CHAPTER 3 #2
Zach found it hard to answer her, regret at what he had to tell her forming a knot in his chest. “I imagine he’ll . . . rape you repeatedly over a period of days or maybe even weeks and then . . . sell you . . . or kill you.”
That’s a hell of a thing to say to a woman, McBride.
She took it better than he’d imagined she would.
“Oh, God!” The words were whispered, a private expression of despair, not meant for him to hear. When she spoke again, her voice shook. “M-my mother always told me there’d come a day when I’d regret asking so many questions.”
If she had fallen into hysterics, it might have been easier for him to bear because that’s what he’d expected. But her attempt at humor left him feeling outraged at Cárdenas, at the Zetas, and most of all at himself for being helpless to stop them.
“Your mother must be very proud of you.”
Not to mention worried out of her mind.
“My m-mother . . .” Natalie’s voice broke. Tears at last. She’d held out a long time. “She and my father are . . . gone. They died with my fiancé in a car crash on the way to get me at the hospital.”
It took a moment for Zach to realize what she was telling him. Her parents and her fiancé had been killed in a car accident on the way to the hospital to pick her up. On the same day she’d almost been murdered.
Behind his blindfold, he squeezed his eyes shut, the bottom dropping out of his stomach, pity for her momentarily overpowering his own suffering. She’d lost everything—everything but her life—thanks to a goddamned psychopath and Hurricane Katrina. And she’d survived all of that only to end up here.
“I’m so very sorry, Natalie.” He didn’t know what else to say.
In the darkness, he could hear her crying. “It’s been a long time since I’ve talked about this with anyone.”
“I’m glad you felt you could trust me.” He knew it had nothing to do with him personally. Ordeals like the one she’d been through today had a way of stripping a person down to their core. And knowing what he now knew, Natalie’s must be pure titanium.
She would need every bit of that strength before this was over.
Unable to do anything else to help her, Zach gave her the only advice he could. “I know it’s hard, but you need to stay focused on what’s happening now. Do whatever it takes to survive. Do you hear me, Natalie? Just survive.”
NATALIE HUGGED HER arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees, trying to calm her empty, churning stomach and pull herself back together.
She hadn’t meant to fall apart like that.
She hadn’t meant to dump her private pain into a stranger’s lap.
But being locked up like this had brought it all back for her, and it had come spilling out before she could contain herself, her grief as overpowering as it had been six years ago.
Oh, Mama. Daddy. Beau.
She wiped her tears away. Zach was right. She needed to focus on what was happening now, because her life depended on it.
I imagine he’ll rape you repeatedly over a period of days or maybe even weeks and then sell you—or kill you.
It seemed strange to her that just this morning she’d had little more on her mind than the heat and the day’s itinerary.
Now that world had been taken away from her.
Soon her body would be stolen, too—and then her life.
Would anyone know for sure what had happened to her?
Would they find her body in a ditch one day, naked and broken?
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To fetch the poor dog a bone
Natalie’s stomach growled, the sound loud enough to make her wonder if Zach had heard it. “Do they ever feed us?”
He didn’t answer at first, and she thought he must have fallen asleep. When at last he answered, he sounded weaker, his words slower, his voice more strained. “Not so much. Don’t . . . expect much to drink, either.”
“Oh.” Another wave of despair rolled through her. She fought to subdue it.
Zach wasn’t whining and complaining. Neither should she.
“ZACH, WAKE UP! I think they’re coming!”
Zach jerked awake.
Men’s voices grew nearer.
Gritting his teeth, he dragged himself upright, more aware of Natalie’s fear than his own discomfort or dread. He fought to catch his breath. “It’s okay . . . Cárdenas isn’t here yet. They’re . . . coming for me . . . not for you.”
“It’s not okay! No matter what you’ve done to anger them, you don’t deserve to be tortured or chained up like this. You are in chains, aren’t you? I can hear them clinking when you move.”
“I guess they figure . . . I’m more of a threat than you are.” And then it hit him. She probably thought he was some kind of criminal. Not surprising, given their situation and how little he’d told her.
In that instant, the door was thrown wide, daylight spilling across his blindfold. Familiar voices joked in Spanish about Natalie.
“She is pretty—and shy. Look. She doesn’t like it when I try to touch her.”
Zach thought he heard Natalie gasp, her shoes scuffing on the floor as she backed away from the door to her cell.
The men laughed.
“I hope El Jefe shares her when he’s done with her. Oh, she makes me hard.”
“Do you think El Jefe would mind if we fuck only her mouth?”
Anger and disgust burned through Zach, reviving him, clearing his head. He spoke to them in their own language, hoping Natalie hadn’t understood what they’d said. “Cárdenas will feed your dicks to his dogs, you stupid chingaderos.”
That got their attention.
Zach heard a key slip into the lock of his cell door.
“Eh, cunado, are you ready to talk? Or do you want to die screaming?”
He ignored the taunt. “You should feed her and give her clean water. Do you think your Jefe wants a weak, half-starved bag of bones? And if these scorpions sting her and make her sick—I wonder what El Jefe will do to you then.”
The stench of alcohol and sour sweat assaulted Zach’s nostrils as someone leaned down and spoke directly into his face. “Shut your mouth before I cut out your tongue, you stinking son of a whore.”
