My heart was beating rapidly, I found it almost hard to breathe. My mind raced and my chest heaved with each passing movement, escalating with every gunshot that fell from my rifle. I was a possessed man on a mission, and no one would fucking stop me. To most this was only a reenactment, but to me it was so much more.
It was the first time in my life I ever felt…
Fucking important.
Come hell or high water, no one could ever take that away from me. It was mine. Along with the future of what I’d become.
El Santo…
“You did good, son,” my father acknowledged, gripping my shoulder after the parade and festivities had begun. We were standing beside the stage, watching the fireworks go off.
I nodded, trying to hide the smile of satisfaction on my face. My father was a military man, through and through. I could only recall a handful of times I’d ever seen him smile or laugh. He held back his emotions like a shield, saying it was easier for enemies to identify your weaknesses if you wore them on your sleeve. You’d become a target the moment they caught a whiff of feelings, catching yourself a fucking bullet and earning you a place six feet under.
To this day, I didn’t know if I would be considered one of his weaknesses or just his son. Physical affection was also a lost concept in my home. When I was a boy, I once asked him why there were never any hugs or love in our home. His response was “Because I’m not raising a goddamn pussy. I’m raising a man.”
It was the first and last time I ever asked that question.
The only women in my life were the ones who worked for us. I had great respect for all of them, especially our housekeeper, Rosarío. She was the closest thing to a mother that I ever had. When I was younger, she used to be around all the time, but as the years passed, she wasn’t needed in our home as often.
It didn’t affect our relationship though, I checked in with her every chance I got. Her home always felt more like my own than the one I lived in with my father. It was my favorite part of the week, catching up with her over a cup of coffee and her homemade torticas de moron. Rosarío’s husband died at a really young age, and she never remarried. She didn’t have any children of her own, but she always told me even though God didn’t bless her with her own kids, he gave her me. The affection I lacked from my father, Rosarío made up for tenfold. She’d known me all my life.
As far as girls were concerned, I didn’t have time to waste on them. Nor did I give a fuck about the bullshit that came along with dating and pussy. Women were unnecessary complications. A soldier didn’t waste time on love or what it entailed.
Nonetheless, I was grateful for and appreciated the life I was given. The world I was born into. There was no other way of life for me. This was all I’d ever known. I had attended the best schools, received the finest education, and knew more about the world than most men my age. I was fluent in five languages, including English, the language of the Yankees.
I never wanted for anything.
My heart was hardened to hide any emotion, like it never existed in my body. I was already conditioned for battle. Taught how to shoot a gun by the time I was five, trained how to fight and kill with my bare hands before I even entered high school. But despite all that, I never witnessed any real acts of violence.
Although it was just my father and I, we had come across hundreds of men in my eighteen years of life. Partially being raised in Salazar’s homes, due to the fact my father barely ever left his side. It was the norm to see Emilio Salazar behind closed doors, the power and control he held were things that needed to be admired. When he walked into a room, everyone stopped what they were doing and waited. When he spoke, they listened. When he moved, they watched his every step.
When he…
When he…
When he…
It didn’t fucking matter.
All eyes were always on him, no matter what.
The life I lived was one to be envied. Not many men could say the leader of our country was also a second father to them.
“How do you feel?” Salazar questioned in Spanish, walking over to my father and me. “Let me guess, important, right?”
I nodded, unable to form words. I wasn’t surprised he knew how I felt, he could read everyone like a damn book.
“You are important, Damien. That’s why I chose you, and it’s time you recognize that. It’s your moment to prove yourself to your leader. Do you understand me?”
“Emilio—”
With one look, Salazar rendered my father speechless. For a split-second, I swear I saw fear overtake my dad’s eyes, but just as fast as it appeared, it was gone. Quickly replaced with his natural, solemn demeanor. Immediately making me wonder if I had only imagined it.
“With all due respect, Emilio, Damien is merely a—”
“Damien can answer for himself,” I crudely interrupted my father, speaking about myself in the third person. Standing tall and stepping out in front of him. Getting right up in his face until my chest touched his. I spoke with conviction. “I don’t need you to answer for me, ever! I’m not a child,” I affirmed, cocking my head to the side, not holding back. I didn’t think twice about putting him in his place, repeating Emilio’s words back to him. “Do you understand me?”
Salazar grinned, narrowing his eyes at my father. “He may be your son, Ramón, but let me remind you he answers to me, as do you. Fuck his rank. He proved to me tonight that he’s more than ready. He comes with us, and that’s an order. Let’s go!”
As we made our way to his limo, I was still agitated with my father. I didn’t know what bothered me more, the fact that he didn’t think I was capable of whatever the fuck Salazar wanted me to take part in. Or the fact that I still sensed he was worried about me. We drove down some dimly lit streets, the tension in the limo was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The silence was almost unbearable. I did my best to ignore it by staring out the tinted windows to pass the time, waiting to reach our final destination. There were three others from the security detail riding along with us, including Pedro. I couldn’t help but notice that my father had yet to make eye contact with me. His glare hadn’t shifted from his hands clasped out in front of him. Plagued by his thoughts that I knew had nothing to do with my outburst.
