When Lies Unfold

Chapter 52

It’s fuckin late,and I’m tired as hell and more than ready for a shower and my bed.

It seemed to take forever by the time we got shit sorted on site—three goddamn days, no less. Juarez pulled through on his end, thank fuck, and we got the girls relocated safely.

“Get some rest, and we’ll all meet up in the mornin’.”

Gordo dips his chin in acknowledgment. “’Night, boss.”

I strip off my clothes and climb in my shower. The warm water pourin’ over me brings a sense of calmness with it. After I’m cleaned and dried off, I pull on a pair of athletic shorts.

When I head to my bed, though, I stop short, ’cause somethin’ feels off.

I stare down at the pillows and the still-mussed covers on my bed from the mornin’ I left abruptly. Scrubbin’ a weary hand down my face, I waver between givin’ in to somethin’ dangerous or playin’ it smart.

I’m out the door in a heartbeat, clearly not choosin’ the latter. My bare feet weave through various hallways until I arrive at the closed bedroom door guarded by one of my men, Tavo.

He immediately straightens when he sees me even though he wasn’t slackin’ off in any way. “Hey, boss. Is there somethin’ you need?”

I tip my head toward the closed door. “Everythin’ okay with her?” When he hesitates, my senses go on full alert. “What is it?”

Expression troubled, he casts a brief look at her door before lowerin’ his voice. “She’s been havin’ some bad nightmares. Calls out for Belleza.”

The idea of Lola cryin’ out in her sleep acts like a goddamn wreckin’ ball crashin’ around in my chest. “Anythin’ else?”

“No, sir.”

I nod. “Good.” Without another word, I enter Lola’s bedroom and quietly ease the door mostly closed behind me.

Faint paths of moonlight cut through the slats of the window blinds in the room, illuminatin’ her sprawled body on the bed.

Uncovered except for part of a bedsheet lyin’ across her middle, she’s dressed in shorts and a tank top that’s ridden up some.

When I venture closer to the side of the bed, my eyes lock on her shoulder. A plain white bandage is affixed to it, and I’m relieved that the area around it doesn’t appear swollen.

Gently, I lay a hand on her uninjured shoulder, and her body jolts before goin’ rigid. She remains asleep, but she lets out a tiny whimper that has my stomach knottin’ up.

“Shhh,” I attempt to soothe her. “It’s me. You’re safe.” Her body relaxes when I ease my arms beneath her. It’s a testament to how tired she must be ’cause she doesn’t rouse as I gently lift her off the bed.

Usin’ my foot to open the door wider, I ignore Tavo’s curious glance when I stride out with a sleepin’ Lola.

Voice muted so I don’t wake her, I tell him, “You’re off duty for now.”

“Got it, boss.”

Once I return to my room and gently ease Lola into bed, a sense of peace washes over me. It’s fuckin’ weird as hell, but that’s exactly what I feel right now.

I crawl into bed beside her while a voice in my head screams, The fuck are you doin’?! But when I reach for Lola’s hand and fit my palm against hers, that voice shuts up.

For the first time in years, when I close my eyes, I fall right to sleep.

The sun is barely breakin’ past the horizon when I rouse. Damn, did I sleep like the dead. Clearly, I needed it.

Awareness edges in as I register the soft, female curves pressed against me, warmth surroundin’ my entire left side. Long, silky hair tickles the side of my neck.

Lola Arias is a snuggler. My mouth curves into a grin. Who woulda thought?

I slept longer than I should’ve, and I know Gordo’s gonna be knockin’ on my door, wonderin’ what the hell the holdup is. Instead of movin’, though, I curl my arm tighter around her, mindful of her shoulder.

Turnin’ my face her way, I press my lips to her hair and inhale the coconut scent that I’ve come to associate with her.

I can tell the moment she starts wakin’ up and becomes aware of her surroundin’s. Her body tenses, and her breathin’ changes, and hell if I wanna have her pull away from me. Not after last night’s bullshit and certainly not after gettin’ pulled away from spendin’ an entire night with her.

“You can pretend you’re still asleep. Just…” I trail off, and fuck if my voice doesn’t sound weary as hell. “Just let me lie here for a minute with you.”

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t move either. She lets me have this—whatever the hell this is—without givin’ me shit about it.

