Chapter 42 Efren
Efren
Ipace the cell, haunted by the echo of my useless screams and failed attempt to save Alma. My throat burns. My fists ache. My body is broken. But my rage isn’t. My rage is the only thing keeping me alive.
It’s been an hour since that puto Patricio had me locked up. Fabricated a story about me stealing money and supplies from the hotel. My first call was to Vidal, the only man who still has the guards here wrapped around his fingers.
Another hour passes before I’m dragged into an empty holding cell.
Patricio sits at a small metal table like a king.
Legs crossed. Back straight. Rolex gleaming under fluorescent lights.
The DNA results I sent him are clutched in his hand.
Beside him stands Dr. Gael Aguilar, Enrique Consuelo’s partner.
Both men are still in their wedding attire.
The guard shoves me forward. I drop into the chair.
“Where is she?” I demand. “Where is Alma?”
Patricio doesn’t flinch.
“Maybe she ran away?” he says mildly. “Rejection hurts.”
My pulse spikes.
“Get me the fuck out of here,” I growl. “Now.”
“Who the fuck are you to give me orders?” he snaps.
Gael opens a medical bag and pulls on latex gloves. Two cotton swabs. A vial. I recognize the kit immediately.
“I already gave you proof of DNA.”
“The timing is oddly suspicious though. It’s dated seven months back, and you wait until now to give it to me?” Patricio remarks.
“I wanted to forget you existed!” the reply rips out of me.
He chuckles, unimpressed. “You’re not the first one to show up claiming I’m your father.” He tosses the report onto the table. “But please. Amuse me.”
Gael approaches. There’s something apologetic in his eyes as he tilts my chin and swabs my cheek. I don’t fight it.
“I wouldn’t want to claim you as shit,” I say, never breaking Patricio’s stare. “But you are going to let me out of this cell.”
“It’ll take twelve hours,” Gael says quietly. “Rush order.”
Patricio nods. “Put him back until we know who he really is.”
“No,” I snap. “I don’t have twelve hours.”
The guards grab me. I shrug one off, punching him hard enough to drop him, and disarm the other. Then I raise the gun.
“The summer of 2002,” I say, pointing the gun at Patricio. “You were wandering in Tijuana. Heartbroken and Drunk. You met my mother.”
He laughs sharply. “The only women I knew in Tijuana were escorts. And I never went without protection.”
“She was an escort,” I cut in. “Your escort. For months. You paid her to live with you. To fuck. To get high. You told her about your inheritance. About the cartel. Then your father came, and you disappeared.”
His smile falters.
“She found out she was pregnant,” I continue. “And she came looking for you.”
“You’re lying,” he says, but doubt cracks his voice. “Someone fed you this story to destabilize me.”
“Patricio,” Gael interjects quietly. “Look at him. He looks exactly like your father when he was younger.”
“I don’t see shit,” Patricio snaps. “Just hurry the results.”
I laugh under my breath and cock the gun.
There’s only one card left.
“Paloma Munoz.”
The name hits him like a bullet.
His breath stutters. “Paloma…” His voice fractures. “She disappeared.”
“She died,” I say. “Crossing the border. Trying to get to you. To tell you about me.”
Silence crushes the room. Patricio drags his hands down his face.
“What do you want?” he asks finally.
“I want out,” I say. “I want Alma found. And when those results come back positive, don’t look for reconciliation. You’re dead to me.”
His jaw tightens. Something violent stirs beneath his skin as he steps closer. I raise the gun on instinct—but he doesn’t flinch. He reaches out and presses the barrel down, slow and deliberate.
“We’re wasting time,” I say. “Let me go.”
Patricio studies me for a long moment, then exhales through his nose.
“Call Ignacio,” he snaps. “Have him find her.”
Gael steps out, leaving us in thick, awkward silence. When he returns, his face has gone pale.
“He’s not lying,” Gael says quietly. “Alma was taken from the church.”
Patricio’s head snaps up. “Then call Ignacio, hombre.”
“That’s the problem,” Gael says. “No one’s seen Ignacio since before the ceremony.”
“Fuck.” Patricio drags a hand through his hair. “Call my nephew, Adan. Have him trace the tracker in Ignacio’s tooth.”
He turns back to me, eyes sharp, reassessing.
“Let’s go,” he says. “You’re coming with me.”
_______
The tracker’s dot blinks on Patricio’s screen. A single red pulse as we make our way to La Verdis Italian Ristorante.
“I thought the Biondini brothers were your allies,” I say from the other end of the limo.
“There’s no such thing as allies. Just family, and even then they can be destructive,” Patricio says, looking at Thalia sitting next to me.
“Leave it to the fucking Consuelos to ruin my brother’s wedding.” She huffs out. “This has Cassiel written all over it.”
“I wouldn’t be fucking surprised,” Patricio says, removing his suit jacket to reveal a shoulder harness strapped underneath.
He pulls one of the guns from the stash, checks the chamber with a quick glance, then tosses it to me. The ride has been dead silent between the three of us. Thalia stares straight ahead while occasionally sending Patricio dirty looks.
Patricio has been gripping his phone as if it might crack in his palm, and I can’t help replaying Alma’s screams in my head until they echo.
“And if Ignacio took her?” I suggest.
“He wouldn’t.” Patricio shrugs.
Everyone’s a suspect as far as I’m concerned.
The limo jerks to a stop at the front of an alley, and the three of us rush out.
Thalia takes the lead, her six-inch heels clicking on the pavement, an AK-47 secure in her hands.
Patricio is behind me with his gun drawn.
There’s no one back here, not a sign of life, or a sign of struggle.
“This way,” Patricio says, stopping at a metal staircase spiraling downward
I hear her before I see her. Her voice rings out through the heavy metal door.
“HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!”
Thalia hits the door first, and I tear through it, my pulse quickening until I find her. Her gold dress is covered in blood, her hands trembling around a flannel shirt pressed against Ignacio’s thigh. She’s alive.
“Alma.” I sigh with relief.
Her head lifts to meet mine, and the moment she sees me, her entire body breaks down.
She sobs and the pain that ripples through her almost breaks me.
I’d pushed through everything today for this moment, this exact moment where I could see the one person worth falling apart for.
I drop to my knees next to her and pull her into me.
“Efren…” Her voice collapses.
“You’re okay, Kitten.” I rise with Alma against my chest, her arms locking around my neck as I push through the pain in my ribs and turn towards the door.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers, my voice breaking as her whole body shakes against mine.
“Compadre,” Ignacio murmurs next to us.
Patricio takes one side and Thalia the other as they work together to lift him. A loud roar rips from him when he tries to stand on the injured leg, and his knees buckle. Patricio and Thalia catch him instantly, lifting him back up on one leg.
“Who did this!” Patricio bites out, looking around him for anyone.
Alma sobs into my shoulder, and I use the remainder of my energy to push toward the waiting limo, and we all pile in.
“Get us to the nearest fucking hospital!” Patricio orders.
“Alma, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Thalia asks, moving in next to us.
Alma shakes her head and watches Ignacio intently.
They both stare into each other’s eyes, lost and broken.
Ignacio barely registers Patricio unwrapping the flannel from around his thigh.
Patricio grabs a bottle of tequila from the limo bar and pours it over the open wound.
Ignacio hisses and curses under his breath.
Alma winces, and then her gaze returns to mine. She presses her cheek back to my chest, and I kiss the top of her head.
“Yo contigo mija,” I say.
My hand slides to her stomach. Her eyes flutter, and her voice softens as she whispers under her breath, “Tu conmigo.”