Page 2

A MONTH LATER

ROSA

The dark, dank New Jersey warehouse smells of mildew and sulfur. Is the stench from something that’s died in the building? Rodent droppings pepper the floor, with piles along the walls and in the corners. I can only imagine the diseases spread by the bugs and rats. Anxiety drips off my father like wax melting off a candle, and it raises my discomfort. I’ve learned to always expect the worst from him. He looks much older than he is, with thinning hair and pudge along his waist. His suit jacket is thrown on the dirty table next to his laptop. We’ve been standing around the deserted office for the last hour as his men mill around the ground floor of the warehouse.

“You’re not going back to your mother’s in Mexico. It’s time you pay me back for all the money I’ve spent on you.”

“What money?”

“The money I gave your mother for you.”

“Mama didn’t need your money.” I wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t taken me from home when my mother was gone. I’d only been home for a few days after my model shoot in Rio.

My father’s hand swings out and catches me across the face. It’s not the first time he’s hit me. He’s broken my nose, my wrist and so much more. I lick my split lip. Asshole. The coppery taste is a reminder of how much he hates me. He pulls his arm back, and I shift my footing so he misses. “Bitch.” I prepare myself for more abuse, but his phone dings, and he opens the door to walk out into the open warehouse. “This isn’t over. The only thing that has any value is your bloodline and your virginity.”

Well, one for two isn’t bad. I peer from the corner and look through the large glass window in the side office. A large man with a scar enters the warehouse. There’s just enough light to see the scene like an old black and white movie. The man carries an aura of authority my father has always wanted but never mastered. He and my father talk across the warehouse floor. I can tell my father is angry, and I can hear them arguing until all hell breaks loose. Bullets fly and bodies fall. If I’m lucky, the beast will kill the asshole.

I peek from my hiding place in the side office. My father approaches the scarred man who ducks behind a shelving unit to lure him. He’s considerably smarter than my father. Not really a surprise, though. My father jumps out as the man shoots him twice in the chest. The man moves in on my father’s lifeless body as two other men rush into the room. Time stands still as I realize I’m standing in an open window witnessing murder. Fear forces me to move as I bend down to notice an open area behind the counter by the window. I shimmy down, pushing myself behind the adjacent cabinet. Just in case they come looking in here.

Time passes and I debate whether to wait longer or head out. It’s time. No one’s coming in here. I notice his computer sitting on the desk. There’s a flash drive sticking out of the USB port on the side. I yank it free and toss it in my purse as I walk out the side door of the warehouse. My father left his keys in his BMW, so I’ll take it and leave. I have to hurry to his penthouse to get my passport and bags. I need to leave New York tonight.

It takes me forty minutes to get back to my father’s place. I use his garage opener to get into the condo garage and park his car. The elevator opens as I get out. Please let me get into his place and get out fast before anyone realizes he’s dead. I take the elevator to the penthouse and use my father’s keys to get in. Twenty minutes later, I’ve collected everything I brought and changed my clothes into casual traveling attire.

My phone rings. “Hello?”

“Rosa?”

“Uncle Arturo?”

He speaks to me in Spanish. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the condo.”

He snorts. “Where is your father?”

“I’m not sure.”

He clicks his tongue. He’s as big an asshole as my father. My mother hates him, too. “Weren’t you with him?”

“He was waiting for someone at the warehouse and told me to return to his condo.”

“That’s a lie. Your father said he was taking you with him after his meeting.”

Shit. “I don’t know why he sent me back; you’ll have to ask him.”

“You and I know that’s not possible. You watched him die.”

“Uncle Arturo, I don’t know anything. I just want to go home.”

He blows out his breath as I hold mine. “You witnessed an important man execute your father. You need to wait for Marco to get there.”

Uncle Marco is my father’s oldest brother. Uncle Arturo is my father’s uncle. I’ve never spent any significant amount of time with either, and I don’t trust them. My mother considers them just as evil as my father. “You just want me to wait here?”