We lie in silence for fuck knows how long before she murmurs with obvious hesitance, “Everything go okay with…whatever you had to take care of the other night?”

A trace of uneasiness creeps into my mind, but I shove it aside. It’s just Marcelo’s fuckin’ seeds of doubt tryin’ to take root. It makes sense Lola would ask because of the interruption that took me away from her.

I waver on how to answer. Does she really wanna know? Or is she just askin’ to fill the silence? Inwardly, I sigh. Fuck it. “No. Not really.”

My honest answer has her shiftin’ to place her palm on my chest. She rests her chin on it and peers up at me with sleepy eyes.

I like that I’m gettin’ her first thing in the mornin’ before her defenses are shored up. And goddamn, she’s beautiful without even tryin’.

With those brown eyes locked on me, I find myself admittin’, “We intercepted over a hundred girls bein’ trafficked.”

Her eyes go wide, her lips partin’ in horror. I simply nod and continue. “My men discovered ’em bein’ hauled through Panama and nearin’ our border, and that’s when Gordo got word.”

“That’s why he sounded so worried that night.” Concern lights her eyes. “Are they okay?”

I draw in a deep breath before answerin’. “Most of ’em. Some of the others—the ones who put up the biggest fuss, most likely—suffered from withdrawals from the drugs they’d pumped ’em full of.” I shake my head. “We tried everythin’ we could, but over a dozen died.”

Sadness takes hold of her features as she breathes out my name. “Santy.”

I stare blindly at the ceilin’, jaw tight as I recall the sight of their bodies. They’d convulsed, pissed themselves, and puked—some had choked on their vomit. It wasn’t how any one of ’em should’ve left this world.

But fuckin’ Hidalgo chose to inject ’em full of his synthetic drug that’s his current pride and joy. A lethal mix of fentanyl, meth, and heroin.

“Wanna know the worst part?” I murmur. “The bastard’s like a damn Hydra. Whenever we think we’re close to cuttin’ off his operation, he pops up somewhere else.”

My hand moves in slow strokes over her back. “He’s been pullin’ the same shit for the past few years. It’s how I found Alma.”

Her head jerks up, alarm etched on her face. “Please don’t tell me she?—”

“No. She wasn’t trafficked. But her piss-poor excuse for a mom overdosed on that same drug those girls had in their systems.” I grit my teeth. “Motherfuckin’ Hidalgo.”

When her spine turns to rigid steel beneath my palm, my eyes narrow on her. “What’s wrong?”

She wets her lips, givin’ me the impression she’s nervous about somethin’. “You said Hidalgo?”

“Yeah.” Icy fingertips of premonition trail down the back of my neck. “Hidalgo Carrera. Why?”

“I’ve just”—she lowers her eyes to my throat, but not before I catch a flicker of fear—“heard horrible things about him.”

The pit of my stomach twists. “Yeah?”

She nods, her gaze still averted. “I thought the trafficking stuff was just a rumor, but I guess I should’ve known better. After all, he’s a nar—” She stops short, her eyes flyin’ to mine in panic.

“Go ahead and say it.” I watch her closely. “He’s a narco.”

A crease forms between her brows. “Santy, I didn’t mean?—”

“I know.” And I do. “It’s easy to lump us together in the same category.” With my eyes drillin’ into hers, my tone is firm as hell. “But one thing I’m not is a fuckin’ human trafficker.”

We fall quiet, and she resettles her chin on her hand. Within a few minutes, the tension dissipates.

“You have a good time with Sabrina?”

“Yes.” Her tone is thoughtful. “It was nice to see her and catch up.”

“Good.”

A beat of hesitation precedes her words. “Santy, I wanted to?—”

She’s interrupted by a subtle brushin’ sound against my bedroom door that has us turnin’ in alarm. A metallic click follows before the door’s pushed open. I’ve already got Lola behind me, my gun in hand with my finger on the damn trigger, when Alma comes rushin’ inside.

“Jesusfuck,” I exhale under my breath and return my gun to my bedside table.

Holdin’ up the thin lock-pickin’ tools, my daughter beams with pride as if Santa’s just delivered her presents early.

When she notices Lola, who’s now sittin’ upright, eyes wide with panic, my daughter’s smile grows even wider. Then she climbs onto the bed while I mutter, “Easy, don’t hurt her shoulder,” and, “Give me those,” as I commandeer the tools from her grip.