I turned my attention back to the road, still not knowing where the hell we were going. Tree after tree whipped by, making it hard to see our path. Blurring into the background. Fading into the distance. I ignored my looming thoughts, focusing on the adrenaline pumping through my veins. Trying my hardest to keep them in check. The last thing I wanted was for them to mistake my anxiousness for fear, or worse, prove that I wasn’t ready for this.
When in reality, this was all I ever wanted.
The only sounds I could hear were the tires tracking through the unsteady route, my heartbeat, and the thoughts running through my mind. Not one person moved an inch the entire way as the limo continued down its unstable path. It got darker the longer we drove, stirring the mixed concerns in my gut, wondering when the fuck we’d get there. The neighborhoods began to get more rural and run down with each passing minute. Even though I had been packing heat since my twelfth birthday, this could be the first time I would actually have to use my gun. My thoughts incessantly shifted for what felt like the tenth time.
I forced myself to keep my shit together. The eerie quietness wasn’t helping my disposition. I felt my nerves creeping up once again, adding to the endless questions I knew I’d never get answers for. The limo’s headlights shined off the obscure road until finally all the trees suddenly cleared, and it was then I realized we were in a rancho. We must have been at least an hour away from the city, driving into what was considered el campo—the slums. Now that the full moon wasn’t blocked by a bunch of trees, it shined bright against the dark sky, illuminating a vast piece of land. A small, run-down finca-style home that looked like it would collapse on a windy day stood in the middle of the land. The tattered wood siding falling at the seams
with paint chips scattered along the hazardous porch. There was a barn in the far back in the same condition, covered by more trees and acres of land.
We were out in the middle of fucking nowhere.
As soon as the driver hit the brakes in front of the house, my father opened his door as if he couldn’t get out of the limo fast enough. Salazar and his men weren’t far behind him. I instinctively placed my hand on my gun before stepping out into the humid air.
Waiting.
Watching.
Prepared.
Emilio’s security team formed a barricade at the front door, my father in the middle, shielding Salazar right behind him. Weapons drawn and aimed at the entrance, anticipating our leader’s signal.
The sequence of events that occurred next happened so fucking fast, yet the whole night seemed to play out in slow fucking motion.
Salazar knowingly nodded to my father who didn’t have to be told twice. He pulled his guns from his holsters, took a step back, and rammed his foot against the door. The sound of a woman’s screams caught my attention first, it was impossible not to hear it. They echoed through the night and the carried cross the acres of open land.
I watched with dark, dilated eyes as Salazar’s men, my father included, rushed into the home, not giving anyone inside a chance to run or hide. To seek safety. Nothing.
In that moment, I became fully aware that this was a skilled ambush—one that had been carried out many, many times before tonight. My body voluntarily moved like it was being pulled by a thread, crossing the battered threshold. More ear-piercing chatter rang out, stopping me dead in my tracks. I stood there frozen in place, my feet suddenly glued to the goddamn ground, forgetting for a moment all the years of training I’d had. I quickly shook off the confusion, taking in every last detail like the expert soldier I was.
There were shards of wood from the front door scattered around the foyer. A table overturned in the middle of all the debris. Broken glass from a vase with white ginger mariposa flowers, trampled all over the worn flooring. Family pictures that had fallen from the walls upon impact, casually laying there with smiling faces staring back at me through shattered pieces.
The irony was not lost on me.
My father and his men didn’t waver, not even for one fucking second, springing into action. Each of them grabbing ahold of what appeared to be members of a loving family. My father forcefully gripped onto an older man’s shoulders, crudely ripping him away from what I assumed was his wife and young daughter. He begged for their lives and they pleaded for his, fighting to get free, reaching their flailing arms out to each other, and praying to God not to hurt him. He must have been in his late sixties, judging by his gray hair and frail appearance. There was no need for the severe assault my father was handing him. The man would have gone willingly, done anything to save his loved one’s lives.
“Por favor! Te lo ruego! No las lastimes!” he bellowed, “Please! I beg you! Don’t hurt them!” in a tone that resonated deep in my core as my father slammed his fist into the side of the man’s torso. Making him barrel over in pain.
Pedro held back the young girl who couldn’t have been any older than me, while she bellowed, “Papi! Papi! Papi! Por favor! Papi!” The tremor in her voice made me sick to my stomach.
Two of the guards stood watch by the mangled door, closest to me. Not even fazed by the vile scene unfolding in front of them, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary, just another routine night on the job. My eyes shifted to the last guard who had a death grip on the mother, holding her so fucking tight that I thought her arms were going to tear right out of her sockets. Watching her struggle against him, desperately wanting to run to her family. Both of the guards held onto the petite females like they were holding back a couple of two hundred pound men, instead of a couple of fragile women. Manhandling them on purpose, getting off on the fucked-up situation.
