Javier and Luisa had both seen their son when he was brought in during the early hours of the morning, after the small plane had arrived from Mexicali. He’d been unconscious, lying on his bed, but otherwise looked fine. Maybe a bit of a bruise at the corner of his forehead, something Barrera did not apologize for. That man never apologized for much.
Javier sighs and gets up. So much for drinking in peace.
Chapter Thirteen
Vicente
“Vicente.”
The voice echoes in my mind. Then it grows legs and tries to crawl out of my dream.
“Vicente.”
It is the voice of La Mueca.
I recognize it anywhere.
Rage follows closely behind the recognition.
I sit up straight, my eyes flying open, ready to strike.
My head explodes in sharp bursts of pain, so debilitating I crumble back down.
“You know better than that,” La Mueca says. “You know how the drugs work. You’ve been out a long time. Had to give you extra. Had to rough you up too. You started to wake up in the middle of the tunnel. Wanted to fight me as you do now. I hope you don’t make that same mistake again.”
I don’t remember any of that. I can’t even think. There are flashes of the parking lot. Violet.
Violet.
The rage is back. My fists clench and unclench, and with a roar I get up off the bed I’m on, fly across the room at La Mueca, attempting to take him to the ground.
He flips me on my back with too much ease, my head slamming against the shiny wood floor.
“You need to rest,” he says, staring down at me.
I close my eyes, trying to get the waves of pain and nausea to dissipate.
“On the floor, wherever, but you need to rest,” he continues.
He walks away to the corner of the room.
We’re in my bedroom. It seems completely foreign now. Like it used to belong to someone else. I suppose it did. The Vicente who used to live here was someone completely different. Unlearned.
“I want to see her,” I manage to say.
“I am sure you will in time,” La Mueca says calmly.
“I want to see her now.”
“You can’t.”
I turn my head, look over at him while he sits in the wicker chair, casually crossing his long legs, the permanent frown on his face never changing. He stares off out the window, at the palms that sway in the breeze, creating moving shadows across his face.
I’ve never understood this man. I suppose that’s why he’s the sicario. You’re not supposed to understand him. He’s just supposed to do as he’s told.
And while I never cared to understand him before, now I realize he might be the only ally I have.
I just don’t know if he has enough of a soul left in him.
Probably not.
Sensing my stare, he glances at me, his eyes narrow, slinky. Oozing ambiguity.
“Vicente,” he says. “Everything has changed. You better learn to roll with the punches. Adapt. Or someone will get very hurt. And it probably won’t be you.”
“What is he doing to her?”
“Your father?” he asks mildly. “Oh, I don’t know. What he feels is right. What he can’t do, I will.”
I had a feeling.
I stare at him, my vision still foggy, pleading with my eyes. “I meant what I said before. That I would give anything for you to leave her alone.”
“And you know I don’t work for you, Vicente. As much as you wish it were true. I follow orders. You must follow orders too. That’s all the advice I can give you. The more you behave, the less I’ll have to do to her.”
“But why?” I cry out, getting to my knees. “Why any of this?”
“Questions for your father.”
“I’ll kill him if I see him.”
“Which is why I’m here,” he says. “And why you’re a prisoner in your own room now. You’re lucky you have an ensuite. Violet is not so lucky.”
I try to get to my feet but stumble, going sideways until I’m against the wall. I let my cheek rest against it, trying to breathe, trying to get the world to stop turning.
Somewhere here is my love, my mirlo.
Probably alone or with my father.
Hurt and frightened.
And ultimately betrayed.
All because of me. My ineptness. My stupidity. My brashness. I led her straight here. She’s going to suffer, possibly even worse than I can imagine, all because of me.
“Don’t let the guilt eat you alive,” La Mueca says, clearing his throat as he adjusts his position in the chair, crossing the other leg now. “It clouds your judgement.”
I take in a deep breath, wishing I could push the remnants of the drugs away, wishing I could think clearly. That I could act.
The door is closed. All doors in the house lock from both the inside and the outside. I have a key but I’m pretty sure it’s no longer in my possession. If I could even reach the door before La Mueca does.
“Your judgement is cloudy right now,” La Mueca says again, voice mild. “Which is why you need to rest. And you need to accept. You are no longer in America. You are no longer in control. I would argue that you never were.” He pauses, looking me over. Points to my bed. “Sit. Sit and think.”
I do what he says, only because I’m starting to sway on my feet.
I sit down on the bed, put my head in my hands.
“You know none of this was an accident, don’t you?” he asks. “That you were set up.”
Set up?
“Your father deserves more credit than we often give him. He made it so you would discover Ellie Watt and set out to find her. He believed you would bring her back to him. Well, I suppose the daughter is almost as good. Even better because now he has two motives. Revenge. And teaching.”
“Teaching?” My brain is reeling from this information. Reeling.
I was just a pawn all along?
