Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Flora
I’m not hurt, but I’m fucking pissed off. These puta de madres.
I force myself to inhale yet another deep breath to keep from losing my shit.
I’m still terrified of what might happen next.
But so far—besides the whole motherfucking taser—they’ve only manhandled me.
I remember writhing on the ground in pain.
My head spinning and my body aching like nothing I’ve ever experienced before.
Two guys scooped me up and hauled me away like out of some shitty TV show, with one guy carrying my legs and the other one with his arms wrapped underneath mine.
A different man pulled the little electrode-dart-fucker-thingies out of me in the van they tossed me into.
All I know so far is that these fuckers are also Latino.
I heard them speaking Spanish to me even though I was in a daze when they shoved me in the vehicle.
But now we’re at some house in a place called Yonkers.
I was out of it for most of the car ride, but I saw road signs out the window.
They’re utterly inept kidnappers or they’re pretty fucking confident I won’t get away, so it didn’t matter if I saw road signs and street names.
From listening to them, I’m pretty positive they’re Mexican, but I can’t be entirely sure since they could be trying to confuse me.
However, some things they’ve said make me believe they must be.
They use terms other Latin American countries rarely do.
Two guys are arguing right now about where they were going to sit while they babysit me.
“Vete a la chingada.” Go fuck yourself.
Colombians don’t use chingar to mean fuck.
“Pinche pendejo.” Fucking asshole.
Pinche means the cook’s assistant or scullery maid, but in Mexican Spanish it means fucking. That’s one of those words they usually don’t translate right on subtitles. It means more than just damn.
“No mames.” Don’t suck.
It basically means, come on. The first guy’s refusing to get up, so pissy pants storms off.
Besides this measuring huevos, they’ve switched mostly to English.
I assume they believe I don’t understand what they’re saying.
Perhaps they believe that since I’m newly arrived from Colombia, I must not speak that much English.
Shitty stereotype if ever there was one.
Many families with means—not rich but with some money—send their kids to private school. I learned English before I ever left Colombia. The situation isn’t entirely different in Mexico. I guess they don’t know that much about me because they seem to assume I’m not well-traveled or well educated.
I pay close attention to what they’re saying.
“The boss won’t be happy that you fucking tased her. You didn’t need to do that once you got her guards on the ground.”
I’ve been observing the men trying to figure out their dynamic. The one who just spoke seems to be the leader of this operation, even though he mentions some guy who outranks them all.
“Yeah, well, I had to make sure the bitch came with us without screaming her fucking head off.”
“Yeah, well, hurting her wasn’t part of the deal.” The first two words are a sarcastic mimic.
“She’s fine, isn’t she?” The asshole who tased me walks over and grabs my hair. “Estás bien, ?verdad?” You’re all right, aren’t you?
I refuse to respond. I hit my tracker when I finally felt like I had enough control over my fingers to press the button.
It’s on the underside of the clasp on the bracelet Pablo gifted me right after we arrived here.
He gave it to me in case something like this should ever happen.
I wondered when he did it if he was tempting fate.
Now, I don’t think that’s the case. I think he was smart and cares about me and wanted to be sure he could do everything to protect me.
Hopefully, it’s transmitting, and he got the alert.
He explained everyone in his family wears a tracker.
They don’t watch each other’s daily comings and goings, but in case something like this should happen, then they’re prepared.
The alert not only goes to Pablo, but to Enrique, Luis, Alejandro, and Tres J’s. So, if it’s not Pablo who leads the charge, then it’ll be one of them. I just need to hang on long enough for them to get here.
I listen to the men continuing to bicker amongst themselves in English about why I refuse to speak and how they should handle that. It dawns on me that they have a Boston accent. It’s not quite as bad as “pahk the car in Hahvahd Yahd,” but it’s pretty damn close when they speak English.
The guy in charge—Cabrón Uno—comes to stand before where I’m seated on a sofa. There are too many of them for me to make any type of run for it. I’m outnumbered six to one, so they haven’t bothered to restrain me. I count my blessings as he speaks to me in Spanish.
“This can all be over, and you can go back to your boyfriend’s place if you just tell us what you know.”
