Chapter 10
TEN
LAYA
T he clock beside me blinks, reading 4:42 a.m., only six minutes since I told myself not to check it again.
After placing Romero back in his bassinet, I climbed back on the bed and drew my knees up to my chest, constantly checking my phone for a signal that hasn’t appeared.
My wedding ring shimmers on the nightstand beside me, taunting me. A stark reminder of our loss, the potential of a love that never flourished, not when someone else held my heart in their hands while the man I entrusted with it destroyed it. Destroyed us.
Now I watch the door like a hawk, and when there’s commotion downstairs, panic courses through me, making my heart painfully stutter in my chest. Oh shit, he’s back.
I struggle to regulate my breathing as terror cripples me and my mouth goes dry. Then I mentally chastise myself, and my eyes dart around the room in search of a weapon, anything I can use to defend me and my son.
Before I can even think, I jump up from the bed and grab one of the bedside lights, snapping the cable from it with ease.
I clutch the heavy brass stem to my chest and stand against the wall. Footsteps rush up the stairs and a sob catches in my throat, and when the door handle moves, I feel like the air is being forced from my lungs. “Laya?” Carlos’s panicked voice filters through the door, and I sense the change in him. “Laya, open the door.” I shake my head, then internally kick myself, knowing he can’t see me. “Laya. This is serious. Open the fucking door.” His voice is firmer this time and much more in control, like the Carlos I know. A soft thud hits the door, and I can only imagine it’s his head. “Please, mi amor. I need you to open the door,” he whispers, and my heart crumbles. If I open the door, he’s going to apologize, try to convince me it was a one off, that he’s sorry. That it will never happen again.
“Please, Laya. This is important. Please.” The way he tenderly whispers my name sends a sliver of unease through me. “Mi amor. I-I don’t have much time. Please, I need you to open the door; otherwise, I’m going to have to break it down.” I’m sure I hear him sniffle, and my throat clogs with an urge to comfort him. But can I trust him?
A sob erupts in my chest as I glance toward Romero. Do I take the chance and open the door?
“I know you’re scared, mi amor. But please trust me, we’re in danger, and I need you to trust in me. I want to protect you and Romero, mi amor. Please, let me protect you.”
His words make my legs wobble. I’ve always trusted him when, clearly, I shouldn’t have, but if he wanted to hurt us, he could have, and he could easily break into the room. The realization hits me at how vulnerable we are, and it also makes me more determined than ever to get the hell out of Mexico and back to my family, where I don’t feel isolated and unsafe.
“Please.” The pleading tone in his voice has me moving. Rightly or wrongly, I follow my heart and drag the dresser away from the door. Each action has my chest rising faster. Then I push the chair aside, blow out a deep breath, and unlock the door. My fingers tremble with each move, and I will myself to remain strong.
Before I have a chance to step back, Carlos is pushing through the door. His fraught eyes lock onto mine, his hair is disheveled and face pale, and his body shakes with what seems to be panic but could easily be withdrawals.
His face falls. “Mi amor.” His lip quivers, and the broken tone of his voice has me choking on my emotion. I step in front of Romero’s bassinet, and my fingers tighten on the lamp, and his brow furrows until he sets them on the soft mewling sound of our son. My chest constricts when his face morphs into horror, as if realizing the enormity of his actions and my stance at protecting our son from the last person he should need protecting from. When his shaky hands cup my bruised cheek, I step back and turn my head away from him, refusing to give him the comfort he’s craving. He nods, and his Adam’s apple slowly slides down his throat. “I messed up.” Licking his lips, he shakes his head, and I want to tell him this is so much more than messing up. “I messed up bad, Laya.” Tears fall freely down his face, and he drops his head, and I itch to pull him toward me, to tell him everything will be okay, that we will be okay. But I refuse to do so because after tonight, nothing will be the same. A war is coming, and I’ve already chosen where I stand, and that’s by my son’s side.
He inhales deeply, then with a heavy exhale, he steels his shoulders, raises his head, and stares at me with a renewed vigor.
“You’re in danger, Laya. I need you to listen very carefully to me.” The severity of his tone pulls my attention. Danger?
My eyes roam over him, wondering if he’s having some sort of mental breakdown, but all I see is anxiety laced in sincerity that makes my heart skip a beat with a foreboding feeling.
