Chapter 10 #2
I’d gone to sleep without my eye pads, and it showed.
My eyes were swollen and starting to darken around the perimeter.
I’d been dumped here with nothing. Well, I had my purse on the nightstand, holding my phone—which was probably dead—my wallet, and my passport.
Besides that, all I had were the clothes on my back, which were damp and dirty.
I needed to go to the store, but how was I going to do that when my credit card was still cut off?
I didn’t know anyone in this God-forsaken country who could assist me either.
Why would my father dump me here, knowing I had nothing without him and his money?
Pretty privilege, that’s why. My father thought that because I was pretty and he was who he was—a Mexican crime boss—people would bend to my needs.
But this isn’t Mexico, and even if it was, he’s no longer the most feared in our country; my future in-laws have taken that role.
Pulling the drawer open on the vanity, I found a pack of toothbrushes, toothpaste, and floss.
Either this American was as organized as he appeared, or he entertained guests often.
After getting myself together as best as I could and finger-combing my thick, straight hair, I went into the bedroom.
Instead of making the bed or slipping back inside, I went to the dresser—the same dresser he’d been getting his dick sucked in front of.
Snatching a drawer open, I found neatly folded white T-shirts.
Since the shirt wouldn’t be enough to conceal my entire frame, I pulled a second drawer open.
A variety of plaid colored pajama pants stared back at me, and I smiled.
Picking up the first pattern I saw, I slid the cotton pants over my bottom and looked at the door as if it would fly open before pulling the shirt over my head.
The door was locked, and the chair that was once sitting in the corner of the room was now propped up against it.
I didn’t know what my homemade barricade would do against a man with a gun, but I couldn’t comfortably lie in the home of a stranger without trying to protect myself.
Now, I was fully dressed in his clothing, biting down on my cuticles, and debating going out to find food.
My stomach had growled once or twice, but I didn’t feel hungry.
However, it had been a full day since I consumed solids.
If I didn’t want to be over a toilet, I needed to get something in my stomach.
“Get it together, Solana.” I sighed as I moved the chair out of the way.
With my hand on the knob, I took a deep breath before pushing the door open.
The smell of food hit my nose instantly, making my belly rumble loudly.
Laughter could be heard from where I stood, which put me on alert.
I didn’t know if he was entertaining the one he loved again, but I knew I didn’t want to walk in on it for a second time.
She was on her knees in the most degrading way possible, and then he went and messed all over her face.
My body oddly heated from it, and I was still ashamed of that.
I tried not to look, but he was so long and thick, and the veins in it made it look as if it were muscled, as if it were his arm instead of his penis.
Shuddering, I fake-gagged and shook the image from my mind.
“Sí, finge que te da asco, Solana,” (“Yes, pretend he disgusts you, Solana,”) I stated my thoughts out loud.
Letting my stomach guide me, I found myself walking to the opposite side of the laughter and into the kitchen.
This was the first home I’d been inside in the Americas, and I was trying hard not to fall in love with it.
I’m not usually a fan of wooden floors; I tend to prefer other options because I associate wood with a cottage vibe.
But the way he had the dark mahogany wood flowing throughout the house, combined with his impeccable taste, was enough to make you swoon.
The expensive art lining the walls looked to have cost a small fortune.
His home smelled and felt so much like him, which was crazy because I didn’t even know the American boy.
Three pizza boxes and four aluminum-covered trays lined the counter. Glancing behind me to ensure the coast was clear, I grabbed a plastic plate and lifted the foil from the first pan.
?Sí! Pollo.
An assortment of deep-fried chicken wings that had been dipped and tossed in sauces and seasonings stared back at me.
This wouldn’t be my first time having hot wings.
In Mexico City, there were plenty of Americanized restaurants, especially at the malls.
Since I practically lived in Centro Santa Fe and Polanco, I’d indulged more than a few times in American cuisine.