“Yes. I’ll protect you from the Russian family of the man who executed your father.”

“Sure. I’ll stay. When will Uncle Marco arrive?”

“He should be there in the morning.”

“Okay.” I end the call and grit my teeth. There is no way I’m staying here to wait for my execution, or worse. I walk to my father’s study and remove the painting that covers his safe. Inhaling a deep breath, I remember the combination. I open the safe to dozens of wrapped money bundles stacked in the front. I reach in and grab the first handful of money, slipping it into my purse. The second stack goes into my carry-on bag and the last set of bundles goes into my backpack. I’ve got enough money to get me to Mexico and avoid the Aguilar cartel.

There’s a file in the safe, marked ‘insurance’. I pull it out. Inside is a dossier on each of my father’s brothers and his uncle. I slip that into my backpack as well. Hoisting my backpack onto my back and grabbing my bag, I walk into the kitchen. I open the drawer and pull out the mallet in the utensils drawer. I set my phone down to beat it on the granite counter. Pieces of glass fly around the kitchen, as I scoop up the pieces and shove them into a Ziplock bag. I’ll drop this in the trash the next time I stop.

I peek out my father’s door into the hall. It’s empty. I move quickly and calmly to the elevator, reminding myself to look like any other resident that’s heading on a trip. The doors open, and I step inside. I get down to the fourteenth floor before the doors open again. A small, elderly woman walks into the elevator and smiles. “Good evening.”

“Hi.” I just need to make it to the car and leave the garage.

We both smile in silence until she speaks. “I forgot my purse in my car, so I have to trudge all the way down to the garage to get it.”

I offer a soft nod. “I’ve done that.”

Her brow lifts. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so. People have told me I have one of those faces.”

“That must be it.” She motions to my bag on my shoulder. “Going on a trip?”

“Yes. I’m visiting a friend in Florida for the next few weeks.”

She beams. “I love Florida. The warm beaches and beautiful sea. I used to live there when my husband and I were newly married.”

The elevator door dings on my garage floor, and we step out. I turn and wave. “It was nice chatting with you.”

“You too, dear.”

An SUV turns the corner and I stiffen. The woman catches my hesitation and points to the large van to her left. I duck behind the van as the SUV stops at my father’s car. She walks to her small sedan next to the van and grabs her purse as I watch her from my hiding area. This is the second time I’ve had to hide tonight.

Two men get out of the SUV and run for the elevator as the third man drives the vehicle back down the lane. The woman peeks around the van and nods at me. “I left the keys to my car on the seat, along with my tablet. When you’re done with my car, I’ll use my tablet’s GPS to find it. I know what it’s like to be afraid of men.”

I’m overwhelmed by her kindness and sneak around the corner to hug her. “Thank you”

She hugs me back. “You’re welcome. Find a good life.”

I whisper. “I’m trying.”

She gets on the elevator as I take the keys off the seat. I put my stuff into the back seat and glance at myself in the rearview mirror. My mind runs through what I have in my bag to disguise myself. I reach into the exterior pocket to grab a scarf. Wrapping it around my head, I drape the ends to cover the edges of my face. I start her car and think about where I can leave it to get to safety but still be easy for her to find.

The SUV with the guy from the cartel sits at the edge of the garage. The guy’s playing on his phone and barely raises his head to look at me as I hold my breath before proceeding through the garage gate. I make the turn out of the garage and breathe. Okay. Where do I go?

The farther I get from Manhattan, the more paranoid I become. They’ll find me and just kill me if I’m lucky. The bag of phone parts reminds me to throw them away. I spot a fast-food restaurant with a large interior eating spot. I’ll throw away the phone and eat something.

Before I walk into the restaurant, I drop my trash in the tubular canister. I use the restroom after I order a chicken sandwich and a drink.

