Chapter 50 Celia
CELIA
Cowards.
All of these men were weak. They had to drug a woman in order to get them to bend to their will.
Pathetic.
My whole body was stone, sinking into the ground before I felt one of the Bratva lackeys picking me up and stuffing me into another trunk. I don’t know if the drive was unbearably long or if it didn’t take any time at all. I was having trouble remembering to breathe and my head was so heavy.
Eventually we came to a stop on the side of the road.
There was some muffled conversation just outside the car, and then, the trunk opened, and his stupid grin was there egging me on.
Carlito, my primo, the newest heir to my throne.
The Russian man took a briefcase from my ugly cousin, which was no doubt filled with money he’d paid for me.
The transaction went quickly–or maybe it was the drugs.
Before I knew it, my hands were tied behind my back, and I laid face down on the backseat of an SUV with the bandana once again over my mouth.
Someone had at least bothered to get my pajamas back on, so I could at least be grateful for that.
My head was spinning but the heroin was slowly tapering off from the intense effects of the initial jab.
Fuck it.
I had one shot at this, and I wasn’t going to waste it.
If my uncle was stupid enough to think I was a one-man job, and to send his weakest link for me, then I was going to make sure he regretted it.
I turned my head to the side so I could see the scar on his face in the rearview mirror as he tried his best vocals out.
I kept my breathing steady, knowing my best advantage was the fact he thought I was likely out cold.
I quietly brought my knees into my chest, doing my best to stay as low and silent as possible so he wouldn’t notice me, and one by one I laced each leg through the open loop in my arms, bringing my bound hands in front of me.
I breathed heavily, the small movement enough to get my heart rate skyrocketing, intensifying the high beyond my control.
I counted to ten in my head.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
My cousin sang out the lyrics completely wrong and terribly off tune, so I decided to just go for it, wrapping my bound wrists over the driver's side and choking him back into the seat as I pulled with all my might.
He rasped out a plea while my zip-ties cut into his neck and he released the wheel fighting to get me off of him, but I knew my only chance out of this was through his death.
He scratched at me, drawing blood out of my arms and when I looked back up through the windshield the pole in the median of the road was headed right towards us. Or really, we were headed straight to it.
I wasn’t prepared for the impact, and I was probably lucky to have been trapped behind the driver’s seat, but the force of the SUV hitting the pole was enough to knock the wind out of me.
The airbag went off in the front, crushing my wrists into his face and as the white powder exploded into the air I cried out from pain.
When I opened my eyes, the pole was nearly halfway into the hood of the car, the engine no doubt fucked to all hell. Carlito was groaning in pain, and I could either finish him off or try to get my ass out of Dodge as fast as possible.
With the heroin still clouding my mind and loosening my muscles I made my choice and lifted my wrists off his neck and the driver’s seat, opening the backdoor with my burning hands.
I jumped out of the car, immediately feeling the current running through my body, the shock enough to drop me to the ground in a pathetic pile of Celia goo.
I crawled away from the car, spurts of electricity still jolting through me little by little.
One hand and one knee in front of the other, I drug my body across the road.
I heard my primo’s gargled scream as he rolled out of the vehicle, the shock from the open current of the broken lamp post coursing through his body as he took a single step.
This was my fucking chance.
Except, my limbs were heavier than lead and I knew If I stood up there was a chance I would pass out from the drugs.
We were on a country road and there wouldn’t be another car coming by for hours.
I rolled down, the sinking feeling of the ground swallowing me up and taking my mind away from the present.
It was one blink.
Two max.
It didn’t even feel like I had taken a breath since I laid down, and maybe there was a chance I’d been holding it in all that time.
Carlito was standing over me and before I could even roll my head over to spit at him, he was dragging me by the arm, my legs scraping along the asphalt while he didn’t allow my feet the chance to steady under me.
“Chinga tu madre,” I cursed out, but he ignored me, dragging me along for the next several feet of the road.
“Are you going to play nice, or should I put you to sleep again?” He turned around sharply to ask me, my heart beating violently against my chest.