“Your father wants what is best for you and the cartel. You have lessons to learn, he says. I have no doubt you’ve already learned some of them. But you will learn more. You will.” He finishes that last sentence with a melancholic sigh.
There is a knock at the door.
“Barrera!” My father’s voice barks from the other side.
I am not ready for this. I am not ready for any of this.
“Just a moment, patron,” La Mueca says, getting to his feet and sauntering over to the door. He pauses before he opens it, eying me over. Takes out his gun, holds it at his side. His eyes bore into me, cold, viper-like slits.
Don’t try anything, is what they say.
I need to heed that warning.
But I also know I’m having trouble controlling myself.
La Mueca reaches into his pocket with his other hand and brings out the key to unlock the door.
When he opens it, my father is staring up at him in disgust. “Why the fuck are you locking it from the inside?”
La Mueca just shrugs and steps out of the way.
Both my father and my mother step into the bedroom.
My mother wastes no time in rushing over.
“Vicente!” she cries out, practically collapsing onto the bed, pulling me into a hug. She’s crying but I feel nothing for her. All I can think about was how she told me to look up the Tijuana cartel. She told me to find those files knowing I’d find out about Ellie. She was just as guilty as my father.
“Oh I hope they didn’t hurt you,” she says, running her hand down my cheek, her tear-filled eyes roaming all over my face.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I say to her, more sneer than anything, and give her a violent shrug.
An audible gasp sounds from within the room.
I’ve never spoken like that to my mother before. Ever.
I’m certain my father will do something in retaliation but it’s my mother whose eyes flash with hurt and humiliation, her palm that strikes me hard across the face.
Crack.
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“Don’t you ever fucking talk to me like that!” she cries out, getting to her feet. “I am your mother, Vicente. Have some damn respect.”
I wiggle my jaw, ignoring the sting as I glare at her. I’ll show her no such thing right now. Not when she and my father have been conspiring against me.
I’m not even a son to them. Just a pawn in their game.
“Give me some time alone with him,” my father says.
I raise my brows, exchange a glance with La Mueca.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he says cautiously.
“Why the fuck not? He’s my fucking son isn’t he?”
“I really think I should supervise,” La Mueca says, running his hand along the scruff on his jaw. “He’s not quite himself.”
“Let me decide that then.”
“We should at least restrain him,” La Mueca says.
“Restrain him?” My father laughs but now he’s looking me over like I’m someone else, someone he should be fearful of.
I hope he can see how much I despise him.
“What do you think he’s going to do?” my mother says, going over to the door and standing beside my father.
“Whatever Javier would do if he were in his shoes,” La Mueca says simply.
“Enough with the commentary, Barrera,” my father says, not taking his eyes off mine. He dismisses both of them with a wave. “Go attend to Violet. Get her some clothes. She’s been naked for too long.”
My eyes widen at the thought.
My Violet. Naked in front of these animals.
Red hot burning rage flows through me, freely, unstoppable.
I’m up off the bed.
Running across the room.
My hands almost at my father’s throat.
My mother screams.
My father is afraid.
I am pure vengeance.
I will not stop.
But…
La Mueca interferes.
Steps in front to protect his patron.
He doesn’t use the gun on me, doesn’t have to.
I collide with him and in a second he twists my arm behind my back, nearly breaking it, and with a yelp that rips out of my throat, slams me down on the ground, all air knocked clear out of my lungs, for the second time today.
“Oscar!” my mother yells at him.
But my father is laughing. A nervous, high-pitched laugh.
“Jesus, Barrera, you weren’t kidding. My god. Fucking god. I think you were going to kill me, Vicente.”
I would have tried.
“So you see,” La Mueca says. “He needs to be restrained. It’s for your own good. And his.”
Before I can even get a proper mouthful of air into my lungs, La Mueca is hauling me up to my feet and shoving me down into the wicker chair. I struggle, but the man has skills and works fast. I’m tied up with rope before I know it.
“I can’t take any of this,” my mother says, shaking her head violently. “This isn’t right. Vicente, your father is doing what’s best for you. And Javier, I think you’ve done enough to him.”
He ignores her, looks at La Mueca. “Get Luisa out of here. Then go to Violet by yourself. Make sure she’s not too lonely.”
My mother starts to protest but La Mueca grabs her by the arm and ushers her out of the room. I feel her eyes on me the whole time but I can only stare at my father, my head full of stars from when I was taken down.
When the door clicks shut, my father lets out a long sigh, running his hands through his hair.
“I didn’t think I would need to do this with my own son, not after being in the same situation as your girlfriend.” His hands drop away and he shrugs. “And yet, here we are. You know Vicente, I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this. That we could discuss things in a civilized manner.”
“Civilized?” I let out a sour laugh. “What about kidnapping is civilized?”
“You could have made it easier on yourself and you know it. But you had to be a show-off.”
Fucking hell.
