Chapter 8
EIGHT
LAYA
ONE MONTH LATER …
C hewing my lip, I hover my finger over the send button. I know I shouldn’t, but every day, Carlos is becoming more and more agitated, and it unnerves me. He’s out late every night, and when he finally crashes, he doesn’t rise until midafternoon: sleep, eat, rinse, repeat.
We barely see him, and when I do, he’s a shell of the man I fell in love with. His clubs have been plagued with trouble, and the staff are saying he’s being watched; they don’t realize I’m fluent in Spanish while they talk freely about raids at the clubs. They even said Carlos was arrested, yet he returned home as if nothing had happened with no mention of it. I walk on eggshells around his volatile temperament, and I hate it. If I ask questions, I risk the staff being punished, but I’m constantly being kept in the dark, and I’m not stupid enough to believe this isn’t about control. My stomach twists as I consider my future with Carlos. What will that future hold for Romero? I hiccup away the cry that always bubbles up when I consider our life here. Carlos barely pays Romero attention, so there’s not a doubt in my mind our son was a pawn in his game to keep me trapped, and I hate him for that. It’s like he’s chosen to detach himself, and all I want is the man I fell in love with, but I am realizing he never existed. He reined me in and now I’m trapped, and the thought terrifies me.
In Mexico, I’m isolated. I miss my family, my job, and my friends, causing loneliness to eat away at me. I’m a new mom with an occasional permitted FaceTime to ask my mom questions about motherhood. When all I wanted to do was beg for her comfort, but my calls were monitored, so I crafted the perfect smile to disperse any of my mom’s concerns. I’m crumbling inside, hoping for someone to rescue me. I should be out with other young moms, discussing motherhood, attending baby play classes, and shopping for cute outfits, but I’m being isolated for safety, and feel anything but safe.
My parents have not been allowed to visit yet, and on days when I feel so trapped, I close my eyes and dream that Owen rescues us from this place, which is quickly becoming my prison.
“Carlos has eyes everywhere.” Lenard, one of the gardeners, points toward my phone. He’s an older gentleman with a fatherly nature I’ve become attached to. “You thinking too hard.” He points toward the phone. “Don’t send if thinking too hard.” His eyes skim over the lawn where I sit with Romero on a blanket. “Carlos has eyes everywhere,” he repeats, sending a shiver of awareness down my spine, and I nod before quickly fumbling with the message I was going to send Tate, asking him to visit as soon as possible. It’s deleted far quicker than it was created.
My lip wobbles as I stare down at Romero. My son has a whole family he’s yet to meet, and it breaks my heart they’re missing out on the way he’s growing.
“A storm is brewing, Laya, and when it comes, it’s going to be savage.” My heart skips a beat at his words. Surely, he doesn’t know my association with STORM? His words are ominous as he walks away, while my blood pulses with excitement and hope.
“Lenard, how do you know?” I call across the lawn.
He turns his withered face over his shoulder and points toward the sky. My eyes follow, and when I see the darkened clouds hovering above the house, my heart free falls.
Nobody is coming for us.
T aking a deep breath, I place my fork down and lift my eyes toward Carlos’s. His are already on me, and it unnerves me, but I’m determined to get through to him.
It’s rare he’s home for dinner, so tonight is the perfect opportunity to speak with him.
“Carlos?”
He sighs heavily and places his cutlery on his plate, then leans back in his chair. His nonchalant attitude riles me, but I know better than to go head-to-head with him. He will only close off and do what he pleases while I have no choice but to go along for the ride.
“My mom—” He holds his hand up.
“No.”
Anger surges through me, and my eyes blaze with fire. “I’m on my own every damn day, Carlos, and my family haven’t even met Romero yet.”
He rolls his eyes as if fed up with my outbursts. “I told you it isn’t safe yet.”
“Safe from what?” I spit out, knowing we practically have an army surrounding this fortress he calls home, but I’ve no clue why.
“It’s business, Laya.” He grabs the napkin from his lap and throws it onto his plate, and my shoulders deflate, knowing he’s shutting me out. Then his eyes flick over me and rest on my chest. The hunger behind them has me shrinking back in my chair.
While Carlos has helped me enjoy sex, it’s not something I crave from him, and I sense he can feel my reluctance.
“I want you to stop feeding Romero. I want my fucking wife back!” he spits with venom.
My breathing stutters, and a dull ache sits heavily in my stomach at the thought of not nurturing my son as I do. He can’t be serious.
I sit forward, meeting his stare with equal fury. “And I want my fucking life back!”
The truth behind my words is startling, more to me than him, judging by the way his lips tip up into a cold smirk. His eyes darken, and I become frozen to the spot.
“Be careful what you wish for, Laya. I might just make that happen, but mark my words, our son belongs here, with me.”
His taunt is chilling and has every hair on my body standing to attention, a cruel blow only a monster could deliver, and as if sensing my thoughts, a mask of normalcy takes over his face, leaving me reeling.
He leans over the table and takes my face into the palm of his hand, stroking over my cheek with a tenderness which was absent only moments ago. “Be the good girl I know you to be, mi amor.” Then he pushes back in his chair and stands, leaving me struggling to breathe as I try to regain control over my shell- shocked body. All the while, my mind is left repeating his cruel taunt. “Mark my words, our son belongs here, with me.”
Only one thought flickers through my mind.
I want to go home.