I don’t remember the last time I ate fast food. The crispy chicken fills my stomach, and the Coke is just enough caffeine to wake me up. Ten minutes later, I drive into the Queens Village Bus Station parking lot. I park the lady’s car and slip the tablet under the seat with the key. Opening my backpack, I select a bundle of money and tuck it under the seat as well. I step out of the driver’s seat and rotate my head in all directions as casually as I can. Reaching into the back seat, I haul my stuff out and take a second glance around the lot. Nothing catches my eye, so I head for the lobby of the building and the ticket counter.

“Next?”

I lug my stuff up to the counter, having pulled out cash to buy a ticket to Oregon. I have no intention of going that far west, but it’ll throw off the cartel if they track me here. There’s a stack of maps for the bus routes across the country, and I grab one. Where can I cross into Mexico to get home?

Few seats remain open on the bus to Corvallis, Oregon. The college girl sitting next to me is rattling on about what it’s like to go to Oregon State. I would have loved to go to college, but that was out of the question. Women don’t get an education. My asshole father mostly ignored me until I turned fourteen and then told my mother I was old enough to sell. My mother went after him with the pan she was loading in the dishwasher.

“I’ve been doing all the talking.” The pretty girl nudges my arm. “What’s your name? And your story?”

“I’m Anne.” I’m not. It’s my favorite book heroine’s name, but it works.

“Hi Anne. I’m Riley.”

“Hi Riley.”

She leans to shake my hand. “Where do you go to school?”

My mind searches for a plausible answer. “U Dub.”

“Oh, that’s cool. We play them in sports, sometimes. Maybe we’ll run into each other at a football game.”

I plaster a fake smile on my face. I have tons of practice pretending to be happy. “Sure, that’d be great.” I pat her arm. “Time to grab a little catnap.”

“Cool.” She leans back in her seat, and I blow out a breath, holding my bag against me.

I startle myself awake. “Shh. We’re pulling into the bus station.” The woman pats my hand.

I sigh. “Thanks.” Light fills the bus, and I get the first chance to see the various people who are traveling with me. No one has paid any attention to me except Riley. There’s no way she could have any connection to the cartel. We exit the bus as I scan the parking lot for any sign of anything sinister. There won’t be. I have my bag and my backpack, having tucked my purse in my bag. I’ll have to get a different bus ticket and head somewhere else. The lobby is bustling with people going in all different directions. No one seems to notice me at all as I step up to the counter, feeling less anxious.

An older woman smiles. “Where to, hun?”

“Um.” I look through the bus schedule. “Sioux Falls?”

She holds her stare and starts to nod. “We’re running?” Her hand touches her face reminding me that my face is bruised and cut.

Her question startles me. “Um.” I shake my head while I set my cash down. “No.”

“There’s a later bus to Sioux Falls instead, if you want a safe place to update your look.”

“Huh?”

She touches her hair. “My sister-in-law runs a salon nearby. She’s good with things.”

“Can I just walk in? And what would she do?”

“Your hair is so distinctive. You remind me of Snow White with your hair and eyes. Maybe a color change and something to cover the marks?”

She reaches across her area and palms a card. “Here’s her address. She’s next door to a cute boutique as well.”

I lean in. “Why are you doing this?”

She tips her head. “Once, I had a man who hurt me. I needed to get away, and I found sisters to help me. We all need help once in a while.”

I take the card and slip it into my pocket as she hands me my ticket. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, hun.”

I skirt off to the side and find the restroom. The mirror reminds me I look like a battered wife. Finishing in the bathroom, I hike my bags up on my shoulders and proceed out the door. I’ll just have to walk into the lady’s salon. But first, where to get a phone? I asked a security guard where I’d find a convenience store, and I’m heading there now.

The convenience store is dirty and crowded. The linoleum floors are smudged black and gray, hiding the white they should be. I keep my head down, tucking in my scarf. Men mill around the edges of the store, watching people as they go. I select two pay-as-you-go phones and two prepaid credit cards. I’ll load these with five hundred dollars each. This way I can rent a hotel room and set up Uber with one of my new burner phones. I move up to the counter and the older clerk pays no attention to me at all. He doesn’t look at me as he asks how much I want on the Visas.