Picking up the plastic tongs, I added two hot wings, three lemon pepper wings, and what I assumed was a barbecue wing on my plate.
In the next pan were French fries with seasoning on top, so I grabbed a few of those too.
“Uncle Shio didn’t tell us he had company.”
“Ahhh!” Clutching my chest, I jumped back from the counter upon hearing the boyish voice.
My racing heart pained in my chest, and it felt as if every piece of hair on my body had been lifted.
My breathing was caught in my throat, and the feeling of something sticky on my feet had me looking down rather than looking back at who had startled me.
Sauce decorated my toes, letting me know what I already did—I’d dropped my whole plate.
“Damn, you scary.”
Footsteps could be heard behind me, and then the ripping of paper towels. I was still trying to get my bearings together and steady my breathing, so I didn’t notice the boyish voice squat down beside me until I could feel the paper towels on my feet.
Looking down, I visibly relaxed, even though my internal organs hadn’t gotten the memo just yet. The first thing I noticed was a big ball of silk hair fitted into a bun, and then a tapered fade along the side of his cranium.
“Aye. You good?” he asked.
I nodded my head in response to his question as I stared at him.
The boyish voice belonged to a dark-skinned little boy whose skin tone was similar to mine.
As he wiped the food from the floor, his eyes met mine, and he smiled.
He was so handsome with his perfect white teeth shining against his rich, toned skin.
This was the fourth person I’d seen in less than twenty-four hours with skin as dark as mine.
The driver, Shio, the one he loved, and now this child.
People with darker skin weren’t ordinary in Mexico unless they were tourists.
That is why my father let me party as much as I wanted.
I blended in with many visitors, but amongst my people, I stood out like a decorated sombrero.
“I’m good,” I replied, finding my voice as I squatted to help clean up the dropped food.
I’d lied. I wasn’t good. I was in a foreign place, unsure of what was coming next or what my papa’s endgame was by bringing me here.
I didn’t have any money or clothes. I felt as if I was in danger, but had no urge to call anyone.
Who would I call anyway? My papa? He was the reason I was in this circumstance to begin with.
No, thanks. I’d rather be a sitting duck than beg my father to be the father I once knew.
Looking back at the boy, who was dressed more like a grown man in his streetwear, I found him looking back at me.
I’d spotted at least three different designer brands on him.
Like this house, he was well put-together and looked expensive.
I could see the wheels turning in his mind as he tried to figure me out, but instead of asking who I was, he took the plate from me.
“Aite. Go have a seat. Let me clean this shit up,” he instructed.
Choosing not to question him either, I stood and walked to one of the barstools connected to the bar top counter nearby.
I didn’t know what to do or say after I sat, so I gazed around the kitchen.
There wasn’t much décor in here, but the granite counters, ivory-colored cabinets that didn’t clash with the floors, and top-of-the-line appliances were enough to fill the space.
The American had done a great job with his home.
Even the room I’d slept in was tastefully put together.
I’d been begging my father to upgrade our home, but he was old-school and preferred his casita just as it was when he purchased it.
His wife didn’t give a shit what it looked like as long as she could shop and spend money in peace.
She was one of the reasons I’d rented my own apartment in the city. I couldn’t stand that bruja.
Even though I had no idea what was next for me as I skated my eyes around the kitchen, I was pleased my second encounter in the States didn’t involve a gun being pulled on me.
The little boy had been kind enough to clean up my mess, but I cringed at the thought of children.
I didn’t see myself with any for a long time, if ever.
Considering who my future husband was, I was going to find a way to secretly get on birth control.
There was no way I was going to have children with a kidnapper, killer, and trafficker rolled into one.
I did love children, though, and seeing the handsome boy made me wish for my own little dark chocolate babies.
My father and Maura had a house full of kids, and even though I couldn’t stand the older ones now, the small ones were my nenes.
There was just something about the innocence of a child that put me at ease. This one was no exception.
“You my Uncle Shio’s bitch?”