Chapter 7

ELLA

As the night crawled through the hours, I found myself unable to stop my mind from drifting back to Leo. I missed him more than anything, which was weird considering how desperate I was to get away from him just hours ago.

My mind could hardly handle the conflict of hating him and loving him at the same time, and I could feel it slowly driving me insane.

The dream was bothering me too. Why Lili and not any of my other children? Why the swing? The mist? Leo?

I tried to make sense of it, but my hunger from not eating in hours was clouding my thoughts and making everything seem weird and delusional.

The two guards were playing cards. Richardo had so far lost his belt, his crucifix, and the two hundred pesos (eleven dollars) he had on him to Esteban.

“You cheat,” Richardo protested.

They’d been mostly speaking in Spanglish for my benefit. Neither spoke particularly good English, but it was good enough to allow me to follow the conversation and not die of boredom. How considerate of them.

“You are a bad loser,” Esteban replied with a laugh. “Now I want de picture of your mate from your wallet.”

“No, man. That is not cool,” Richardo said. “She is my mate. Find your own.”

“She’s sexy, and I like something to imagine when I… How do you say in English…?”

“Feel free to say it in Spanish. I don’t wanna hear it,” I announced, and they both turned to me.

“How about a new game?” Esteban suggested deviously before picking up an empty tequila glass from the table they were both sitting at.

“You shoot de glass from her head, I give you back everything, and you keep de photo. If you fail, then you give me it.”

“I don’t think the boss will like that,” Richardo replied unsurely.

“I don’t fucking like that. If he fails, he loses the photo, and I lose my life!”

“Shut up, puta,” Esteban snapped, before grabbing a spare piece of rope and fastening it around my mouth so that I could only make sounds that vaguely formulated words. “Are you a man, or what, Richardo?”

“If I win, you give me your watch, and we have a deal,” Richardo said, taking the gun from the back of his jeans.

“Agreed,” he replied, placing the shot glass on my head and taking a few steps back.

“Stay very still, puta,” Richardo said, closing one eye and aiming the gun just above my head.

I closed both my eyes tightly and tried to stop myself shaking.

I heard the trigger pull, then the bang, then the bullet shoot through the air, then a glass smash above my head.

“Ayyy,” Richardo cheered as I breathed a sigh of relief and thanks for my life.

Richardo threw his arms up in the air as Esteban grumbled and took off his watch. Just before he was able to hand it to Richard, the door of the warehouse flung open.

Andrea marched in, gun in hand, with an alert expression as he scanned the warehouse. He then saw the gun in Richardo’s hand, the broken glass, and the rope around my mouth and began hurling fast Spanish at the two men.

They had gone pale with fear as they stuttered and spluttered trying to explain themselves.

Pointing the gun directly at Richardo’s head, Andrea stepped closer now with an enraged expression as they cowered back.

“She is not your plaything,” he growled, before pulling the trigger of the gun. My eyes widened as the bullet hit Richardo in the shoulder, and blood began to pour.

He whimpered with pain before sinking to his knees.

“Get him out of here,” Andrea barked at Esteban, and he immediately nodded and began dragging the crying Richardo out, leaving a trail of blood behind them.

Andrea watched them intensely until they were out of sight before finally turning to me.

He looked me up and down before marching over and pulling the gag off and untying my hands.

“Now I see why they all fear you,” I mumbled once my mouth was free. He crouched down and lifted my arm and examined it carefully. “You just shot a man. He could die.”

“He’ll survive, but it will be painful enough to ensure he never defies me like this again,” he replied. “Your arm has been cut,” he added.

I looked down to see quite a nasty gash along the top of my lower arm that I hadn’t noticed before.

He took a white cloth from the pocket of his suit and began dabbing the wound. I winced at the pressure.

“There’s glass in there,” he said, taking a closer look. “Stay still.”

I watched as he pulled a long shard of glass from my flesh, cast it aside, and dabbed the wound again, this time causing much less pain.

He then stood up, walked to the table, and grabbed the open bottle of tequila.

“This may sting a little,” he warned me, before splashing some of the strong alcohol onto my arm.

“Motherfucker,” I hissed as a searing pain shot through my arm. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

“Tequila serves as a brilliant disinfectant,” he replied, looking at the bottle. “Forty-five percent alcohol. Nothing can survive that.”

“Including my flesh. Did you have no other option?” I asked.

“Just be glad I am even bothering to treat your wound at all,” he said, crouching down in front of me again. “Apart from this, are you okay?”

“I’m starving, longing to get out of these ropes, and a few minutes ago, a man, who had just had four shots of tequila, shot a tiny glass off my head,” I replied.

I looked down at the red marks around my ankles where the rough fiber had been rubbing.

“Us Mexicans have high tolerances and good aims, Blanca,” he replied, taking the rope off my ankles. “And good food,” he added.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he took my arm and began leading me out.

“To get something to eat,” he said as we reached the door. “Consider it a date,” he added, kissing my cheek.

Just before we left the warehouse, he pulled me closer to him and covered my eyes with his hand.

“What—?”

“Top-secret location, Blanca. I can’t have you knowing where I pile my stock…or where I keep my prisoners,” he interjected, before we exited into the fresh air and warm sun.

Before long, I heard a car door open and the voice of a man I didn’t recognize talking to Andrea in Spanish.