After settin’ the tools beside my gun, I turn to find Lola receivin’ Alma’s first hug of the day, and fuck if that doesn’t sting a little. But Lola’s happy expression soothes it as she wraps an arm around my daughter and hugs her back. “Good morning, Alma.”

Alma leans back, her eyes volleyin’ between me and Lola before settlin’ a hopeful expression on Lola. “Are you gonna marry my dad now?”

Hearin’ her speak right in front of me and call me her dad depletes my lungs of oxygen. Fuck, I still can’t quite believe it. Alma’s little voice acts like an invisible hand reachin’ inside my chest and clutchin’ my heart.

My girl is talkin’ again. All ’cause of the woman beside me.

Lola’s mouth parts, but nothin’ comes out, so I rush to intervene. “I made Lola rest here so I could keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t hurt her shoulder in her sleep.”

Alma nods. “Makes sense.” Then she frowns at me. “Uncle Gordo said you were gone ’cause you had to save some ladies.”

I narrow my eyes on her. “Did Gordo actually tell you that, or were you eavesdroppin’?”

Her brow furrows. “I don’t think you’re s’posed to answer a question with a question.”

Lola lets out a surprised snort before quickly coverin’ her mouth. Only Alma would be sassy as hell, as if she didn’t just blow my mind by speakin’ again.

I pin her with a stern look. “You should know better than to be eavesdroppin’ on adult conversations.”

She lets out an exasperated breath. “How else am I gonna find stuff out?”

Our eyes hold for the longest moment. Damn if she doesn’t act like she’s my biological daughter with all that stubbornness and refusal to back down.

Alma peers up at me with brown eyes that could easily have me doin’ her biddin’—thank fuck she doesn’t know it—and her tone is filled with hope. “But you did save those ladies, right?”

I dip my chin. “I did everythin’ I could to save ’em.”

She throws her arms around my neck, almost stranglin’ me before relinquishin’ her hold.

Beamin’ at Lola, she declares, “See? That’s why you should marry my daddy. ’Cause he’s the guy who rescues people.” Alma’s face twists in disgust. “Not like that bastard Hidalgo.”

“Alma.” My tone is sharp, and when she darts a glance at me, she knows she’s in trouble. Just ’cause she’s talkin’ now doesn’t give her a free pass for usin’ bad language.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

I trail my fingertips along the bottom of her feet, and she squeals. With her eyes on mine, I keep my tone calm and easy. “You gonna keep talkin’?” At her nod, I give her foot a little squeeze. “Good. ’Cause I missed hearin’ your voice.”

Her shy smile causes my throat to tighten, and I clear it quickly. “It’s time for you to get dressed for the day.”

She perks up. “Ooh, today I get to do a science experiment. Gotta go!” She smacks a kiss to my cheek and then to Lola’s before rushin’ off and slammin’ the door behind her.

Appearin’ a little dazed, Lola stares at the closed door. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” With an amused grunt, I rearrange the pillows behind my head. “My girl definitely warrants a wow.”

Lola faces me, head tipped to the side. Curiosity colors her voice when she asks, “How did you…” She trails off, unsure how to phrase her question.

“How’d I find her?” At her nod, I rake a hand through my hair. Tension’s already buildin’ inside me as I think back on how I stumbled upon Alma. “It was two years ago…”

TWO YEARS EARLIER

Conte, Costa Rica

Approximately one hour from the Costa Rica-Panama border

“You dare cross into my territory, sellin’ this shit?”

With my gun trained on the motherfucker who dared to peddle Hidalgo’s shit on my turf, my trigger finger grows itchy as fuck.

A trace of white powder still lingers beneath his nostrils. With bloodshot eyes and his pupils dilated, it’s clear that he’s not only sellin’ but also samplin’ the goods regularly.

His naturally dark skin pales as he stutters a repeated lame-ass apology, but it cuts off when I pistol-whip him.

“You knew exactly what you were doin’—and whose toes you were steppin’ on.” When I press the gun’s muzzle against his forehead, just like clockwork, he starts cryin’ and whimperin’, prayin’ to God. But he should know better.

In our world, there’s no mercy for bastards like him.

A smirk tugs at my lips. “It’s time to meet this God you speak of.”

