“Did you want to go see Hector tomorrow, Victor?” Javier questions, pulling out his own pack of cigarettes and lighting one.
I watch him for a moment before responding. “Perhaps that’s a good idea, I’ll let him know that his sweet girl is on her way here,” I tell him.
Sofía Montero is a mystery to me. I should look online for photos, her social media should be inundated with images, all young people have those at the moment, but I don’t want to spoil the moment she’s brought into my office for the first time.
I have a feeling Sofía will be something else. I have a feeling she’ll surprise me and offer me her life for her father’s. I wonder if she’s the type to martyr herself for those she loves. And since her papá is the only one who’s alive, I’m sure little Sofía will be promising all sorts of things to have me free her father.
The moment I walk into the warehouse, the stench hits my nostrils. Hector is cleaned up, somewhat, and he looks halfway human. Besides the broken jaw and the swollen eye.
“Victor,” he rumbles.
“Sofía sends her love,” I inform him, when I stop just in front of where he’s chained to the chair. He stares at me through one eye, and I wonder if I should draw this out or kill him now. Sadly, the sweet tone of Sofía’s voice reminds me that if I have leverage, I can toy with her.
“Have… have you…?”
“She’s not here yet, but my men will find her. You’ve raised quite a firecracker, Hector.” I chuckle, leaning in close to his face. “I’ll make sure her fire is snuffed out like a flame. And you know why?” He doesn’t move, so I continue. “You stole from me. I’m giving you an out here, Hector. Your daughter can spend sixty days with me, and you’ll be clear of your debt.”
There’s surprise on his face, I’d recognize that expression anywhere. Men have looked at me with it when I’ve allowed them to walk out of here; the only difference is, as soon as their feet hit the red sand outside, they’re shot in the back of the head.
I never offer anyone mercy. It’s not in my blood.
“Anything,” he wheezes, and I wonder just how much this asshole would do to clear his name from my shit list.
“Anything?” Tipping my head to the side in question, I wait for him to disagree, but he doesn’t. “That to me means you, Hector Montero, are allowing me to take your sweet Sofía and keep her as my plaything until I decide otherwise. If that’s your agreement, you’ll be cleared of any wrongdoing and your debt to me will be paid.”
His head moves slowly. “I agree. But…”
“Ah, there’s a but…” A smirk tilts my lips as I watch him blubber.
“There’s something you should know,” he lowers his voice, as if he’s about to tell me a secret. And when he finally speaks again, a secret he does tell me, and it only confirms that Sofía will be mine. I’ll make sure of it.
8
Sofía
Darkness has settled on the city, and I’m slipping out of the apartment with my backpack. There’s not much in it, but I’ve taken a few photos of me, my mother and father, and two of her necklaces—one that hangs around my neck, the other hidden in between the clothes that I’ve packed. Also, I have the money papá had hidden under the floorboards of our home, my passport, and two changes of clothes, which will need to be washed soon.
I don’t know how long I’ll be on the run or where I’ll end up, but I know getting out of the city is the first thing I need to do. There’s no rhyme or reason to my plan, only the need to see anything other than this godforsaken shit hole.
My heart is heavy as I reach the street. A few people mill around, but because of the hour, I know it’s going to be quiet enough for me to run without being noticed. Most of the stragglers are drunk and don’t even give me a second glance, which I’m thankful for.
Rushing past the music store, I offer it one last long stare before racing away. The piano I cleaned for Victor sits in the window proudly. I always found it strange that nobody ever attempted to break into the shop. Perhaps he was under the protection of the Cordero Cartel.
I never knew much about that sort of thing or how it worked. All I’ve overheard was people paid Victor for protection. To be kept safe from thugs. If you were hurt, robbed, or maimed by anyone, Victor would send his men, and they would leave you hanging on to your life by a fine string.