Page 2 of For Cowgirls and Kings

“Rafael, I think she’s takin’ notes on us. See ‘er eyes, markin’ ya? And now she knows yer name, mine too. Clever little princessa, what’re you gonna do?”

Fuck.

I bite my lip hard enough it stings, but keep my mouth closed. They all stare at me, their heads tipping slightly to one side, and then as if on an invisible string, tip the other. A shiver races down my spine. Brothers, if I have to guess.

And deadly one’s at that.

Rafael snorts, his height so much that he has to bend to fit in the small basement, and takes a step forward. In his nearness, I can see green eyes, squinting, as if cataloging each of my features, and thin lips covered in a thin dark mustache, pulled into a deep scowl—as if displeased by what he finds.

I lean away, my heart damn-near bursting in my chest. It’s a miracle I haven’t started crying yet, but my eyes feel achy and dry—I’ve been too terrified to even blink. “Princessa, yeah, that does seem to suit you, though you look more like a mouse than a dragon like the other one.”

What the fuck is he talking about?Dragon, mouse?“Please, what do you want with me?” I’m not above begging.

Marco tsks, his eyes narrowing in a look of disgust or disappointment or a mix of the two. “Now we’ve seen the teeth of the other, don’t play shy with us. Y’all think yer better than us”—he points to himself, and then his brothers—“but yer not. Ya might not be one of them by blood but I know yer one of them just the same. He watches ya, he tries to protect ya…”

“Piss poor job he did, too.” Rafael scowls before stepping back again.

“Still, the mouse act won’t get ya out of this. Only blood will. Only the death of the bitch or the brother will be sufficient enough payment for ya. And I know he’ll come for ya.”

Javier laughs, the sound so vile I fight the urge to throw up, bile readily in my throat. I don’t know where to look, but land on Marco’s face once more, ice settling over my bones, at the hatred I find there.

This man, who thinks he knows me, or thinks I’m someone I’m not, is going to make sure I’m never the same.

He plans to ruin me.

“Please, I really don’t know what or who you’re talking about. I promise if you let me go, I won’t say anything. I haven’t done anything. You have the wrong girl.” At the last part, my voice cracks, unable to contain my panic any longer. Tears start pouring from my eyes, like a burst damn.

Marco takes another step toward me, and then another, and a scream finally breaks loose. My heart fights for every beat as terror clamps down on my throat. And then his hand does the same, his fingers wrapping around my jugular. He begins to squeeze, and I thrash my head, my arms, my restrained legs, anything to get his icy hands from my body.

“Na Princessa. Yer exactly the girl that’ll break him, bring him to his knees.” He leans closer and tears burn wildly from my eyes, blurring my vision. “Yer the one thing that he’ll willingly spill his own blood for. And yer gonna fuckin’ watch.”

“How ‘bout we have some fun with ‘er while we wait for ‘im to show up Marco?” Javier asks.

I sob, my heart shattering for the girl I once was. For the girl I never had the chance to be. I have no idea who they think I am, but no one’s coming for me. And once they get bored“playing”with me, they’ll kill me.

The sad truth is, I’ve struggled with the will to live before. When you’re no one—no identity, purpose, or passions—you have nothing to keep you going. I’ve always been a shadow, a shell of a human fit to mold over whoever I’m with, or whatever I’m doing. For the first time, I feel stripped away, layer by layer, as I grapple with not only how to survive but why to survive. Underneath it all, what will I find? What if I find nothing?

Will there even be enough ofmeleft, to continue living?

“Come on boys, let’s see if we can make Princessa here cheer up.”

ONE

ADALENE

July 13th, 2024

Happy thoughts,Adelene Maria—my mother’s words rattle around in my head, useless as the day she first uttered them to me. Happy thoughts will cure anything; if you’re happy there’s no room to be sad or scared or disappointed.

Might as well just rub dirt in an infected gunshot wound and see if that cures it as well.

My eyes skim across the room bustling with smiling faces—students, parents, donors—all waiting for their ray of sunshine teacher to enter the room and ensure everything goes according to plan. No problem solving for them—Ms. Mendes will figure everything out.

What if Ms. Mendes is sick and fucking tired of figuring out every single problem? What if she’d like someone to take a little initiative and solve a problem or two themselves?Surely there are other adults in the room who’ve made decisions before—it’s not like I’m the lead surgeon in an open heart surgery or anything.

“Ms. Mendes! We were looking for you.” I plaster a smile on my face, slipping beneath my well-worn mask and turn to greet Sasha’s mom, Katie,or is it Karen, Kim?

“Good evening! How’s Sasha?” When in doubt, ask a parent about their kid and they’ll be your best friend. No one misses the opportunity to brag about the human they created—this woman who’s name I still can’t remember, included.