I pull the trigger and his brains decorate the wall behind him. Still restrained, his body remains sprawled in a lifeless heap in the chair.

I don’t pay any attention to the woman a few feet away, her body slumped on the couch, lips blue. She’d already OD’d by the time we arrived.

Bein’ a cartel leader, I’m in the minority ’cause I don’t sample what I sell. I’ve never once touched drugs. I grew up around that shit and saw the lives it destroyed.

It’s why I had to claw my way outta poverty and make somethin’ of myself.

Stoic as always, my men silently await my next command. I meet the gaze of every one of ’em before drivin’ my point home.

“Let this be a reminder that no one pulls shit like this in my territory. Understood?”

“Understood,” comes their collective response.

Holsterin’ my weapon, I flick the hem of my suit jacket back in place to disguise it. “Let’s go. I’ve got another meetin’ to attend.”

I turn toward the door when I catch a flash of movement in my periphery. My gun is instantly in my hand, trained on the doorway my men swore was clear when we arrived.

Gordo nods silently before givin’ a hand signal to my other men. With my men flankin’ me, I lead our nearly soundless approach to the open door at the end of the hallway.

Gordo complains all the damn time that I need to be behind my men, but I don’t give a shit. I should be willin’ to run headfirst into whatever situation I’m preparin’ to send my men into. I refuse to be a weak, spineless excuse of a leader.

The instant the toe of my shoe crosses the threshold of the room, a ball rolls directly past it. Instincts tell me there’s no threat in this room, and while they’ve never led me wrong before, an odd edginess sets in, the muscles in the back of my neck goin’ painfully tight.

I keep my gun trained in the direction the ball originated from, only to lock eyes with a small child no more than four years old.

He’s seated on the floor, his dark eyes peerin’ up at me with curiosity brimmin’ in the depths. It looks like somebody took a pair of dull scissors to his hair ’cause while it’s short, it falls in uneven lengths.

Riddled with holes and rips, his shirt may have originally been white, but it’s now a bland shade of brown.

A filthy black film—evident even with his dark skin tone—covers his little feet. As if that’s not bad enough, he’s malnourished as hell, his arms so thin, they’re just skin and bones.

The room’s empty aside from a heap of blankets on the cheap tile floor…which is likely where this little guy was hidin’ himself and went undetected.

I lower my gun and edge farther inside. The child blinks up at me, appearin’ undisturbed at seein’ my weapon. That alone pisses me off.

I tip my chin in the direction of the livin’ room, where the woman lies dead. “?Es tú mamá?” Is that your mom?

He nods, his eyes never leavin’ mine.

“?Dónde está tú papá?” Where’s your dad?

He shrugs, then visibly hesitates to speak before glancin’ around at my men. I wave my hand, silently commandin’ them to ease back.

Once they do, I holster my gun and bend my knees, bringin’ me eye to eye with the boy before I pose the question again.

When he shakes his head, I frown before the pieces start fallin’ into place. “?No papá?” No dad?

He shakes his head again, confirmin’.

“?Abuela? ?Abuelo? ?Alguien?” Grandma? Grandpa? Someone?

He shakes his head, and the pit of my stomach sinks.

Before I can rattle off another question, the boy’s barely there wisp of a voice reaches my ears—and I’m slammed with the realization that it’s a girl.

Each word and mannerism is cloaked with hesitance, her voice barely audible as though she’s terrified to speak. “?Tienes algo de comida? Mamá dijo no puedo comer su comida porque soy fea y parezco a un ni?o.” Do you have some food? Mom said I can’t eat her food because I’m ugly and look like a boy.

Jesus Christ. Before I can respond, Gordo holds out his giant paw of a hand to the kid with a package of cheese crackers.

I glance at him with a The fuck did you get that from? look. He just shrugs and mutters under his breath about always needin’ a snack.

The kid rips open the package and shoves a whole cracker in her mouth, chewin’ frantically and eyein’ us as if we’re considerin’ takin’ the crackers away from her.

“The fuck are we gonna do with her?” I mumble this mostly to myself but partly to Gordo.

“Sure as shit can’t leave her here.” We watch the poor kid devour the package of crackers like she’s competin’ in a timed eatin’ contest.

I don’t wanna know how long it’s been since she had an actual meal.

