Chapter Twenty-Three #2
I took her hand in mine. “And you have no idea who they are? The people behind this?”
She shook her head. “All I know is that it’s huge.
They have branches and headquarters everywhere, and children—all different ethnicities.
I know I’m of African and Saudi Arabian descent; the sperm must have been trafficked and taken to Saudi Arabia to get a womb donor, so I would—well, look at it like this.
It’s happening every day. With different people. Different children.”
This was the most despicable thing I’d ever heard. It made me see red that she had gone through this and that there was nothing I could do to erase those memories.
“I don’t have a family, background, or place I come from. I don’t have ties to anywhere in the world. I wasn’t made to have ties or roots. I have my name though—even if it was given to me to … to suit someone else’s desires.”
My heart swelled for this woman, as I raised my hand to tilt her chin up and switched to Spanish. “You have a strong name, querida. You own it. And it is very beautiful, just like you are … bright, shining, and very—ultimately—brilliant.”
A smile curved her lips. “Thank you for saying that.”
“Not often do I offer to speak the truth, but this is one reality you need to be assured of,” I said, brushing her chin to her jawline with my knuckles. “Tell me more.”
She nodded. “As I told you before, Manuel saved me, took me out of the business. But it didn’t erase the fact that I went through that shit. I grew up having different—people in my mouth, in my body—”
I squeezed her hand, and she squeezed mine, too, appreciating the comfort.
“The houses were built like foster homes, with children. We have two Handlers, one woman and one man. They take care of the children, oversee the adults who visit, take the money, and make sure to keep the children happy. My Handler at that time was Manuel, and also Miss Lola. She passed away a couple of years ago.”
“Manuel was in the business?”
I nodded. “His father was in charge of the house where we lived, and he asked Manuel to oversee it. There was”—she let out a shaky breath—“there was a time when he tried to hurt me; I’d just turned twelve.
It was traumatizing, and I should have hated him for it; I should have seen him for the monster that he was, but …
I thought, I thought he was my saving grace.
“Even when I was taken to another house, and he promised to find me again when I turned sixteen, I waited every damn day for him to save me.
It was a long wait, but he did come; he showed up for me.
No one had ever done that for me, no one had ever loved me the way he did, and that easily fooled me.
“But staying with him, being by his side, being in his bed, being used by him was just—it was terrible. He was my worst nightmare and my saving grace. I battled with my feelings for years, trying to figure out why his love hurt so much. Until I realized it was not love. Until he woke up one morning and decided I wasn’t what he wanted anymore. ” She swallowed. “He threw me away.”
The darkness I caught in her eyes was a budding rage I could tell she had spent years managing to tame.
“He let me go,” she said. “What he had for me wasn’t love, it was an obsession with my body and my face, and he was just done—like he couldn’t look at me, but even all those times that I still stayed, trying to make my decision, I would catch him standing there, just watching me.
I was confused because he made me feel insecure, and confident at the same time, and I had had enough. So I left.”
And then she was quiet, something distant in her eyes telling me there was more after that, but I didn’t push.
“Did you love him?”
She shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t call what I felt love.
It was toxic. It was not a happy feeling.
It was a feeling of longing for something less overbearing.
Back then, I thought it was love, and it was okay for love to hurt, but after leaving him, I realized that I was just in my head, wishing for something that wasn’t there. ”
Looking up at me, her eyes searched mine.
“What I feel with you, Elio, it’s different.
It’s new, and it’s scary because it brings out this side of me that I didn’t know I had.
Sometimes I don’t recognize myself, but I love it because I feel normal.
I feel like this is the best side of me.
And I’m always eager to see what else I can be, do, and feel with you. ”
That brought a smile to my face.
She returned it. “You still wanna know why I needed Street off the ship?”
“Only if you feel comfortable enough to tell me.”
She nodded. “I do,” she clarified. “I needed them off because after we stopped the Elites and the whole massacre happened, I had to help Daiyu, the girl I mentioned earlier.