“She is not my bitch, Pedro. Not yet anyway. I just think her pretty face might be useful to me someday, so I plan to keep her alive for now,” Andrea said to him in English.

“You said that last time, sir,” the other man replied as I felt Andrea lift me into the car.

“The last one wasn’t nearly as beautiful, and she slept with one of my exporters. She had to go.”

“In my experience, if you want a job done properly, don’t give it to a woman. She’ll find a way to fuck it up,” the unknown man replied as Andrea got into the car too and closed the door behind him.

“You shouldn’t hold such old-fashioned views, Pedro.” Andrea laughed as we began to drive. “A woman can be very useful.”

Andrea then removed his hands finally from my eyes. We were in the back of a pristine black SUV with Pedro, a middle-aged man wearing a suit similar to Andrea’s, driving.

Through the heavily tinted windows, I could only see desert and cacti. No warehouse, no people, no anything.

“Women are good for three things,” Pedro began, “entertaining a man, cooking for a man, and raising his children.”

“You forgot cleaning,” I mumbled sarcastically.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Pedro raise an eyebrow and exchange a look with Andrea before Andrea pulled me over his lap and pinned my arms behind my back.

He held them tightly at an awkward angle, and I couldn’t help but whimper with the pain.

“Don’t speak out of turn, Blanca.” He growled in my ear, before sitting me back up, leaving me disheveled and shaken.

“You can rough her up more than that, boss,” Pedro said with a laugh.

I looked up at Andrea, who was staring straight forward with zero emotion and thought better of making a second comment.

“She can consider that a warning,” he replied deeply. “The next time won’t be so gentle.”

The rest of the car journey was silent. We eventually entered some kind of town where Pedro stopped the car, and Andrea practically dragged me out.

“You can speak now,” he announced as he took my arm and began walking through the streets filled with people doing their afternoon shopping.

“That hurt,” I said.

He smiled in amusement before placing his hand on my waist and slowly slipping it a little farther down to my hip.

“Perhaps I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he said.

I turned to him and forced myself to give him a flirty smile before I pushed his hand off me. “Perhaps,” I said with a shrug. “Perhaps not.”

Luca’s words rang in my head more than ever: make them think they have a chance and they won’t force it.

We passed a whole load of restaurants and cafés before Andrea finally stopped at one. The strong smell of food was driving me mad with hunger, and I was prepared to eat anything.

The place was fairly small and dark but smelled probably the best in the entire street. There were two rickety fans on the ceiling and lots of laughter and noise coming from inside.

A friendly looking man spotted us enter from behind the bar and approached us with a beaming smile.

“Andrea!” he exclaimed before launching into Spanish, which Andrea responded to as we walked farther into the restaurant.

I, with my blonde hair and blue eyes, seemed to turn a lot of heads, but so did Andrea. Maybe because he was well known, or maybe because he was the only one not dressed for the sweltering heat outside.

“And who is this?” the man asked eventually.

My focus snapped back at the sound of something in English, and I saw the man looking at me.

“Her name is Eleonora,” Andrea began, placing a hand on my shoulder.

Oh, so he does know my ~name~. So far to him, I had just been Blanca, which I assumed to be a term for a white woman.

“American Italian. Not a word of Spanish,” he added.

“Nice to meet you, señorita,” he said, nodding to me. “I will get you today’s menus, Andrea. Please sit.”

Andrea guided me to a table for two in the corner of the fairly busy restaurant shortly before the man returned with two menus. As soon as he was gone, Andrea took the menu from my hand and placed it underneath his own.

“Hey!” I protested.

“I will choose for us both, Blanca,” he replied without looking up.

“Why?”

“Uno, because it is written in Spanish, and dos, simply because you are my prisoner, and I said so,” he said.

“I want you to let me go,” I announced. “I can’t live under someone else’s rule.”

“It is that or don’t live at all,” he said.

“Why do you need me?” I asked. “I am of no use to you, and I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“All in good time, Blanca,” he said in a smooth tone as I felt his hand on my knee from under the table.

“Now be quiet and enjoy Mexico. Eduardo!” he called, seconds before the man came scurrying back. “Dos chilaquiles, por favor.”

“Sí. A drink?”

“Two beers,” he replied, and the man left again.

It wasn’t long until the food came, and it was delicious.

When I had finished that (which was pretty quickly), Andrea ordered me some flautas and fajitas and an enchilada and a burrito and a taco and some other stuff I didn’t even know what they were.

The point is, by the end of it, my hunger was gone, and I had a new appreciation for Mexican food.

“Can I get you any more drinks, señor?” Eduardo asked.

“Another tequila for the American,” he said, and Eduardo left.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to get me drunk,” I said, lifting up one of the empty shot glasses on the table.

He let out a short laugh and leaned forward. “You’re bold, Blanca.”

Eduardo then returned with the tequila.

“I’ve encountered enough men to know what you’re doing,” I said, before knocking back the shot. “But I’m surprised it’s a tactic that a man like you has to resort to.”

“A man like me?” he asked.

“Don’t tell me that cute little face doesn’t have the girls lining up,” I said, running my finger along his smooth cheek.

“Maybe I don’t want other girls,” he replied, his hand brushing against my leg under the table.

“And why would you bring me to a nice restaurant if your objective is to intoxicate me?”

“Maybe I’m a gentleman. Or maybe I just think good food and a nice date will increase my chances,” he said with a shrug and a grin.