I push the start button and panic when the engine growls to life. At that exact moment, Brutus howls. His repetitive bark competes with the sexy purr of the Audi.
Thankfully, it’s an automatic, so I put it into drive and let the tires roll forward. The gates automatically slide open as the sensors detect motion. I check the rearview mirror and blow out a jet of air when Brutus’ eyes are the only pair to see me leave.
It doesn’t take long for the car to pick up speed along the quiet descending roads lined by thick rock and abundant weeds. The sun hides behind a layer of clouds, making the sky gray and the risk I’ve taken a bit more ominous. I repeatedly check the mirrors, praying I’m not being followed. I feel like a pilot from Top Gun, finally finding my wings. The closer I get to the city, the more my adrenaline hits an all-time high. I love every heart pounding beat of it.
After a short drive, I’m in the city without a plan. I can’t show up at my cute apartment, because that would be too obvious and schoolgirl stupid. So, I abandon the stolen car on the outskirts of the city, certain a man like Tomás could easily track it, and start to walk without direction.
A light breeze tussles my hair. It feels like freedom, if that’s what this is called. More like being on the run. The day-to-day chatter of the city has me second guessing everyone. I constantly check over my shoulder and look away from every stranger who eyeballs me. Tomás has connections everywhere. I bet the street rats even know his name.
A haze of drizzle soon turns to heavy rain and I’m forced to take shelter in a busy backstreet café that stinks of hot, greasy food. Before I left the car in a parking lot, I had thumbed through the stack of cash and tucked a few notes into the front pocket of the large shirt I’m wearing. I didn’t need to take it all. I’m not a thief. But I do need food and a place to stay for the night until I figure out what to do next.
I drag out a tall metal stool, perch at the slim wall mounted bar, and stare at a cladding of aged photographs where diners from this small establishment smile for the camera. The interior hasn’t changed much, except for a wash of cream paint on the internal brickwork, and the wooden chairs set around tables are painted different shades of blue.
A waitress, not much older than me, wearing massive hoop earrings and red lipstick, takes my order and hands it to the stocky chef with grease stains on his striped apron. The tamale and drink I ordered will give me more time indoors without getting thrown out for loitering.
I’m not hungry in the slightest, since my stomach is in knots. Though when the waitress thuds the hot chocolate down next to me, I don’t hesitate to swipe the creamy topping with my finger. I’m a little disappointed. It doesn't taste as yummy as it should.
Perhaps nothing would ever taste as good as the dick of a macho cartel leader who’s fucking your throat.Ugh! Not even cream satisfies me anymore.
“Is there a decent motel nearby?” I ask her, watching as she unties her apron and slings it over her arm. “Or a hostel?”
She shrugs. “There are a few hostels dotted about. I don’t know much about them. Ask him.” Clearly unenthused by the conversation, she nods to the guy in the kitchen, hangs up her apron and disappears into the back. Apparently, her shift is over.
While I wait for the food, my thoughts drift to my brother, and I debate phoning him. However, even if I hadn’t left my bag behind in the alleyway, I couldn’t pull him into this, or el Fantasma. After the trauma they’d suffered, the last thing they would need is the Colombian cartel firing more bullets and issuing death threats.
Instead, I’ll lie low for a few days. Tomás will give up hunting for me and eventually forget I exist. Then I’ll put my apartment up for sale and tell Sal I’m moving on to somewhere else. He’d be happy enough if he knows I’m safe and feeding my wanderlust.
“Here you go.” The smell of the freshly prepared tamale makes my belly flip flop with queasiness.
“Thanks.” I push the plate away just a fraction and lean back when the chef plonks cutlery next to it. “Are there any hostels on this side of the city?”
“One or two. My wife would know more about them than I would. What she doesn’t know isn't worth knowing.” His chubby cheeks apple as he chuckles. “I’ll get a name for you.Comer niña.” He instructs me to eat and wanders off, scratching his head.
I reach for an abandoned newspaper and mouth out the headline.Businessman and notorious narco ringleader assassinated.The next line reads:Will his successor and first-born son rule the city with a bloodied iron fist?
My eyes eat up the short article, which doesn’t actually give any information about the Souzas. It’s all speculation and guess work—nothing solid. Nevertheless, I did the right thing to bolt. Nothing good would come from a toxic captive scenario. Even if he sets off all sorts of curious fireworks and naughty impulses within me.
It’s the first time a man has shown any real interest in my body. Other than strip searching me and assessing my figure for potential value after I was stolen by a woman claiming Elias was her father. Depending on how I look at it, in the grand scheme of bad scenarios, I was lucky the bitch had decided to send me to the Souza palatial plantation in the Colombian countryside rather than sell me off for a life of slavery. Small mercies.
Despite hating Tomás and at the same time wanting him to ravage me, I’m thankful he was with his father that day. He kept me alive against terrible odds. Despite the glimmer of clemency, I’m not naive to think he’d spare me with no ulterior motive. Men in power do heinous things when they know they can get away with it.
Bogotá is such a big city. It would take him a day to figure out where I am now and even then, by the time he pulls up in another flashy car, I’d be dust in the wind.
A door chime tinkles, but I’m too engrossed in the newspaper to look up. The bustle of life in the cafe stills as if the earth was obliterated by a meteorite and all the fragments sucked into a whirlpool. The hairs on my scalp prickle, my gut tingling with unease. My lashes lift upward bringing my gaze to the entrance.
Tomás.
Shane.
Both of them stare right at me. Only it’s Tomás’ glare, that dark shadow of anger and smug smirk of confidence, that both freezes me and sets my world on fire. He’s dressed all in black, fitting for the grieving son attending to business in public.
I swallow back the jitters in my throat when he covers the short distance like a predator, leaving Shane to close off my only escape. The smart tailored jacket he wears is left open and a pressed onyx shirt has his signature diamond cufflinks peeking out from the sleeves. Rather than wear a tie, the top button is undone to show glorious golden skin.
When he reaches me, he sets his handgun beside the uneaten tamale and drags a stool closer. He sits in front of me, so my knee is positioned between his thighs.
“If you wanted a tamale that badly, Marta would have made enough for all of us. We could’ve had breakfast together.”
My grunt makes his eyebrow hitch. “Are you talking about the elderly woman who cleans up after you?” I stare at him, not faltering from his hot gaze even if it wilts me like a flower in the midday sun. “You’re a grown-ass man capable of tidying up after yourself, aren’t you? Or do you enjoy having women work for you?”