Prologue #3
My fingernails began to prickle as every neuron in my body fired.
Cocaína (cocaine) made me feel unstoppable.
When I was one with the drug, I no longer dreaded my past, present, or future.
I loved my father with everything in me, but there were days when I wished I’d been born to a different family.
I often wondered what my life would have looked like if my mother hadn’t been deceased.
How would I have turned out as an Afro-Mexican living in the States?
Would I still have run into Shio… Or a man like him, as the other mob wives had?
Would I have found a man to love me and protect me and sex me?
I’d wished it had been that way, but this was my life, and I had to take it into my own hands.
Getting high and making love to Shio would be the first step in doing so.
Abruptly, I stopped dancing. I could feel my eyes well up as I stood and stared at my reflection.
My lips were parted, involuntarily, and thick saliva was flooding my mouth.
Still, I made no move to swallow it. My mind was racing a mile a minute.
I wasn’t going to cry. Snorting this drug was supposed to ensure that I didn’t cry—that I didn’t feel.
I just wanted to be happy and worry-free.
Before I could stop myself, spit dripped down my lips, and without thinking, I used the back of my hand to wipe it away, taking some of my lip combo with it.
They’d left the liner and lipstick behind, so I would touch up before Shio was ready to go.
Not feeling high enough, since thoughts of my current predicament were still on the surface, I placed the dollar bill to my nostril and took a long whiff at the last line.
“Oh fuuuuuck, papi,” I moaned as my eyes rolled to the back of my head.
It felt too good, too right, and I rejoiced at what was to come.
Finishing the three lines, I knew tonight would go off without me being in my head or my feelings. Shio could have me every which way, and although I was certain it would be painful, at least guilt wouldn’t consume me.
Running my hand down my hips, I felt electric currents flow through me as the strings of the Mexican vihuela strummed through the track.
When the trumpet blared, I held my hands out and rolled my hips as I moved in a rhythm that mixed salsa and cumbia.
I felt light as a feather, and as I engaged my core, the soreness from my workout the other day didn’t bother me one bit.
As a matter of fact, it felt good. I felt good. Life felt good.
I’d reached a flow state where I was no longer worrying. I didn’t care about my pending doom. I didn’t care about the monster of the man I was going to marry. I didn’t care that my future husband would probably kill me once he discovered I was impure.
Weightless. Lighthearted. Carefree.
Shio deserved me. He was the first person who had come along and had truly seen me.
He’d been so generous and asked for nothing in return.
Being without him was going to break me.
I didn’t know how I was going to live without being under his roof, but it had to be done.
I wouldn’t bring a war to his turf. The wives, Neltz, the other Cuppacio men—they didn’t deserve to get caught up in my mess.
Shio deserved me, but he didn’t deserve that.
“Baby, tú eres para un loco!” I sang forcefully.
My voice cracked as Fuerza Regida’s “Tu Sancho” blared.
I could feel the burn in my calf muscles as I danced harder than I ever had.
Crossing my right foot over my left, I spun, then spun again, then again.
My curls bounced in the wind as I twirled.
All of the colors around me blurred together.
This was what life was about. Living without worry—without regret and fear.
Before Shio, cocaína (cocaine) was the only thing that gave me this feeling. And I loved it.
Forgetting that I was in six-inch pumps, I took a wrong step and went crashing into the shelf next to me.
“Bwahahaha!”
I tossed my head back in laughter, my chest shaking as I reached for the center dresser to help myself up.
Instead of fixing my lipstick and pulling myself together, I continued to sway my hips once I was back upright.
The laughter hadn’t stopped and had become uncontrollable.
I didn’t know what was so funny, but tears stung my eyes as I giggled harder.
Deciding the three lines weren’t enough, I picked up the clothing tag I’d used to cut the drugs.
The baggie sat, waiting for me, and I scooped out a bit more, thanking it for its patience.
I was in way over my head already, but losing my virginity was no big feat.
I needed to be as high as I could go without losing my cognizance.
Once my line was spread, I said fuck it and divided out another.
These would be the last two. Five lines were a bit excessive, but I had much to celebrate.
Tonight, I’d be a woman. Tonight, I’d finally do something I wanted.
I’d defy my father with a man who made my toes curl just by looking at me.
And that kiss? That kiss we shared last night was like no other.
It wasn’t my first kiss; I’d had a few with tourists just for the hell of it, but it was the first one that rendered me speechless.
It was passionate, it was hungry, it was lustful, it was fulfilling, it was Shio.
I couldn’t wait to see where else he put his mouth tonight, and hopefully, he’d teach me how to use mine just as that puta (whore) had done him the day he found me in his home.
