27. Lila
Lila
After a month in Miami, I have a routine.
I’m not mad that it’s basic and involves me staying at the estate.
It feels less like a prison now and more like my home.
There are still fences and gates and guards.
I would be stopped if I tried to leave. That is still a hard pill to swallow, but because I tell myself this is my choice, it’s easier to accept.
That’s the only way I can get through the day. If I see the fence and allow myself to dwell on it, I’ll lose my shit.
So, I just don’t think about it.
I usually have coffee on the back patio, shower, and then spend time in the stables while the morning is still cool.
Sometimes, I have lunch with Ava if she's around, and then do whatever I want the rest of the day.
It's a small life compared to the world Maksim moves through, but I realize I need the quiet. I need the routine and stillness.
Dare I say I’m healing? Not just the physical injuries. Me. My heart. My soul.
Maksim finds me in the kitchen in the late afternoon. He usually checks in before he heads out to the club.
“Hi,” I say.
"I have something for you," he says.
He sets a small envelope on the counter beside me.
“I don’t think there’s a horse in there.”
“Nope.”
"What is it?"
"Open it."
I set down an apple and pick up the envelope. It’s unsealed, with nothing written on the outside. I reach in and pull out a photograph.
My heart squeezes. My mom. She’s probably in her early twenties. She's laughing at something off-camera, with one hand raised like she's waving at the person behind the camera. She looks happy and unguarded. A woman who had no idea how her life would end.
My throat closes.
"Where did you get this?" My voice is barely a squeak.
"Old social media account. Before she went off-grid." He's watching me. "My people can find most things. I thought you might want it."
I stare at her face. I don't have a single photograph of her. Our trailer in Texas has probably been cleaned out by now, and everything’s been thrown away. We had nothing of value, anyway. Did anyone wonder what happened to me? Did they find my mother’s body? Did anyone give her a funeral?
No. They wouldn’t waste the money. She didn’t know anyone. I was the only person in this whole world who loved her.
"Thank you." It's inadequate, but I don't have a better word.
“You’re welcome. I have to go. I’ll try to be home early.” And then he kisses me goodbye.
He's never done that before. Just a quick press of his mouth to my temple before he walks out. It's the most ordinary thing in the world.
I sit there holding my mother's photograph long after I hear the front door close.
I go to the stables because I don't know what else to do with my feelings. My skin is too tight, and my legs are too heavy.
Outlaw watches me come in with her ears forward. She will be my salvation. She’ll help me run from the pain that’s moving in like a big, black cloud.
I get her saddled without a fight. I tell Gus I'm going out along the property line. Even though I’ll be on Maksim’s property, I can’t go alone. I’m not mad about it. I’ve accepted that I need the protection.
It’s humid, and I’d welcome the rain. Outlaw settles into a steady walk along the fence line.
I wouldn’t call her an easy rider just yet, but we’re making progress.
I let her pick the pace. My hands are loose on the reins.
I think she appreciates that. We've been figuring each other out.
She doesn't like to be pushed, and neither do I.
The picture is in my back pocket. I’ve already committed it to memory, but that image is not enough to push out the images of her final moments.
I don’t know if I will ever be able to erase those memories.
And knowing what I do now, the guilt is overwhelming.
I used to be angry about moving around. Mr. Hadley’s ranch was the longest I'd ever stayed anywhere. It was a horrible home. The trailer was awful. We kept it clean, but I knew that one day, a tornado would whip through there and take us with it.
I think about the room we rented in a house full of men. Mom would lock me in the room and make me promise not to leave unless she was with me.
We had a studio apartment that was infested with cockroaches. We shared a single mattress on the floor there. I was young enough that it didn’t matter too much, but I knew we weren’t normal. I knew we were supposed to eat hot meals and have running water.
I didn't understand then, but I do now.
She was keeping me alive. It was survival. When I went to bed without dinner and she apologized, I always told her I wasn’t hungry.
Outlaw flicks her ear, and I realize I've tightened my hands on the reins without meaning to. I loosen them again, and she blows a long breath through her nose like she's being patient with me.
There’s a clearing I’ve visited before. I dismount and loop Outlaw’s reins over a low branch. The ground is damp, but I don’t care.