His eyes flit around the room. “Where’s Romero’s diaper bag?”
I furrow my brow, searching for a sign of the drugs that took hold of him only a short while ago, but find none.
His gaze lands back on me. “I got the doctor to administer me with a shot to help me recover quickly, and it’s a good thing too because we’re in danger, mi amor. Real fucking danger.” His sharp eyes sear into me. They speak the truth.
“What are you talking about?”
He moves around the room, pulling open the closet while I follow behind. “Grab Romero and his diaper bag.” My feet are frozen to the floor, unable to comprehend what he’s saying.
“What’s happening? You’re scaring me.”
“Laya! Fucking listen to me. Romero, get him and everything he needs. They’re coming!” he screams, and it snaps me out of my daze. The frantic look in his usually controlled eyes has panic surging through me. I almost trip over the bed to grab the diaper bag, then move to Romero, scooping him into my arms, hoping he can’t sense the terror unraveling inside me.
“Who is coming, Carlos?” I ask again as I clutch my son tightly.
He shakes his head, unwilling to tell me more, and disappointment fills me. The secrets he holds are not good ones, I know that, but I’d hoped he could trust me enough to keep them. I touch my cheek and stare at my frantic husband moving around the room like a tornado, and all I want is to feel the safety and security of strong arms wrapped around me, to tell me everything will be okay, that he’d never hurt me, and I’d believe it.
But those arms are miles away from here, and that thought terrifies me even more.
I want to go home.
My phone lights up, and I move quickly to pick it up. “No. Not the phone!” Carlos snaps, and I glance over my shoulder to see he has a backpack in his hand. His tone softens. “Not the phone, Laya. I don’t want them tracking you.” I search his face for truth and find it shining back at me with teary eyes. What the hell is happening? And why does my normally well-put-together husband look like a train wreck?
Leaving the phone, I turn back to him, and his shoulders relax, then he reaches out, tugging me toward the bathroom.
Once inside, Carlos scans his hand above the mirrored wall. It opens, and my mouth falls agape. How the hell did I not know about this? He turns to face me. “It’s a panic room. Nobody will know you’re in here. They won’t be able to see or hear you.”
“What? Carlos, why the hell do we need a panic room? What’s happening?” He pulls me inside and drops the bag to the floor while I make a quick assessment of the small room.
A cot sits in the corner, a small kitchenette, a safe, and a wall of guns that has me reeling back on my feet. Carlos catches me, and I spin to face him, then realize we’re standing in front of the mirror in our bedroom. It’s one-way glass.
“You can’t see inside here,” he attempts to reassure me.
This time, I let his cold hands cup my face as a lone tear trickles down my cheek. “I’m so sorry, mi amor.”
My chin wobbles, and I blink away at the wetness pooling in my eyes.
“I need you to know I love you with all my heart, and I need you to tell Romero what a good papa I was going to be.”
His words whirl around in my head. He’s talking with such finality. And then it hits me. He’s not staying with us.
“C-Carlos?”
“Shh.” He places his finger over my lips. “Listen carefully, mi amor. Nico will collect you and take you both to safety. I’m going to fix this. I promise everything will be exactly how it always should have been.” The solemn tone of his voice sends a shiver down my spine. It’s like he’s given up, and that scares me even more. “Trust no one but Nico. And Owen.” My blood stills.
I shake my head as panic surges inside me. “I don’t understand.”
“Look at me, Laya.” Our gazes collide, and love seeps from him, making my breath stutter. “Never doubt how I felt about you, never.” He pulls something from his pocket, and I don’t have a chance to see it before he’s tying it around my neck. But when the familiar pendant falls onto my chest, a pang of guilt and regret fills my bloodstream at how much I missed it. How much I miss him . Then I shake my head to rid the thoughts. “I need you to promise me that you will be happy, Laya. That you move on and give our son the life he deserves.” I stare back at him with wide eyes. What he’s saying sounds so final. He isn’t saying he will see us later; he’s saying goodbye.
My legs give way, and he catches me, anchoring me to the floor while my mind becomes hazy.
Holy shit. What the hell is happening?
“I will always love you, mi amor.”
