3. Isabela
ISABELA
Idrift up out of sleep slowly, with heavy eyelids and a dry mouth. It takes me a long moment to remember that I have no idea where I am, though the details of how I got here will forever remain seared into my mind. No way I'll ever forget that harrowing ride.
The first thing I feel is the cold of the steel cuff around my wrist, chaining me to the bed frame, biting into my skin every time I shift even a little.
The second thing I feel is the line taped into the back of my arm.
I lift my eyes to look at the IV bag hanging over me as the cold drip bubbles down the line into my arm.
I lie still and let it all settle on me, piece by piece, until I've put together where I'm not.
I'm not in a hospital.
Hospitals don't chain people to their bed unless they're a criminal—which I'm not.
The room's too quiet too—and too bare to be a hospital room, anyway.
There would be machines and monitors. All I see are plain walls and a single window with the blinds pulled down.
I'm in someone's home, and it appears they don’t want me to leave.
Whoever brought me here has the money and the reach to arrange all of this somewhere private and far off the books.
It makes my belly churn a little, but I figured something like this would happen.
I put myself in that box to get to Mr. Whoever it was they shipped their drugs to. It means I must be in Berlin now.
When I try to push myself upright, pain rips across my ribs and down through both shoulders and I have to bite down on a whimper.
I spent days folded into that crate, getting slammed against the walls every time the truck took a turn or dropped into a pothole in the road.
My whole fucking body's a map of bruises because of it, deep ones that throb with every breath I take.
I ease back down against the pillow and breathe through it while my head tries to catch up to the rest of me.
Papa needs me to be strong for him. By now, he's realized I'm not coming home and that I've gone somewhere, and he probably thinks the Cartel did it.
Which means he's either being stupid and fighting them or he's complying in fear so it doesn't happen to him too.
This is what I wanted, though, isn't it?
I climbed into that crate on purpose, hoping that whoever waited on the other end would be powerful enough to help me.
I just never let myself think about how the fear would feel if it actually worked.
Now here I am, chained to a stranger's bed and waiting to find out exactly who it is I handed myself over to.
When I rest my eyes for a moment, the door opens and a man walks in, dressed in a dark suit with his hair brushed back. He's handsome, but the ink on his skin, which peeks out at me everywhere the shirt stops, is intimidating. I've seen Cartel men dress up. They're still demons.
He shuts the door behind him and stands there a moment, taking in every bruise and every inch of the mess somebody made of me.
I force myself to hold his gaze instead of shrinking back into the pillows like everything inside me wants to.
I've spent my whole life around dangerous men, and if there's one thing I've learned from all of it, it's that you never let them see how badly they frighten you.
He pulls a chair up to the side of the bed and sits, leaning in close. He smells good too, like something musky and warm. It makes my heart flutter a little to see a man this good-looking this close to me, but I'm in no place to enjoy the moment. I'm literally chained to his bed.
"Who are you?" he asks, low and even. "And what the hell were you doing inside my shipment?"
I swallow the dryness in my throat, willing my mouth to make saliva, but it won't. And the cuff rattles on the bed frame when I move my wrist. But I meet his eyes defiantly.
"My name's Isabela," I tell him. "I climbed into the crate to get here.
" I let my eyes sweep over the room. "Wherever 'here' is. I need help."
"Well, Isabela, my name is Demin Roshin, and you are in my home. Now tell me… You climbed into a sealed crate on your own?" he asks, like he doesn't quite believe it.
"I pried the lid loose at the warehouse and climbed in, then closed it up behind me as best I could from the inside.
" My gut is quivering like bread pudding at Christmas.
"I had to take your product out to make room for myself, but I didn't take it for me.
I left it stacked in the corner of that warehouse where any one of Solano's men could trip over it.
I'm not a thief. I just needed the space more than they needed the powder. "
The man sits back and eyes me as if he's trying to believe what I'm saying, but I have nothing but the truth to give. I would never risk my life if I didn’t think it was worth the risk.
"So, tell me what was worth all this," he says, gesturing at the state of my body. I feel like I understand just how close to death I came. Any longer in that crate and I'd have died of dehydration or something. I smell like urine and I feel like shit.
