5. Lila
Lila
I wake up feeling almost human. My head still hurts, but I can think straight.
One of the guards took me to the kitchen, where I found Maksim sipping coffee and scrolling on his phone. It was all so… normal. I know this situation is anything but normal, though. I don’t know who he is or what he does, but he’s not a typical businessman.
But I do.
It bothers me, makes me feel like he’s winning a game I don’t know the rules to. Is he purposely trying to disarm me? No one does anything without expecting something in return.
He looks up when he sees me and flashes that smile. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”
“I want to leave,” I blurt out.
He nods. “Okay. Would you like some breakfast first? Coffee, maybe?”
Why is he being so nice? I don’t like it. I shouldn’t trust it.
But I need to keep my strength up. I snatch a banana from the fruit bowl on the island. “I’m good.”
I keep the island between us, watching him.
He sips his coffee and gestures to one of the empty stools. “Have a seat.”
I don’t sit; nor do I relax. His lips quirk like he thinks it’s funny that I don’t want to sit with him.
Men like him don’t help girls like me without expecting something.
“I’m not going to fuck you,” I say around a mouthful of my banana.
He chokes on his coffee. “Excuse me?”
“If you think I’m going to have sex with you because you saved me, you’re wrong. Try to touch me, and I will drive my knee into your balls so hard that you’ll need a doctor to remove them from your throat.”
That stupid smile again. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’m going to walk out that door, and you will not follow me.”
“Let me get my keys.”
“Why?”
“So I can drive you. Do you know where you want to go?”
No.
“I can walk.”
“Lila, I’ll take you to the airport. Where do you want to go? Cinder said you’re from Texas. I’ll buy you a ticket.”
My stomach drops, and tears pool in my eyes. “No. Just… I’ll find my way.”
He doesn’t argue.
Five minutes later, I’m in the front passenger seat of a Porsche.
I’m trying not to be thrilled by the idea of riding in such a nice car.
I put my hands on my thighs. Cinder brought me several changes of clothes.
Pride had me wanting to refuse, but modesty reminded me that walking the streets of Miami naked was not a good idea.
So, I have a backpack with two changes of clothes in it.
That’s the sum of what I have in this life.
No ID. No phone. No family. And nowhere to go.
He slides into the driver's seat, and the engine comes alive with a beautiful purr. The garage door opens, and we’re off.
He doesn't say anything for the first few minutes, and I appreciate that more than I want to.
I'm watching the city scroll past the window and trying to decide what to do.
Texas is thirteen hundred miles away. I can't go back anyway, because my mother is dead, our trailer is a crime scene, and the men who made it a crime scene are probably looking for me.
I glance at him. He's got one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the console between us. He doesn't look angry that I'm leaving. He looks like we’re just two people out for a casual drive.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask.
"Wherever you want to go. That was the deal."
"Downtown. Just… downtown."
"You should know that Bekir is not the kind of man who lets anything go,” he says.
"I got that impression when he had my mother killed."
"Lila." He says my name, and my God, it feels like he’s caressing me. His voice has dropped, not threatening, just serious. "Bekir works directly under a man named Arlind Derveshi. Do you know that name?"
“No.”
"Arlind has been running women and product through Miami for fifteen years. You’re connected to him. Do you know how?”
"I don't have any connection to his operation."
"He thinks you do. These are very dangerous people.”
"I appreciate the concern." I turn back to the window. "But I've been taking care of myself for a long time."
"This is different."
“Are you different?” I ask.
“I am.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe there are knights in shining armor. Handsome princes who rescue you from evil.
But I know better.
“I don’t think you are,” I whisper.
He says nothing else. We’re in the city now. I can get lost in a city.
"Pull over," I say. "Here. This will do." I'm looking at a busy intersection with people moving and streets I can disappear into.
He pulls over.
I reach for the door handle, ready to jump out and run nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
"Lila."
I keep my hand on the door and don't turn around.
"You're making a mistake."
"Maybe.”
"The offer stands. Any time. For any reason."
I turn and look at him. I’ve dealt with some assholes on the ranch I worked at. Some men just had an energy you could tell was bad news. Maksim doesn't have that energy. I don’t know who or what he is, and I suspect that he’s dangerous on some level, but I can tell he’s not a threat to me.
He opens the console between us and pulls out a wad of cash and a phone. “Take this.”
“No.”
“Lila, you’re smart. You know you need this money. My number is programmed into the phone. You call, and I’ll come. No conditions."
My instinct says to trust him.
"Okay," I say. “Thanks.”
I push the door open and climb out into the Miami heat. I don't let myself look back when I hear him pull away from the curb. My heart is pounding, and I feel sick, but it has nothing to do with drugs or the concussion. I just walked away from the only security I had.
I stand on the sidewalk for too long. People push past me. They have places to go. I have nothing. I remember the money in hand and quickly count it. Five hundred dollars. I've never had five hundred dollars in my hand at one time. My mother and I lived for a month on less than that.
I fold it and push it into the front pocket of my shorts.
The phone is a prepaid one with a full charge. One contact saved in it, under the letter M.
I shove it in my back pocket and walk.
There's nothing to go back to in Texas. Whatever I left behind wasn't much anyway. My clothes, boots, and old photographs from a life I don’t remember.
The horses. I think about the horses, and that’s when the grief threatens to take me down. I’m not doing it. I can’t grieve. Not yet.
The problem with Miami is that I was a little girl the last time I lived here.
I didn’t tell Maksim that there was a connection.
