Page 58 of For Cowgirls and Kings

February 14th, 2025

Tut meows, his head lifted from its spot on my lap, his tail flicking angrily through the air. I look to where he’s staring, his eyes glued to my front door once more.

“What is it?” I grumble, running my hand over his fur. He’s been doing this every night for the last week—just staring and meowing at the door, agitation radiating off him. It’s not normal—Queen Tut is the easiest going cat alive. He shifts, his feet positioned beneath him like he’s preparing to pounce toward the door, and whatever might be on the other side.

Seeing him so on edge set’s the hairs on my neck at full attention, and even though I know it’s going to be nothing, I stand up to open the door. I won’t be able to go to bed if I don’t at least check.

I take a step forward, and Tut’s soft meow turns into a yowl—a menacing sound that I’ve never heard come out of him, and I freeze.

“What’s wrong, Tut?” I reach out to pet his head, if only to comfort him, but he jumps from the couch, prowling toward the door. I watch in horror as he side-steps forward, each paw closer making the hair along his back and tail stand straighter.

Something’s definitely wrong.

“It’s okay,” I coo, even as an overwhelming sense of dread settles like a brick in my stomach. Setting the half-eaten bowl of ice cream I’d just started down on the side table, I straighten, looking around for anything that I could use as a weapon.

But Tut howls again, his fear ripping through my little cottage, making me forget my own safety and I rush the door, pushing him out of the way to rip it open. Tut hisses behind me, but I barely notice as three shadows loom outside of the door, their eyes wide as if they’re caught off guard by myopening the door.

It takes them all of a split second to orient themselves—much faster than my own shocked brain—and they charge at me, pushing me into the house. I scream for a split second before a hand clamps down over my mouth, and a fist meets my stomach, knocking the wind from my lungs. I wheeze, my eyes watering as I fold over.

Blinking rapidly, I can hear their hushed voices, but I can’t make out the words over the roaring in my ears. A bolt of orange fills my vision a second before hissing and howling ensues, Tut jumping onto one of the intruders, his small claws cutting into the exposed flesh at their necks between their tops and masks.

My heart drops as the man cusses, grabbing Queen Tut roughly, throwing him across the room. He crashes against a shelf, and I scream once more, rushing in his direction. They can’t hurt Tut—he’s my ray of sunshine and I won’t survive without him.

“Grab ‘er!” one of them barks, and a set of rough hands grips my biceps, yanking me backward against them. I thrash, sending the end table over with a crash.

“Tut!” I scream, but there’s no sign of him, and even though I’m being dragged backwards, I can’t think of anything past my brave little savior who’s probably hurt and terrified somewhere.

One hand slips on my arm and I yank from the other, scrambling on the floor on all fours to get away. If I can just get to my room, maybe I can lock the door and keep them out. But I have to find Tut first.

“Fuckin’ get ahold of ‘er!” Hands grips me once more, and then the world goes black, my breathing instantly smothered. A mask—they covered my face.

I thrash against my restrainer once more, knocking over something, the sound of glass mixing with the ringing in my ears.

“You’re gonna hold still or imma find that cat and skinit alive, ya’ here me?” I freeze, the voice close enough to my ear to send the small hairs at my neck to flutter. The image of Tut being tortured fills my mind and the fight flees my body in one single wheeze. “Good. Now grab ‘er feet and get ‘er in the suit.”

Hands roughly pull clothing around me, and I remain perfectly still, focusing on my breathing so that I may calm it enough to hear above it.

“Let’s go.” They start dragging me, and I hear my front door open with a creak. I strain for any other sounds—someone out walking, a car driving by, anything—but am met with only silence.

“Please close the door,” I beg.

No one responds, and as we retreat farther and farther into the darkness, all I can think about is Tut.

Will he be okay?Will I?

TWENTY-TWO

MATEO

February 18th, 2025

My fingers drumagainst the wooden desk—anything to distract me from the heart pounding in my throat. I’ve been sitting here for close to an hour, and the Moztecha Police officer assigned to my case still hasn’t bothered to grace me with his presence.

I’d say I don’t blame him—I’ve been here every day for the last four days demanding answers to the same question—except I do blame him. But not as much as I blame myself.

Where the hell is Dale?

The door clicks open behind me, but I don’t bother turning around. My rage has built to a boiling point, and flying off the handle is the last thing Dale needs. Even if it’s what every lousy police officer here deserves.