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“Ah, Bella.” Juan’s voice slithers through the dimness, smooth and venomous, a whisper of the devil himself, announcing his presence before I even see him. He steps into the room, and the air thickens, pressing against me like unseen hands squeezing the breath from my lungs. “You look uncomfortable. Such a pity.”

He saunters closer, the heavy sound of his boots against the concrete floor echoing in the charged silence. The teasing glint in his dark eyes doesn’t reach the rest of his face. It’s a mask of cold calculation. Every step he takes is measured, a predator closing in on what he perceives as weakened prey.

“Your concern is touching,” I say, my voice steady despite the drumming of my heart. “But unnecessary.”

“Always so brave, little sister,” he mocks, circling me like a vulture. “But bravery won’t change your fate.”

His words are meant to chip away at my resolve and to make me doubt my own strength, but I’m Isabella Vasquez. I was born into a world where trust is fleeting, and betrayal is as common as the beads tossed with abandon during Mardi Gras. I don’t scare easily, and it’s time he learned that fact.

He stops in front of me, leaning down until we’re eye to eye. “Tell me,” he whispers, poisoning the air between us, “do you ever wonder if your precious loyalty is misplaced?”

“Never,” I bite out, meeting his gaze head-on. “Loyalty isn’t given—it’s proven. And you’ve failed.”

He straightens up, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. The room feels hotter, the atmosphere burning with unspoken threats. Juan may have the upper hand now, but I will not let him see me break. He is El Jefe, the head of Los Serpientes de Cristal, but I am his sister and I’m just as strong. He thinks I’m a pawn in his game of power, but even pawns can traverse the board unnoticed, biding their time until the moment they strike.

“Is that what you think you have,hermanita?” Juan’s voice is a low hum in the dim room, reverberating off the concrete walls. “Or is Ice only pretending to be loyal to you so he can get to me?”

I grind my teeth together, refusing to rise to the bait. Juan doesn’t know Ice at all. I have no doubt that the relationship I’m building with him is real. My gut never lies. Ice and his club are genuinely caring, nothing like Juan and his world of treachery and backstabbing.

“Your silence speaks volumes, Bella.” Juan’s amusement is evident, even as he prowls closer, his shadow merging with the darkness. “You think he can save you? A biker with a hero complex?”

“Heroes are just men with good PR,” I snap. “And saviors? Fairy tales for fools. I stopped believing in them the moment I realized what our family did for a living.”

“Ah, but every fairy tale has its wicked witch,” he teases, his words laced with venom. “And we both know who wears that title in our family, don’t we?”

I ignore the sting of his insinuation, focusing instead on the sliver of light beneath the door. I will find a way out of here. He’s not going to win if I can keep my wits about me.

My gaze roams, cataloging details—the distance to the door, the location of an old metal chair I can use to cut through the plastic around my wrists and ankles, the echo of footsteps beyond the walls. Each observation may bring me closer to freedom. All I need is a chance to escape and I’ll take it.

“Admit it, Isabella. You’re scared.” Juan leans in, trying to pierce the veil of my composure with his intensity. “Scared that Ice won’t come for you. Scared to face the truth about what you really are—a Vasquez, through and through.”

“Fear isn’t in my vocabulary,” I retort. The plastic restraints cut into my wrists each time I move, but I ignore the pain. I take a breath, steadying myself, even as the scent of mold and stale air fills my lungs. This place, these chains, they won’t hold me forever.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Juan chuckles darkly, stepping back, his boots echoing ominously. “But deep down, you know the truth. And so do I.”

He vanishes into the gloom, leaving behind nothing but his scent and the ghosts of his words clawing at my mind. His presence lingers like a bad scent, but it’s time to act. I shift in the chair, ignoring the dull ache in my shoulders as I focus on the task at hand. The zip ties dig in, slicing deeper with every move, the plastic unyielding, like Juan’s grip on my life. But as I thinkabout Juan and how much I hate him, anger surges through me. These bindings won’t hold me for long.

I try a variety of movements to bring my chair closer to the metal one across the room. Its jagged edges glint in the light, becoming me closer. When I finally manage to reach it, I jam one of my wrists against it and saw back and forth.

“Come on,” I mutter. Every small movement sends a jolt of pain up my arms, but I welcome it—it means I’m still fighting. My grandmother’s voice echoes in my mind, her favorite saying, “Donde hay voluntad, hay camino” — where there’s a will, there’s a way.Abuela, your wisdom fuels me now.

The plastic gives, barely—a whisper of weakness. I grit my teeth, sawing harder, pushing through the pain. Juan thought he could break me, but he underestimated the passion in my soul. I can’t afford to let fear take hold, not when my future with Ice hangs in the balance.

A sharp pain bites into my wrist as a piece of plastic finally breaks free. My heart soars with hope. It’s a small victory, a frayed edge, but it’s enough to make me renew my efforts.

“Yes,” I hiss, allowing myself the briefest moment of satisfaction. This isn’t just about escaping zip ties, it’s about shedding the bonds of a life I never wanted. I’ve lived under the shadow of the cartel for years, but that’s all going to end tonight. I’m done. And it’s time Juan realizes it one and for all.

Using my free hand, I work a piece of the metal chair free. I use it to cut through the plastic encircling my other wrist. My hand works tirelessly, twisting, pulling, and scraping against the unforgiving plastic. Each second is crucial. Each second is a step closer to freedom or a step closer to death. Either outcome lies squarely in my hands—quite literally.

“Almost,” I whisper, feeling the tie relent further. With one final, desperate twist, the second tie snaps free, falling to thefloor and sending a rush of triumph through me. I stifle the urge to shout out loud.

Catching my breath, I listen intently for any sign of Juan or his goons. Silence is my ally and my enemy. Rubbing the red, raw marks on my wrists, I steel myself for what comes next. I bend to cut through the last two ties. It only takes a couple of minutes to free myself, but it feels like an eternity.

Rising, I try to ignore the pins and needles feeling in my feet. The room holds its breath. Every shadow feels watchful, every silence a threat. Inching toward the door, I press my back against the damp wall. My ears strain for any hint of Juan’s return. The dim light casts long shadows that dance with every flicker, playing tricks on my already frayed nerves.

My legs move with a stealth born of necessity, each step a silent prayer to remain unnoticed. I edge closer to the door, fingertips brushing the rough surface as I search for locks or traps. It’s unlocked—a stroke of luck or a sign of arrogance from Juan, thinking I’d never break free.

The handle turns with a soft click, quieter than my racing heart. I ease the door open, wincing at the faint creak of its hinges. Two guards stand several yards away with their backs to me. Smoke drifts on the air. Clove cigarettes. Illegally imported, of course. Leave it up to Juan to ignore Federal regulations.