Page 108 of Bad Blood

I was with Santi at Legado’s reopening night…And then...

There’s a sharp pain in my chest when I remember what Sam told me.

There’s another when I remember the sound of two gunshots.

“Sam,” I rasp, tears spilling down my cheeks.

After that, everything comes back in a rush of choking fear—the hands, the bag, the pain. I’m too scared to look down.I’m too scared not to.My hands and feet are bound together with black duct tape, and I’m wearing a white, satin slip dress that’s ridden up past my knees.

Last night, I was wearing red.

Look around, Thalia… Assess your surroundings… Fighters survive…

I blink back my tears and force myself to concentrate. I’m in a box—a damp, dark, gray, steel box—that’s gently rocking back and forth. There are no markings on the corrugated walls, and no signs to tell me where I am, or who has taken me.

That’s when I hear soft crying.

Frantic, I scan the darkness again, and then I see her. There’s another woman in here, wearing the same white dress as me. She’s slumped in the corner, her head pitched into her knees, her long dark hair a messy contrast to her tan and bruised skin.

I’m about to call out for help when the crying stops.

“Perdona nuestras ofensas, como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden.”

Forgive our offenses, as we also forgive those who offend us.

“No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal.”

Do not allow us to fall into temptation and deliver us from evil.

I know those words. They’re the ending verse of the Lord’s Prayer...whispered in Spanish. I know that voice, too.

“Lola?” I hiss.

She lifts her forehead from her knees, tears matting her hair to her cheeks.

No. No, no, no, no.

As we stare at each other, Valentin Carrera’s words come rushing back, soaking me in their dark candor.

Shipping container.

Dead women.

Trafficked women.

We weren’t just kidnapped.

We’re being sold.

They say that when you’re desperate, your mind swings a pendulum back and forth between survival and comfort…

In this moment, I only see him.

Brutal, demanding, passionate him.

“Find me, Santi,” I whisper to our new hell. “Find us both.”

The End…

For Now