My face heated remembering that day. I was jealous, and I had no right to be.
I still found myself upset anytime my mind went to that day.
Picking up the bill, I placed my thumb over my left nostril and inhaled through the money with my right.
My eyes fluttered, and it seemed as though the music sped up.
I began dancing in the mirror as I went higher.
Felipe was going to be so pissed once he realized I was no longer a virgin.
I tried to suppress my giggle at the thought, but I was no longer the pilot in my body.
?Yo tendría la última palabra! (I’d get the last laugh!)
Deciding the last line would finally be enough, I bent down to the table to hit it.
I didn’t know when I’d be able to get more drugs once I was in Rodríguezes possession.
He’d done cocaína (cocaine) freely; his entire family did.
But I didn’t know if they would allow me to.
I’d hope they would. I was going to need to be high to stay sane as Mrs. Rodríguez.
Before I could take a whiff, it felt like my hair was being pulled from its follicles.
I was so high that it took me a minute to process what was going on.
Dropping the dollar bill, I reached back to free my hair, but when I smelled his cologne and felt his warmth against my backside, I stilled.
He smelled clean, like soap, but also the tonka beans and the gourmand of his cologne evaded my stinging nostrils.
His abs were hard against my back, and I could feel the gun tucked on his waist. I was trapped between him and the island where the last line rested.
Tears stung my eyes, and my limbs began to tremble.
He snatched me up and shoved me forward, walking me to the mirror that I’d just been dancing in front of.
I could no longer hear the music, although no one had adjusted the volume.
My back was resting against his chest, his fingers tangled in my tresses, holding on for dear life as he stood us in front of the mirror.
He smelled warm, rich, and nutty, but his look was cold, menacing, and sinister.
“Solana…”
I froze. His voice wasn’t his own. It wasn’t the caring voice I’d come to like or the stern one I’d come to appreciate.
It was disturbing. It was horrific. It made my eyes bulge and my shoulders tense as my heart raced uncontrollably.
Shame flooded through my nervous system as I raised my palms. I slackened my mouth as we stared at each other in the mirror.
My face flushed plum, and the makeup couldn’t hide my defeat.
I was still high, but humiliation had a way of sobering me up.
“Shio, I can explain…” I found myself saying, although I’d been caught red-handed.
His glare sliced through me while we stood there for a beat, both of our breaths racing against each other.
His eyes glossed over, and I saw something familiar in them.
Hurt. I knew the look because it was something I carried every day.
As quickly as he’d shown the emotion, he blinked it down and pulled me away from the mirror and turned our bodies in the opposite direction.
“Shut the fuck up. Let’s go.”
He wasn’t yelling, but he was harsh and didn’t ease his grip on my hair.
He began walking us out of the closet, and panic began to seep in.
He had a gun. He’d told me there were no secrets, and he’d caught me in the act of my biggest one.
I didn’t know what he was going to do with me, but I was defenseless.
I couldn’t fight him off if I wanted to.
I wasn’t coherent. I was aware of what was going on, but I was still very intoxicated.
Even if I was sober, I was no match for a grown man who worked out religiously and lifted double my body weight. But he wouldn’t hurt me.
Or would he?
Closing my eyes as he ushered us forward, his front still pressed into my back and my hair still in his grip, I tried to reach down and pull a sober Solana up.
The drugs I’d consumed were pure. It actually surprised me because it was more potent than that from back home.
My high would last at least another thirty minutes, so trying to snap out of it was useless.
The dealer I’d copped from had an excellent plug.
It was the reason I’d been so eager to keep using.
“What… Wh… Where are we going?” I asked as we exited the bathroom and walked through the room I’d probably never see again.
Shio lowered his face near mine, his facial hair tickling my skin and making my panties flood.
I had to close my eyes again because I wanted to turn and comételo (eat him).
I needed him badly, and it outweighed the shame I felt being caught getting high off cocaína (cocaine).
I knew it was just the drugs, though, feeding my sexual desires.
It was as if Shio could sense that I needed him in the worst way because his moist lips pressed against my jaw, making me moan.
My legs quaked and my belly cramped, causing me to stumble, but he held me upright and kept pushing me forward.
The same feeling came over me as it did that night in the car.
He’d successfully made me orgasm. I didn’t know what an orgasm truly felt like, but this had to be it.
My vagina thudded hard in my now milky panties.
He pulled his face back from mine and pressed his lips against my ear. The next words he spoke were enough to produce real tears down my face.
“Para recuperar a mi maldita hija. (To get my fucking daughter back.)”