Not one I know or understand, but I lived in Miami until Mamma took me and left.
My memories are stilted, and she always warned me to never talk about Miami.
I’ve never forgotten the one thing my mother said to me years ago when the wine made her talk about the past we were never supposed to speak of.
If something ever happens to me, your father has a brother. Dritan. Little Havana, near the old church on Eighth.
I always wondered why we never visited him.
Why didn’t he visit us or send us Christmas presents?
Part of me wondered if he even existed. I had vague images of a man with a thick black beard, bringing me a birthday present.
My mother never talked about my father. I always understood that she hated him, and that was that.
According to the map on the phone, Little Havana is a forty-minute walk from where Maksim dropped me. I grew up walking fence lines and pastures. Forty minutes is nothing.
I find the church, and from there, I ask around. An old woman points me two blocks east. I find the building and realize it wasn’t just me and my mother that were poor. Our trailer looks like a luxury resort compared to this place.
I ask an old man sitting out front in the shade of the building. He directs me to the third floor. I can’t believe I’m about to meet family. It’s been just me and Mama for so long that I just assumed we were it.
I knock on the door, and a woman answers.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Dritan."
“You are?”
Do I tell her? No. That feels risky.
“A friend.”
She doesn’t believe me, and I don’t care.
The apartment is small and dark. There is a hospital bed in the living room. The man in the bed is half-sitting, watching me.
"Dritan?" I ask.
"Elira." My old name. The one I’m not supposed to remember. "You look like your mother."
I don't know if that's a compliment. His tone says it isn’t.
"Do you know why I'm here?" I ask.
"I know you're in trouble."
"Why?"
He laughs, and it turns into a cough.
“Why?” I don’t bother to hide my irritation. I don’t care that he’s obviously dying.
“Because you’re here.”
“I didn’t come to Miami willingly.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. If you’re here, your mother is dead.”
I ignore the pain his words cause.
“Do you know why I was brought here?”
He stares at me with glassy eyes. He’s bald, but there is dark stubble along his jaw. I have no way to know if he’s the man from my memories. Maybe. But I don’t feel love from this man. He knows me, and he doesn’t like me. Why? What could I have possibly done to have my only family not like me?
"Your father stole from Arlind Derveshi. Too much for us to pay back. He offered the only thing he had that Arlind might want."
"What was that?"
His eyes lock on mine. "You. What you carry."
"I don't know what you’re talking about."
"Your blood." He shifts in the bed. "Your father went looking for anything to save him. He found it in our family history. Something old. Something that meant nothing to us but everything to the right man."
I stare at him. "What does that mean?"
He looks at me with eyes that hold no warmth. "It means you were never just a debt payment, girl. You were a prize."
"I was ten years old."
He stares at me like I should already understand.
“Your mother ran. She took you and never looked back. It was the only way to save you. I'm the one who bled. Your father’s blood wasn’t enough. So, Arlind took it out on the family he could find.”
He shows me his hands. The top half of his pinkie on the left hand is missing. The ring finger on the right is gone. With his middle finger, he points to his eyes. “Blind. One kidney. And now, you’re here. I bled for you, and you’re back. You shouldn’t have come back.”
This can’t be real.
“I was kidnapped and brought back,” I tell him.
“You don’t look kidnapped. You look alive. Healthy.”
“I escaped.”
He snorts. “No one escapes Arlind.”
Maksim’s warning plays through my head. “But Bekir killed my mother.”
He sneers. “Bekir failed Arlind. He let your father steal from him. Bekir promised Arlind he’d have you. Your mother cost him everything. She had to die.”
“But you’re alive,” I say.
He coughs again. “Do I look alive? I’m dying. I’ve been dying every day since your mother escaped. He killed me. Not immediately. No, he made sure I suffered. Get out. Leave and never come back. Your fate will not be so different than my own.”
He stares at me. Not as a woman or as his niece.
I’m his killer.
I don't say goodbye.
I walk back down the stairs and out into the heat. I stand on the sidewalk and breathe through my nose. This is too much. I don’t understand. Why? How could a father do that to his child?
My mother is dead because she tried to protect me.
She signed her death warrant when she left Miami.
All those years I was angry with her for not doing better.
I hated her for failing me. Blamed her because we were poor.
Yelled at her for making us live in a trailer that leaked.
Got furious with her when the electricity was cut off every other month. Hated her for the drinking.
We argued the night before she died. She spent our money on booze, and I wanted to buy a new saddle. A fucking saddle. It all feels so pointless now.
She was drinking to numb the pain and hide the fear.
Why didn’t she tell me?
Because she was protecting me. Shielding me from the pain of knowing that my father traded my life for his.
I nearly drop to my knees as the anguish rolls through me. I press my hand to my chest as if that will stop the physical pain. I want to scream. Rage at the injustice.
But I don’t. I have to run. Mom sacrificed her life so I could live. I can’t be here.
I start walking. I need to get out of the city. Maybe I can find someone to get me across the border. I’ll go to Mexico.
I hear them before I see them. The chills that run over my body are wrong for the heat. I start to run without looking to see if I’m being chased.
I've always been fast. But my body is still fighting back from three days of whatever they put in my water.
My hair is yanked back, nearly knocking me on my ass. I spin, swinging my fist and kicking out blindly. Hair tears from my scalp, but I ignore the pain and fight like I have nothing to lose. Screams for help rip from my throat, but the people who filled the street two seconds ago have disappeared.
I will not be taken. I’ll die before I let that man get his hands on me.