I flop down under a tree, praying a snake doesn’t drop on my head. Something drops onto my thigh. I look down to see a wet spot. I look up to see if it’s raining.
Another drop.
That’s when I realize I’m crying.
I press my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the tears. They keep coming, faster now, hot and relentless.
“Mama,” I whisper to the empty clearing.
And then, it all comes crashing down.
The sob that tears out of me is raw and ugly, and I can’t stop it. My chest heaves, and my body shakes with the force of it. I curl forward, wrap my arms around my knees, and let myself break.
My chest feels like it’s been cleaved in half. The physical pain of my grief would have taken me to my knees if I hadn’t already been down.
I see her face. Not the happy woman in the photograph, but the woman tied to the chair. The woman who tried to tell me to run. The woman who died because she loved me enough to take me away from the monster my father sold me to.
She ran for years. Shitty apartments and empty stomachs and moving in the middle of the night. Years of never letting me get too comfortable anywhere because we might have to leave tomorrow.
God, I hated her for it.
I thought she was weak. Broken. I thought she was running from her demons, not protecting me from mine. I was so angry at her for never giving me a real home. I was so pissed at her for disappearing into a bottle some nights.
“I’m sorry.” I sob into my knees. “I’m so sorry, Mama.”
Another wave hits and leaves me gasping for air between sobs. My throat burns. My head pounds. I don’t care. I need to feel all the pain before I can turn that into fury at the men who killed her.
I pull the photograph from my pocket, smooth it against my thigh, and look at her face again.
She looks so young. She has her whole life ahead of her in this picture. She doesn’t know yet that she’s going to marry a piece of shit who’ll trade their daughter’s life for his own. She doesn’t know she’ll be murdered while her daughter watches.
“I wish I could have saved you,” I whisper. “I wish I’d been stronger. Braver. I wish I’d known what you were protecting me from, so I could have helped you fight.”
But I was just a stupid, angry kid who didn’t understand.
I press the photograph to my chest and rock back and forth, the sobs coming in waves now. Deep, wracking things that make my ribs ache, and my lungs burn.
I think about the ring on my finger. A month ago, I was terrified of Maksim. Now, I sleep in his bed. I let him touch me in ways no one else has. I wake up with his arm around my waist and his breath against my neck, and I feel safe.
How did that happen? How did I go from being a scared girl with nothing to being someone’s wife? Someone’s partner?
And what would Mama think?
Would she be proud that I survived? Or would she be horrified that I married into the same world that killed her? I’m sleeping with a man who runs brothels and burns down buildings and kills people without blinking.
I’ll never know what she would think.
“I miss you,” I say to the photograph. To the ghost of the woman who gave up everything for me. “I miss you so much, and I never even told you. I never told you I loved you. I never said thank you for keeping me alive all those years.”
The last words come out in a harsh whisper.
I cry until there’s nothing left. My eyes are swollen, and my throat is raw. My body feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry. There’s nothing left except a hollow, aching emptiness in my chest.
Outlaw shifts her weight nearby, and the leather of her saddle creaks. She’s stood there patiently while I fell apart. Good girl.
I wipe my face with my hands, knowing I probably look like hell. My eyes feel puffy. My nose is running. I’m a mess.
But I’m still here. Still breathing. Still fighting.
Mama would want that. She fought so hard to keep me alive. The least I can do is live.
I carefully tuck the photograph into my pocket and push myself to my feet on unsteady legs. Everything hurts.
I’m about to reach for Outlaw’s reins when I hear footsteps behind me.
I turn to see the guard pull up nearby on a side-by-side, get out, and move toward me. He’s not running, but he’s not casual. The look on his face tells me the time for tears is over.
My chest tightens.
“What?” I ask.
“We need to go back.” His hand is on his radio. “Now.”
“What happened?”
He moves to Outlaw and unties her reins.
I grab his arm. “What happened?”
He looks at me, and I see in his eyes that it’s bad.
“There was an incident at one of the houses,” he says. “Boss has it under control, but he wants you back at the house. Now.”
“What kind of incident?”
“The kind that means we need to move. Get on the horse.”
My hands are shaking as I grab the saddle horn and pull myself up. He hops in the side-by-side and leads the way. Outlaw senses the urgency and starts galloping toward the barn.
And all I can think is, “Not again.”
I can’t lose anyone else.