We stayed in the same house, but I left earlier than her.
She reached out to me a couple of months ago, and I learned she had somehow managed to get out.
“She had this group of people hunting down houses here in Mexico and nearby cities. It’s a small, secret organization dedicated to saving as many children as they can.
She needed my help to get her people on board.
We were supposed to be intercepting a shipment for level-two kids.
That’s what they call the fourteen-year-olds moving up to …
sex trafficking. It was rough, she got shot, and well …
we managed to get them out, and I came back here. ”
“It must have been hard … seeing them, the kids.”
She nodded. “Oh yeah, it was … inside the room there was this song Manuel used to hum to me when I was little.” She went silent, then swallowed.
“It was like stepping into my personal hell, like a reminder that nothing about me is normal. But the kids, God … they were so young, and scared and familiar, it just—it hurt to see them, to be there.”
“But you took part in saving them, and that’s a good thing.”
She nodded. “Daiyu’s organization is outstanding.
But they lack resources that would make their jobs better.
I wanted to tell her that if they needed any help, I’d be happy to help them.
I know Street would be, too, but if I approach them with this, and they put two and two together, they might find out about how I grew up. They might see me differently.”
“I doubt that,” I countered immediately. “I don’t see you differently. You are still the same Zahra. And I know Street won’t see you differently, either. Take those thoughts from your head.”
A sigh left her. “They’re here,” she said. “Street … dead to the world, but they occupy the other rooms in the penthouse, and I have much explaining to do, but I don’t think I’m ready to tell them yet.”
“And that is okay. I know you will figure something out; you are a better liar than I am, after all.”
She frowned. “I don’t know if that is an insult or a compliment.”
“It was a compliment.”
A small laugh left her.
I brushed her hair back from her face, seeing the tiredness in her eyes. I was happy she’d told me this and confided in me. I knew how much it took from her, but somehow, it made me feel closer to her. It made us feel more intimate than before.
I leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
“Thank you for telling me all of this, Zahra. I will conduct a little personal research myself, and find out what I can about this organization.”
She smiled, taking in a shuddered breath. “You will?”
“Yes, they need to be stopped,” I said, watching her smile widen as she stifled a yawn. “You are tired. You should sleep. It is almost daylight; I have to find Casmiro and Angelo—”
“I can send them the address here … if you want,” she blurted.
“No, that is all right; I will go.”
She sighed, brows dropping at the idea of me leaving, the tiredness vanishing. “Can we still—still talk about this? I know you might need space after everything, but I don’t want us to end, Elio.”
I frowned. “I thought we covered that already?”
Her shoulders dropped. “Yeah, I know, but I assumed after we talked you might—I don’t know—want to reconsider your decision to … break up?”
“I reconsidered my decision when I walked into the bathroom.” I grazed her cheek softly. “I am still in this with you, Zahra; you don’t have to worry.”
She let out a heavy breath. “Next time, just fucking say it out loud. I’m not smart enough to read minds.”
“I will make note of that.”
She leaned in, joining our lips in a tentative kiss, one I fell into without second thoughts or second-guessing.
When she pulled away, she whispered, “Stay. Please. I will send your location to Angelo, and he’ll forward it to Casmiro, and we can discuss it in the morning about the painting and everything that went down.”
I didn’t have much reason to object to that, so I stayed, and we lay down together like we had been doing for the past few months.
She spent the next few minutes in my arms, telling me how she would placate her team by explaining that she’d wanted to surprise them with another one-month vacation to explore all of Mexico while staying in this penthouse she had supposedly rented from personal savings—at some point, she completely relaxed, and then, she stopped talking, and her breathing deepened.
I checked and saw she was already asleep.
Lying there for a while, just watching her, unable to find sleep as usual, I pressed a kiss to her hair, detached myself from her, left the bed, and put on my shoes.
I quietly left before she woke up.