“I’ve never played nice, pendejo,” I slurred out and he smirked, realizing how vulnerable I really was. He let go of my arm and pulled the gun out of his pants and slammed it against the side of my head.
I guess sleep it was then.
“Wake up,” I heard before feeling an aggressive nudge to my side. I looked around to see I was laying down on the sidewalk in front of a Motel Six. “Walk.” He said, nudging the gun against my waist nearly forcing me to collapse again.
“I need to hold on to something,” I slurred out, but he pushed me forward again and through the softening numbness, I could feel the sharp sting of my knees scraping on the ground.
“Go,” he said after unlocking the door with the number thirteen on the front of it.
I always liked thirteen.
He turned the knob, opening the door and I practically pushed him off to the side, running through the threshold and dropping straight down onto the bed with a loud groan. He huffed in annoyance but just sat down on the spare chair next to the console.
“Did the big man in charge tell you not to kill me then?” I mumbled out but didn’t look up at him when I asked the question. I knew the easiest way to break Carlito down was to not give him the recognition he was so desperate for. The recognition his own papá would never give him.
“He has special plans for you, prima.” He dragged a shitty motel chair in front of the door and sat down.
“Oh? And here I thought he just wanted me dead because he was too much of a cobarde to keep ruling my empire while I’m still alive.” I laughed out, letting the comfort of the bed give me the smallest bit of solace.
“I don’t know what they want with you,” he snarled and looked off to the side, giving me a better look at the ugly scar that permanently altered his face. The same scar that my papá bestowed on him when we were just kids, when he thought he could insult his future reina.
Idiot.
He was giving too much away, and he didn’t even realize how weak it made him look.
The anger in his voice said it all. My tío Ignácio didn’t trust his own son with his master plan. I chuckled out a hollow laugh and covered my mouth with my own hand to muffle the sounds of my joy.
“Laugh it up, maybe he just wants to stuff himself inside that tight pussy before he puts you six feet under.”
“Que perro asco,” I made no acknowledgement of the attempt at a threat as he suggested the disgusting incest-y scenario.
If that was the case, I would “Million Dollar Baby” the shit out of myself before I let that happen. Drowning in the blood of my own severed tongue in a shitty Motel Six sounded like a better time than letting his wrinkled old cock anywhere near me.
“Well, if you don’t kill me,” I told him, still looking up at the ceiling like he wasn’t worth the effort of turning my head.
“I sure as hell am going to kill you primo.” I warned and he scoffed, reaching for the remote on the console where the outdated television sat, turning on the TV guide before settling on cartoon reruns.
“Oh shit,” I moaned out, reaching for the trashcan next to the bed and I hurled out the contents of my stomach. Carlito stood up like his reflexes were something to be impressed by, but if I had wanted to actually do anything to him, he would have been too slow to even fend off my puke.
Okay, maybe I wouldn’t kill him now.
“What’s your problem?” He asked, raising an eyebrow up, “You’re not pregnant, are you?” His eyes widened at the possibility, and I laughed.
“Oh? Is that a line you won’t cross?” I deadpanned at him, surprised that he had a limit.
“No, asshole, I was drugged by those Bratva hijos de la chingada.” I spat.
“What the hell are you doing on this side of the border anyway? The Bratvas called, and you came running like a dog with a bone.” I finally glanced over at him, narrowing my eyes as I waited for his response.
“I’m up here dealing with business,” he crossed his arms and looked away as he answered, an obvious tell that he was lying.
“No, the fuck you aren’t,” I laughed out again hoping to push his buttons, “That’s what Los Muertos is for.
You wanna try me again, cuz it sounds like someone’s papá is trying to get rid of their golden boy.
” I laughed an even wilder laugh and he quickly stood up, towering over me on the bed with a look that was full of rage and insecurity.
It seemed like my guess was right, and Tío Ignácio was pushing Carlito away. Maybe he was afraid of being usurped, and I wouldn’t blame him. I knew enough about our history to know that crowns were rarely passed down, they were usually taken by force in blood.
But the truth was, that even the momentary thought that Carlito could be smart enough to steal my tio’s position was laughable. It was clear that he didn’t trust my primo around any position that presented power. There was no love between father and son.