I step out and notice Pittsburgh has a small-town feel. It reminds me of Portland, Oregon with the river nearby and the look of the trees as we pulled in. Hopefully, if the cartel finds out about my bus ticket, they’ll think I went to Oregon and search there. Across the street, there’s an art déco building that catches my eye. I walk into the salon, just down the street from the bus station and cringe as I enter. It’s bustling with patrons.

“Hi.

I smile at the receptionist. “The lady at the bus station gave me this card and said to ask for Janelle.”

She scrutinizes my face. Embarrassment creeps up my chest with the blush. “Sure. Hold on just one second.” She steps away and walks to the area of stylists behind the desk. She’s gone for a few moments and brings a lady back with her. The receptionist points at my bags. “You can set them close to the shampoo area and pick them up when you go. Meggie is going to wash your hair.”

I follow the cute blonde and stash my bags as she points to a chair next to a sink to wash my hair. I lean my head back into the sink as she sprays the water onto my head. “Your hair is beautiful.”

“Thanks. I’m hoping for a change.”

She smiles as we finish up. I hold the towel that she wrapped on my head and follow her to a separate cutting station near my bags. “Janelle will be here in a few.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I walk to my bag and pull out the first of my burner phones and open the package with my little pocketknife my grandfather gave me. I slice the knife into the package and power on the phone. The salon is busy, and no one seemed to notice me when I walked back here.

A stunning black woman with an inverted bob walks toward me. “Hi.” Her smile is genuine as she oozes kindness. “I’m Janelle.”

“Hi. I’m…”

She holds up her hand. “Nope. I don’t think anyone can find you here, but never use your name.”

I nod. “I’m using an alias.”

“Excellent.” She approaches and places her hand under my chin. “I’ve got some makeup to cover that.” She nods at my lip. “Not much we can do about the split.”

“I know. Not my first time, but hopefully my last.”

“You have gorgeous hair. We could put in a color wash that would wear off.”

Shaking my head, I take a breath. “I’d like you to color it. I want to look different. Men are searching for me.”

“I get it.” She picks up a comb and runs it through my long black hair. “Thoughts on a color?”

I blow out my breath. “Blonde.”

She cocks her head and raises her brow. “Can’t get there today. We can get you to a warm brown.” She touches my shoulder. “You’ll be stunning.”

I chuckle. “You’re stunning. I’ll be okay as a brunette and maybe I’ll have more fun, or at least fewer bruises.”

“Let’s get started.”

Three hours later, I’m eating a sandwich and waiting for the color to finish. Janelle glances through the foils and smiles. “It lifted lighter than I thought. Your virgin hair made it easy. Now, how short?”

I stare at myself in the mirror. I love my hair. The color and the length are me. Tipping my head, I bite my lip. “How short do you think?”

She leads me to the hair washing station. “Let’s get it washed out and colored and see what we’re looking at. You might just need to keep it braided or up to look different.”

An hour later, my hair is virtually the same length as before but the warm brown makes me look completely different. The technician bleached my eyebrows to match my hair color. The makeup she suggested darkened the color of my complexion to give me a tan I’ve never had. When I walk out of the salon, I feel lighter. Maybe I’ll save myself.

After five days and four different cities, I’ve arrived in Denver. The clerk at the B-budget hotel ignores me and takes my prepaid card. She hands it back. “I put a three-hundred-dollar deposit on the card, so I don’t need to take your license.” She looks at me like she can see through the makeup. It’s obvious to me I’m not the first bruised woman she’s seen. That’s a sad commentary on our society, that seeing a battered woman isn’t a surprise to people. I take my stuff to my room and shower. I startle myself in the mirror with the color change of my hair and my brows.