One of my men materializes with a plastic cup of water and hands it to the girl whose mouth now has a slight orange outline.

Gordo turns to me and holds my gaze, our thoughts aligned. He’s the only one who witnessed the tail end of when I finally clawed my way out of the desolate abyss that had been my life.

I’d been a six-year-old boy abandoned by addict parents. My older sister and I had to fend for ourselves until she followed in their footsteps.

My survival consisted of food scraps people tossed in their makeshift compost piles. I’d bathed in rivers with one of those blue bars of laundry soap I’d stolen.

When you’re hungry and desperate, you’ll do anythin’ to evict that shit from your life. And that’s exactly what I did.

“Maldita sea.” I mutter, Damn it, under my breath, but I’m convinced it’s fate.

I don’t believe in a god, but I do believe the universe sets shit in our path for a reason. Maybe I can do somethin’ good for a change.

I don’t know a thing about takin’ care of kids, but there’s no way in hell I can turn my back and leave her here to starve. There are too many fuckin’ creeps in this world who’d abuse the hell outta her if given the chance.

“?Qué es tú nombre?” What’s your name?

The moment she answers, my fingers curl into tight fists. Gordo lets out a low growl of anger behind me. If I didn’t care about scarin’ this poor kid, I’d punch a hole in this motherfuckin’ wall.

Molestaisn’t this kid’s name, but evidently, that’s what her mom’s been callin’ her. Annoyin’. That bitch got this poor kid to believe her name was Annoyin’.

I’d kill that piece of shit right now if she weren’t already dead. And I’d enjoy every second of it.

With my upturned palm extended, I quietly offer, “Ven conmigo, peque?a.” Come with me, little girl.

When she slides her small hand in mine, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity, I vow to find her a safe home.

I vow to help her the way I once wished for someone to help me.

Except no one ever did.

PRESENT

Silence reigns over us now that I’ve finished the story. With my fingers laced atop my head, I peer sightlessly at the closed bedroom door.

When Lola finally speaks, it’s barely audible and filled with a wonder that makes me feel shit I have no business feelin’. “So, you do rescue people.”

I bristle, suddenly uncomfortable as hell. “Don’t go gettin’ any ideas?—”

“You brought me here at some point last night.” Her sudden remark drags my attention to her.

I hold her gaze. “I did.”

“And you didn’t do anything.”

Fierce indignation takes hold of me, ’cause I sure as hell don’t like her implication.

“What’re you tryin’ to say?” Filled with barely banked fury, my tone starts out dark and low before risin’ incrementally. “That you expected me to force myself on you?”

Holdin’ up both hands in surrender, she regards me with wide eyes. “No! That’s not it. I just…”

“You just what.”

She purses her lips before droppin’ her attention to where her fingers bunch the covers. “I’m just saying that I didn’t expect you to bring me here just to sleep.”

Her eyes cautiously lift to mine, her voice subdued. “But I slept well, so…thank you.”

She slept well, meanin’ she didn’t have any nightmares.

She hesitantly continues, “So, I guess you need to work.”

“Yeah.” Glancin’ at my watch, I scrub a hand down my face. “I’m late as it is.”

“You said you don’t traffic people.” Lola’s rushed words draw my attention, and for some reason, it sets me on edge. Worry has her brows drawn together. “Are you planning to try and stop him from doing it again?”

“Wish it were that easy.” I’m slow to answer, because somethin’s tellin’ me to use caution here. “But it’s complicated.”

Her features fall, eyes downcast, as if my answer disappoints her. Why the hell have I started dissectin’ everything she does or says now? Fuck Marcelo for puttin’ those doubts in the back of my mind.

With my fingers beneath her chin, I tip her face up, forcin’ her to meet my eyes. My tone is gentler now. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she mimics my muted voice.

“All I’m gonna say is, I do what I can to keep people safe from ’im.” I plant a quick kiss to her lips, and it takes a colossal effort to tear myself away from her and rise from the bed.

I’d like nothin’ more than to spend the day with her here, but duty fuckin’ calls.

I stride toward my bathroom but pause in the doorway to make a last-minute decision. “I’ll be home later, after dinner, if you wanna wait for me.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Her sassy response has a smile pullin’ at my lips.

With my hand on the bathroom door handle, I toss her a glance and wink. “Why don’t you wait and find out?”