedge that border Louis’s property from the sides and a line of woods at the back. It’s quieter here, farther from downtown Chicago, and I can’t help the feeling of peace.
The light colors of the walls and the warm lights coming through big windows make it look like an actual home—but I can’t trust Louis’s smiles. Not again.
True to his word, Louis doesn’t touch us for the rest of the evening. I don’t know if he understands that Misha needs time to adjust or maybe he just doesn’t want to annoy me further, but I appreciate it. Still in the wedding dress, I guide Misha by hand past the living room, where Louis and Hector are talking to someone over the phone, and to the stairs leading up.
It turns out to be easy to find Misha’s room—Louis has left a miniature dinosaur at his doorstep, and when Misha crouches down to touch it the dinosaur lets out a roar and shakes its head. It makes Misha startle, and he flinches away from the toy only to crouch back down with wide eyes full of awe.
“Mom, can I take it?” He looks up at me, and I feel my heart swell at the sight of something bright, something other than fear and anxiety, in his eyes.
“Of course, honey.” I run my hand through his hair and pointedly look at the door. “Do you want to see if there’s anything else inside?”
There is. Of course there is. Louis has bought over a dozen toys that are stacked in the middle of a room that is clearly made for a ten-year-old. There are fluorescent stars on the ceiling, a rug with a map of the world on the floor, pictures of sharks and ships on the walls, and a whole bunch of books and games all over the place.