“I know what it’s like,” he goes on, slowly walking across the room, hands behind his back in supreme lecture mode, “to be young and in love. And stupid. So painfully stupid. You made a lot of mistakes, Vicente, some of which surprised me. How fast you must have thrown away the master plan. Even I never made that mistake.”
My face grows hot, everything inside me is burning, including my heart. I’m afraid it could consume me, consume everyone here, if I let. And god, I want to let it.
He stops at the end of the room, slowly paces back. He doesn’t even glance at me. It makes me wonder if it’s all rehearsed. Dad. Always a showman.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be so hard on you, though. You’re paying for your mistakes now. I can see that. And you’ll continue to pay.”
It has to be said. “Why?” I ask, my voice breaking. “What’s the point of it all? Why do this to Violet? To me? Is it for revenge? Is that all this is?”
“You make it sound like revenge means nothing,” he says, stopping in front of me, his head cocked as he studies me. “Sometimes I wonder how you happen to be my son at all.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t consider you to be my father anymore.”
He raises a brow. “Ouch.” He exhales, blowing a strand of hair of his face. “Oh, but it doesn’t matter, my boy. Blood is thicker than everything. More powerful than money. Greater than love itself. Blood is all we have in the end. Family is more valuable than gold.”
“Fuck you.”
He runs his hand over his jaw, squeezing his chin. Then he shrugs. “You can say what you want, it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t change the past. Only the future. You want to know why, Vicente? Because there are things bigger than the both of us. There are empires and legacies that must go on. And you, for all your bravado and swagger, you boy, have so much to learn. So much.”
“Such as what? I can’t trust my own parents? That they’ll use me as a pawn in their own game?”
“It’s your game, too. If you can’t see that, then I know I did the right thing.”
“Violet is an innocent girl. She doesn’t know…she didn’t know…a single fucking thing about her parents. She was shielded from the truth, kept in the dark. She’s good. Pure. Right down to her very core. She makes me want…”
My father narrows his eyes at me. “What?”
I swallow painfully. He won’t understand. But that doesn’t keep the truth from coming out. “She makes me want to be a better man. For her.”
He studies me, frowning and I swear I see a flicker of something in his eyes. Recognition, maybe. Something he doesn’t want to relate to.
“She can’t make you a better man,” he says slowly, as if with pity. “Only I can do that. That’s the role of the father. Your mother teaches you all that is right. I teach you how to live with all the things that are wrong.”
“This is so fucked up.”
He nods, looking me over. “Yes. I suppose in normal families the son doesn’t have be restrained and tied to a chair. But we have never been a normal family. Our doors here can lock you in or lock others out. There’s a million metaphors in these walls. There is no playbook. All I know is I need to do what I can to make you stronger. That is my job. That’s always been the father’s job.”
“You think hurting Violet will make me stronger?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “I do. You can’t possibly understand sacrifice, what you need to do to run a cartel without knowing what loss feels like.”
I stare at him in awe. A horrible, raging awe. My father is more fucked up than I ever thought, and that says a lot.
“So what? What are you going to do? Leave me here tied up? Keep her locked away? And then what? What’s your grand plan? Or do you even have one?”
If he does or doesn’t, his face gives nothing away. He almost looks bored.
Fucking bored.
I want to scream.
I need to b
arter.
“Everything will work out the way I want it to,” he says. “How do you want it to work out, Vicente?”
I take in a deep breath, the ropes digging into my wrists. I wonder if I can break them if I try hard enough, but I also know that La Mueca isn’t an idiot and probably has me done up in some psycho sicario knots.
“I want to see her.”
“You will.”
“I want you to promise not to hurt her.”
There. Something terrifying flashes across his eyes.
Just for a second.
Like witnessing a lightning strike.
But it leaves a permanent imprint behind my eyes.
Remorse.
Fucking remorse.
He already has hurt her.
Everything inside me dies.
“What did you do?” I whisper.
“Something I hope I never have to do again,” he says gravely. “But I will, if you don’t play your cards right.”
My heart is being wringed out in my chest, like a wet cloth, every last drop of feeling squeezed out of me. I can barely breathe.
“Vicente,” he says, almost urgently. “In time you will understand all of this. In time you will thank me. I promise you that. I never knew what was in me, never knew what I was truly capable of, until I lost everything. It broke me. It hardened me. It made me better and stronger in every way possible. I need that from you. Don’t you see that? You’re my son. I can’t lose you just because you’ve lost your heart to someone. Love gets you killed.” He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It gets you killed. And I’ll be damned to lose you.”
Then he straightens up and heads toward the door. “Once you start playing nice, with your head on straight, I’ll get Barrera to untie you. Only then can we negotiate. Only then can we talk. We can work something out. Man to man, father to son, not like this. Never like this.”
He opens the door and walks out. It shuts behind him.
Locks.
Leaving me tied to the chair in my own bedroom.
Chapter Fourteen
Violet
A knocking sound brings me out of my head.
I hate it.
The darkness is so kind, so sweet.