“Please! Let them go! It’s me you want! Please! Just let them go!” the older man pleaded relentlessly, breathing through the agony of what was happening before him. He tried to fight my father off with all the strength he could muster, clawing, shoving, whipping his body all around. Taking hit after hit my father delivered to the side of his head for each word that fell from his bloody lips. Never once silencing his pleas for their lives.
“NO! Don’t hurt him! Please! Don’t hurt my husband! We will give you whatever you want! Please don’t hurt him! Please! I beg you! Have mercy!” the older woman shrieked while endless tears streamed down her face. One right after the other with no end in sight, mirroring the exact expressions on her teenage daughter’s face.
“Te amo, Julio! Te amo con todo mi corazón!” she added, “I love you, Julio! I love you with all my heart!” Putting up one hell of a fight.
“Shut the fuck up!” Salazar roared in Spanish. “Shut them the fuck up! NOW! Enough with the theatrics!”
Wasting no time, my father dragged the man to a nearby chair and punched him in the face until he was nearly unconscious. Hanging on by a thread. Causing a trail of blood to ooze from his battered face. His head drooped forward as his body hunched over, going in and out of consciousness. No longer putting up a fight. My father then pulled zip ties from his back pocket, using them to secure the old man’s hands behind his back and his ankles to the chair legs.
The two guards, who were still holding the women captive, didn’t bother tying them up. Knowing they didn’t have to because the women were of no challenge to them. They slapped them around a few times, making their frail bodies even weaker from the force of their blows. Taking hold of their hair, pulling their heads back before placing the barrels of their guns to the sides of their temples. That was all it took to render them speechless, barely being able to hold themselves up any longer.
I swallowed hard when my blank stare found their sadistic expressions. They were showcasing their handy work. Wearing their bloody knuckles proudly.
No remorse.
No guilt.
I couldn’t stop myself from looking back at my father, the captain of Emilio Salazar’s fucking army, the man who had always taught me that women were different.
They weren’t part of the battle.
They weren’t casualties.
They weren’t prisoners of war.
Our eyes locked across the distance between us, it all made sense now. His stare telling me everything that couldn’t be spoken. His concern, his need to speak for me, his shame and remorse currently eating him alive.
They were all fucking lies.
“Damien,” Emilio called out, bringing my gaze to him.
It was the first time I ever felt like I was truly looking at him. The real him. Our fearless dictator leaned against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, one leg draped over the other. Not a hair out of place, his military fatigues intact, and a smug expression spread across his fucking face. But that’s not what had my attention. It was the fire in his eyes, burning into my soul.
He was getting off on this as much as his men were.
The power.
The control.
The fight he brought into this family’s home.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he acknowledged, nodding to me. “Things aren’t always the way they appear. I can see the judgment in your eyes, it’s radiating off your body. You dare judge me, your leader who has done nothing but turn you into a man? I made our country what it is today, and you still stand there and question me? Are you questioning your loyalty to me because of a couple of whores and an old fuck? Eh?” He pushed off the wall, placing his hands into the pockets of his pants. Slowly walking over to where my father stood with the older man who was still struggling to stay alert.
“I didn’t say a word,” I simply stated, watching his every move.
“You didn’t have to. You see, Damien, I was once like you.”
I blinked, taking in his words, still completely aware of my surroundings. How the guards kept fucking with the women, running their guns down
their breasts, stomach, and thighs. Making their torn, flimsy nightgowns stick to their sweaty skin. Pressing their cocks into their asses, purposely making their terrified bodies sway against their dicks. The only sounds that could be heard were their low, subtle whimpers, knowing they probably would not make it out of here alive. The men who were standing guard by the doors just waiting for their fucking turns.
I played my part, acting as if I didn’t notice the invasive acts. Giving the monster standing in front of me exactly what he craved.
Respect.
“I wanted to protect my country, I wanted freedom for all my people, I wanted a life where everyone was equal. I—”
“Everyone but you,” I interrupted, standing taller, not backing down.
He grinned, peering up and down at me. “And you. What? You think you’re not treated different? Held to higher standards? Given privileges most would die for? Oh, come on, Damien… look in the goddamn mirror. You’re just fucking like me. Always have been and always will be. You should be thanking me, not doubting me. The man who has given you everything!” he seethed, making the women yelp in response. “There isn’t anything running through your little mind that couldn’t be more wrong. You see this man?” He roughly grabbed ahold of the father’s hair, jerking it back so I could see his mangled face. “This man is a fucking traitor!”
“What did he do? Not pay his fucking taxes because he had to feed his family?!” I spewed the truth, the one I’d been hiding from myself my entire life.
Emilio cocked his head to the side, once again eyeing me up and down with a look I’d never seen before. “He was working with the enemy to bring me down. He and a bunch of other traitors were having meetings in this house! Organizing my demise to bring down everything I’ve worked for my whole life! And do you know what we do to traitors?” He paused, shoving the man away, causing his chair to stagger.