His manacles were unclipped from the chain, then he was hauled to his feet, one Zeta at each elbow.
He stumbled blindly forward, wishing he had the strength to fight them.
He’d tried on his first day here, but he hadn’t been able to get his cuffed hands in front of his body fast enough to pull his blindfold off so that he could see the men he was trying to fight.
That’s when they’d kicked the shit out of him and broken his ribs.
Now he barely had the strength to stand upright.
“Zach!” Natalie’s voice came from his right. “Leave him alone!”
He dug in his heels, fought to stand his ground for just another moment. “Listen to me, Natalie. Don’t let Cárdenas get inside your head. Nothing he can do to you can change who you are. Remember that!”
Then he was shoved roughly forward, pain splitting his side, stealing his breath. Sunlight hit him full in the face, cool stone giving way to sharp, hot gravel beneath his bare feet. Every muscle in his body tensed.
I am an American, fighting in the forces that guard my country . . .
He started to recite the code of conduct, trying to prepare his mind for what was to come, but a different thought replaced it. It was nothing much—just a name—but it seemed to put steel back into his spine.
Natalie.
NATALIE BIT INTO the corn tortilla and chewed. It might as well have been sand. She swallowed, forcing it past the hard lump in her throat, eating only because she knew she must.
Do whatever it takes to survive. Do you hear me, Natalie? Just survive.
Overhead, vultures wheeled black against a blue sky, a hint of a breeze kicking up dust, the blazing disk of the sun moving toward a bank of clouds on the western horizon.
The second worst day of her life was almost over, to be followed, she was sure, by an even worse day. Worse for her, but much worse for Zach.
There’d been a Zeta with a big rifle standing in front of her cell door when they’d dragged him out, so she hadn’t been able to see his face.
He’d been shirtless and barefoot, and she’d seen enough to know that he was tall, his body lean and muscular like an athlete’s, his wrists in manacles behind his back, his hands covered with blood.
Another agonized cry.
She fought back tears.
God in heaven, what were they doing to him? It sounded like they were killing him. She’d never heard cries like this before—more animal than human, a cross between a scream and a roar. No wonder his voice was so rough. His throat must be raw after six days of this.
Six days.
God, help him! Please help him! Make them stop!
Her throat tight, she took another bite, chewed, then washed it down with the last of the cola, ignoring the Zeta with the skeleton tattoo, who stood within arm’s reach, guarding her while she ate, a look of mingled amusement and lust on his face.
Even from here she could smell the alcohol on his breath—and the stench of his unwashed body.
Not long after they’d come for Zach, a young Zeta had unlocked her cell door and led her out into the hot sunshine, where the one with the skeleton tattoo had been waiting with a plate of corn tortillas, an overripe banana, and a glass bottle of warm Coca-Cola.
Then the younger one had disappeared inside the little prison with a broom, apparently sent to sweep it clean of scorpions and spiders.
Why they’d suddenly decided to clean the hovel Natalie couldn’t say, but she no longer cared about the spiders or the scorpions.
Another cry.
Long and drawn out, it ended on a high, desperate pitch that made her chest ache.
“Why are you doing this to him?” No answer. She tried again in Spanish. “?Por qué le haces esto a él?”
“Se robó nuestra cocaína.”
Zach had stolen cocaine from the Zetas.
Oh, my gentle Jesus! He called that a bad decision?
Understatement of the century.
Still, he didn’t deserve to be brutalized and chained like an animal. No one deserved to be treated like this.
Another cry.
The Zeta guarding her stepped closer. He reached out to caress her hair. She smacked his hand away.
He laughed. “Nice. Le vas a gustar al Jefe.” The boss will like you.
Natalie ignored him.
Apparently thinking she hadn’t understood him, he translated his words into English, this time thrusting with his pelvis to show exactly what he meant. “He will like you very much. And then . . . él te sacrificará a Santa Muerte.”
The words were close enough to English that Natalie understood.
He will sacrifice you to La Santa Muerte.
Saint Death?
Chills skittered down Natalie’s spine. Was that his way of saying that this Cárdenas was going to kill her? She looked up to see the guard pointing to the strange skeleton tattooed onto his forearm. Then he drew his finger across his throat in a gesture that needed no explanation.
He smiled, exposing missing teeth. “La Santa Muerte.”
And Natalie understood. The image on his arm wasn’t just a tattoo. It was an icon of sorts, like a dark saint, a saint of death. And he believed Cárdenas meant to sacrifice her to it.
Another long, strangled cry.
The last bit of tortilla that Natalie still held in her hand fell onto her plate.
Kidnapping. Torture. Human sacrifice to skeleton saints.
It might have been a hundred degrees in the shade, but Natalie felt ice-cold.
She hugged her arms around herself, shivering, her gazed locked on the macabre tattoo with its grinning skull.
Then the door to the church burst open, and the Zeta whose nose she’d broken hurried over to them, shouting something in urgent tones to the one guarding her, both of his eyes blackened, his nose swollen.
Natalie was jerked to her feet, her plate and the empty Coke bottle falling to the ground. The one with the broken nose raised a hand, and she thought he was going to strike her again. Instead, his fingers dug into her arms and dragged her toward the church.