His phone beeps and his eyes close. He swallows slowly, and when his eyes open, they fix on Romero. He bends his head and places a soft kiss on Romero’s hair. “Be good, my son.” Then he lifts his eyes to meet mine.
I shake my head again, refusing to accept whatever it is he’s planning.
He nods. “I have to pay for my sins, mi amor. I’m sorry. This was never how it was meant to happen. But I’ll make sure you’re happy. I promise you that.” His hand trails down my cheek, cupping my chin between his fingers. “You were the best thing to ever happen to me. I knew I’d never get to keep you.” He places a kiss on my lips and takes a deep breath, breathing me in. Then he steps back, detaching himself from me, and I feel the loss instantly. My mind doesn’t have time to digest his words and seek the answers I so desperately need. They’re riddled with confusion that only he can clarify.
“Everything you need is in the bag. Only use the contact on the phone.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a memory card. “Give this to Owen.” He places it into the chest pocket of his dress shirt I’m wearing. “It’s important, mi amor. Only Owen.”
I can only nod like a dumb-struck idiot.
He clears his throat and raises his chin. Then, before I can say another word to him, he spins on his heel and strides toward the door.
Panic bubbles inside me. “Ca-Carlos. Carlos, where are you going?”
He slams the door behind him and a whirring noise that sounds like locks slipping into place has me pushing on the door frantically.
Romero cries, and I rush over to the cot, securing him in the sheets before rushing back over to the door, pounding on it with my fists. “Carlos. Carlos, open this fucking door!” Romero wails, and I glance over my shoulder, torn between comforting my son or trying to get out of here and find answers. “Carlos, please!”
Movement catches my eye, and I turn around to face the mirrored window. Two men in balaclavas have entered the room, and I reel back against the wall as I watch in horror when they drag Carlos to the floor. One punches him in the face, sending a flurry of blood splashing into the air while he kneels at their feet. Terror ceases my lungs, and I struggle to breathe through the trauma of witnessing my husband being assaulted.
One man stands behind him and yanks his head back, and I step forward when Carlos’s mouth moves. Trying my hardest to read his lips, I swear he’s repeating, “Don’t look.” Without realizing I had stepped so close, my hands touch the glass as desperation floods me. I hang on to the glass to keep me upright when my entire body feels like it will crumble.
The other man steps to the side and then, out of nowhere, he pulls out a thick blade.
Oh Jesus, no.
My fingers curl into fists, and without thinking, I slam them against the glass. “No!” My voice ricochets off the wall, and Romero’s screams become like white noise as I watch on terror stricken as time slows. He brings the blade to Carlos’s throat, and I will myself to close my eyes, but I can’t.
I can’t.
Nothing works.
I’m frozen.
Blood spews from my husband’s neck, and a choked gasp catches in my throat at the sight while my stomach rolls, churning with bile, fear, and dread.
The wound isn’t a small one, and when they release his hair, his head falls forward, but not before his eyes, normally so full of love and life, fall on me with emptiness.
He’s gone.
They drop him on the floor as if he means nothing, as if he isn’t a husband and father. As if he isn’t cared for.
Suddenly, like I’ve been electrocuted, I jolt, then something spurs me into action. I race over to Romero, pick him up, and hold him tightly against my chest. Then I stroke over his hair, my eyes not leaving the masked men as they tear up the room, searching for something.
The memory card tucked into Carlos’s shirt pocket has me scrambling to retrieve it, and I stare down at it. An overwhelming awareness prickles my skin.
Is whatever is on this card what my husband was killed for?
I snap my gaze up toward the glass, and when one of the men stalks toward the mirror, my heart stills. I plead with Carlos that he was telling the truth, that they can’t see us. His crazed eyes dart around the room, and I wonder if they can sense our presence, my pulse skittering with the thought.
Without realizing it, I’m backed up against the wall, as far from their eyes as possible, and yet somehow, as if knowing I’m here, one of the men focuses on the mirror. He licks his lips and I swallow hard, desperately shushing Romero as he continues to fuss, and when he snaps his eyes away, I blow out the breath I had been holding and sag in relief.
Keeping my eyes trained on the glass, I don’t dare take my attention away from them until they storm from the room, then I drop to the floor. Clinging to my son, I finally let the tears flow.