I try to push up onto my elbow, but the cuff snaps me back against the railing, and pain rolls through my ribs. I exhale hard and grit my teeth. I can't afford to pass out. I'm finally in front of the man I hope may save my father.
"They're going to kill my father," I mumble in a tiny voice.
It hurts so bad to even breathe deeply. I have to give myself a second before I can continue.
The man doesn't move, but I can tell he's listening.
"He cooks for Solano. He makes everything, all of it, every shipment you've ever bought. " Tears burn my cheeks as I keep going.
"I heard the men at his warehouse saying they've got his formula now and they don't need him, so they're going to—" My voice cuts out, and I drag in a breath.
I'm so foolish sometimes. I don't know what came over me in that warehouse. I just knew I couldn't go back into our tiny little room and tell my father that I was just getting air. I can't stand back and watch them beat him to within an inch of his life again.
"And so you climbed into a crate," he says again, as if asking me to continue.
"I didn't know what else to do." I pull at the cuff and try to loosen it. The steel is cutting into my arm, and it hurts. "You can stop it. You're the only one powerful enough to stop it. Please, I'm begging you."
But the man's face shifts and darkness washes over his eyes.
"So your father… He's the chemist." The way he says that statement makes my chest deflate. I don’t want him to think that I came here so my father could switch to a new syndicate.
I came here for help. This man looks like a predator that just heard there's new prey in town.
"He's just a tired old man who happens to know a formula," I say, trying to not sound angry or scared. "There's nothing special about him anymore. Solano was already lining somebody up to take his place, so he's not worth half of what you seem to think he is."
There isn't a soul alive who knows better than me how brilliant my father still is. But I can't let Demin see a flicker of that. I won't break my father out of one cage just to lock him up inside another one with a different name on the door. That isn't why I came here.
Demin isn't a stupid man, though. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he leans back in the chair and folds his arms across his chest. "You're protecting him," he says, and it makes my skin crawl.
If I had a way to undo what I've done, maybe I would, but I still hold out hope that somehow, this man sitting in front of me can help more than he harms. But my throat constricts as he speaks again.
"Here's what I'm offering," he says, leaning forward in the chair. "I help you get your father out from under Solano. Then you help me put those hands to work for me instead. You do that, and the two of you live under my protection. The Cartel never touches either of you again."
"So instead of cooking for Solano, he cooks for you.
" I shake my head and it jars something in my neck, making me wince.
"That isn't getting him out. That's moving him into a nicer prison cell.
" I'm on the verge of tears but I force them back.
This isn't what I wanted at all. In my head I'm whimpering a prayer to whatever god may be out there to shift the winds in my favor. This isn't right.
"It's my offer." He cocks his head and looks down his nose at me with narrowed eyes. "I'm the only man alive who can reach into Solano's house and pull your father out of it, and you knew that before you ever climbed into that crate. So you take the hand I'm holding out or you go back in the box."
A cold chill runs across my skin and I shudder as goosebumps rise all over my arms. I don’t like the sound of this at all, but at least he's being reasonable speaking to me and not putting a gun to my head like Solano would have.
"And once he's yours," I say, "what stops you from turning into exactly what Solano was to him?
" None of this sounds good. My father won't like it—to be yanked out of Spain and brought to Germany only to be in the same position he was there.
I don't know if these people even speak Spanish. Papa’s English isn't that great.
"Think about it," he says, rising from his chair. He straightens his tie and looks down at me. "If you need anything, feel free to ask. I have a guard outside your room for now, and the doctor will be back to check on you soon."
I'm not sure how to take that. He hasn't removed the cuffs, and why do I need a guard?
Am I just his prisoner now? Yeah, I put his drugs in the warehouse so they didn't get to him, but it isn't like I can pay for them or something.
I have nothing but the clothes I came in with that are now God only knows where.
"Are you going to let me go?" I hiss, jerking at the cuff. My voice is getting stronger but my body is still in massive pain.
"I'll think about it," he says, winking, then he's gone and I'm left raging.
I don't know what I was thinking. Of course a drug dealer who buys meth from the Cartel isn't going to be a nice gentleman who runs to my rescue. I should never have come here. I should've gone to the police.