I stare at him blankly as if I have no clue what he’s talking about.
“Give us the formula, and then we’ll send you on your way.”
I cock an eyebrow but remain quiet. Like hell they’ll just let me go now that I’ve seen all their faces. If Pablo or another Diaz doesn’t show up before they give up on me, then I’m dead. I don’t believe they’re holding me for ransom, but maybe they are. Nobody’s said anything about that.
“Make her talk. We don’t have all day. The boss wants the formula.”
The guy who’s been giving me a hard time since the beginning, the one who yanked my hair a moment ago—Cabrón Dos—leans forward and gets in my face.
“You really want to make this harder on yourself? We have ways of making you talk.”
What type of corny-ass shit is that? I merely stare at him, unflinching.
I know he’s the type who wants to see me cower, but I refuse to give in to that.
When his hand lands across my face, I force myself not to flinch.
I tensed as I saw his hand move through the air, but I was prepared.
It hurts like a motherfucker, but I don’t react. Instead, it’s Cabrón Uno who does.
I barely contain my reaction when that man grabs the shitbag who slapped me.
He drags him over to the dining room table and pulls a knife from his belt that’s practically a fucking machete.
Before I can anticipate what’ll happen next, it’s slicing through the air.
Then it’s slicing through the man’s hand, taking off everything from the knuckles forward.
It’s just a stump with a thumb attached to the man’s wrist.
Blood geysers everywhere. I watch as the amputee struggles to stay on his feet as he howls in pain. A third guy rushes forward, but he hesitates before helping my tormentor. Cabrón Uno nods, and the new guy wraps a shirt around the stump, trying to staunch the blood.
He’s going to need to see a doctor.
I’ve been told I have a dry sense of humor.
Cabrón Uno comes back and sits on the coffee table in front of me.
“We have orders not to manhandle you. Sorry about that. But just because we’re not allowed to touch you now that you’re here doesn’t mean the silent treatment will keep you out of trouble.
We have other ways of making this miserable for you.
So, you decide. If you want anything to drink, then you’re going to have to earn it. A sip for every ingredient.”
I thin my lips when I press them together, jutting out my chin. Pablo claimed I was stubborn when we met. He doesn’t know the half of it. These men are about to discover just how obstinate an only child can be when she doesn’t get her way.
What I want is to leave. I’ve been with these men for more than an hour now, and I can’t help but wonder when Pablo will get here.
I don’t know where he was today since he left before I was awake.
There were fresh pastries in the kitchen with a sweet love note doodled next to it saying he hoped I enjoyed my day with his tías.
It also said he can’t wait to have me on his lap while I tell him how it went.
When I think back about that note, it makes me wonder if his tías got away safely. I believe they did, but I can’t be sure. I’m alone here with these men, but perhaps there were others who took Catalina and Luciana to a different location.
Perhaps they saw what happened and contacted Pablo or even Enrique. But if that were the case, then they’d know to check for my tracker. Perhaps there’s some kind of signal jammer here at this house, and my tracker isn’t pinging for them.
I don’t want to believe Pablo’s family could be involved in this, but the part of me that’s battling my fear wants to plant that seed in my mind. It also wants to plant the seed that perhaps this was my family who did this.
Could it be my abuelo?
“Senorita Aguilar, you don’t have that many choices.
If you want to keep the people you love alive, you’ll cooperate.
If we tell our boss you’re being a pain in the ass, then he’ll go after Pablo.
Do you want to know you caused his death?
My boss isn’t a forgiving man. He’ll drag out Pablo’s death to punish you.
Every minute you make us wait for the information we want is a minute he’ll spend torturing Pablo.
If you refuse to tell us what we want to know, then my boss will just move on to your mother.
We have contacts in Colombia. It won’t be hard to snatch Magdalena.
I hear she’s a beautiful woman who loves to host parties.
I wonder how she’ll entertain the men who visit her. ”
I grit my teeth. I don’t underestimate the men in front of me or whoever they work for. I believe they could try to kidnap Pablo and try to torture him. But he has the skills and wherewithal to avoid capture or to survive whatever they might do to him until his family can rescue him.