by S Williams
He was only fifty-four. Smiling. Happy. Living his life in bliss…and then the next thing I know he’s gone. Murdered in cold blood by who we think was the Colombian cartel.
“I need to hear you say it, baby?” Antonio murmurs.
“I understand.”
“That’s my girl.” He cradles my face in his hands and kisses me on the center of the forehead. His lips are warm and soft, making me melt inside.
He then pulls away and opens the middle compartment to take out a cigar. After rolling down the window, he lights the end of it and my face scrunches up.
“Do you have to do that here, Toni?”
“What?” He chuckles. “I want a nice cigar before we take that long flight to Bora Bora, baby. You know I can’t smoke on the way there.”
“Those cigars are going to kill you one day. I hate those things.”
“I know you do.” He releases a puff of smoke, and most of it drifts out of the window. The remainder runs past my nose and I groan.
“We are married now, Toni. Some things are gonna have to change, you know? Like when we decide we’re ready to have babies and stuff. Don’t you think smoking should go?”
“I’ll quit the cigars…but I’m not sure about the cigarettes.”
I roll my eyes and when he reaches across to pinch my right cheek, I fight a laugh. Pinching my cheek and smirking is his thing. He does the whole sparkle-in-the-eye thing, and he’ll say, “Come on, Gia baby. Cheer up for Toni.”
It’s how we met. Those were the first few words he said to me. I was upset with Daddy about something and needed to talk to him right away, but he had a meeting and made me wait.
When Toni walked out after the meeting, he saw me sitting in the den and decided to sit right beside me. He pinched my cheek and said those exact words.
I will never forget them. He was so cocky about it, but I loved it.
“You are so full of it,” I giggle. I roll my window down and take in the Veracruz air. It’s humid and thick outside, but the smell of freshly made tortillas, tortas, and tres leches cake is enough to make me want to stay.
This is a destination wedding for us. We celebrated for two nights, and the wedding was on the third day. We figured after all the partying, a reception wasn’t necessary.
“Toni, you smell that?”
“Hell yeah. Smells fucking amazing.” Toni inhales deeply, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. His sharp nose and sculpted lips move in sync, and then he drops his head. “I swear if I lived here I’d be as fat as a pig,” he chuckles.
“You?” I laugh with him. “After working my ass off to try and stay fit enough for this damn dress, all I want are carbs. I’d take an entire torta stand with me if I had the choice.”
“I bet you would, baby.” He runs his eyes up and down my frame again. He hasn’t been able to stop staring since I walked down the aisle. “Hey, come here. Give me another one of those sweet kisses.”
I blush hard as I lean in, but then Kevin stomps on the brakes, causing me to gasp and slide forward. I hear tires skid and Kevin jerks the wheel to get out of the way of the black SUV in front of us.
He swerves to the right in haste, but what stops us from still driving is the fire hydrant that he crashes right into.
“Shit!” Toni barks. His cigar has fallen, burning the carpet, but it’s the least of his worries right now. He looks at me, grabbing my arm, checking me for damage. “You all right, Gia?”
“Yes,” I breathe, but my heart is pounding. Kevin looks back at us, and for a second I think he is going to apologize for his lack of attention, but I am completely wrong.
Kevin, Toni’s driver of four years, pulls out a handgun and points it directly at my face.
I scream as he cocks an eyebrow, and Toni looks up, only to be faced with the gun now. “Kevin, what the fuck is your problem! Put that fucking gun down or I’ll shove it down your fucking throat!”
I hear stomping, guns cocking, as Toni rants on, threatening a man with a gun when he has all of his weapons in the trunk…and that’s when I see them.
Three large, bulky men with handguns. They have on black gloves, and all black clothing. Really tan skin and beady black eyes. They are stomping quickly, careless of their surroundings.
The people around are avoiding them like the plague, as if they know these men are trouble and shouldn’t be fucked with.
“Toni!” I scream, pointing at the men as Kevin pushes out of the car.
One of the men lifts his gun and points it at us. Toni looks back just in time, grabs me by the back of the neck, and forces my body down as he ducks.
Bullets fly everywhere. Glass shatters and my body crumples even more as Toni looks me right in the eyes. His are glossy now. An apology has formed, but I am confused by it. This isn’t his fault. He didn’t know this would happen…did he?
One bullet lands at Toni’s ribs and he grunts loudly, clutching his side with one hand.
“Toni,” I whimper when the bullets stop. I want to ask him what this may be about, but I can’t. The words are lodged in my throat. I’m too afraid to speak.
I tremble, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“Gia…baby, I—” The door behind Toni is snatched open. Before he can finish, he’s yanked out by the back of his tuxedo, and a silver gun is pointed at the base of his skull.
I watch in absolute horror as my husband—my beautiful, adoring husband—stares right at me with blue eyes so big and full of remorse.
And with no hesitation at all—as if my husband means nothing to anyone in this world—he is taken right away from me.
In the blink of an eye.
In a flash.
A bullet fires through his left eye, his face blanks, and then his body collapses on the seat.
For a moment, I can’t think.
I can’t breathe.
All I see is blood. Toni’s blood. It has soaked my $34,000 dress. It’s on my face, on my hands as I reach for him. It puddles around my feet, but not for long.
His body is snatched right away from me again and dragged off.
“No!” I scream. “No! Stop! Leave him alone!” I’m begging, but I don’t even know what for. He’s gone. Toni is gone and every part of my brain is in denial about it. “Why are you doing this?!” I shout at the men, watching as one of them drags him off. “STOP!”
Before I know it, they are coming for me too. One of them has a sly grin on his face and it disgusts me. I know he is a pig—they are all pigs—but this particular one has a look in his eye. One that scares the living shit out of me.
It’s greedy, thirsty, and reminds me of a vulture—a vile creature that picks at the remains of the dead.
He grabs my ankle, but I put up a fight, kicking him with my bloodstained white heels, screaming for him to let me go. One of the spikes of my heels digs into his tattooed upper arm and he roars from the pain, but that only fuels him.
It angers him.
He grabs me again, this time higher on my leg. He squeezes and it hurts so much that I cry out.
I see people, but they are only watching from the safety of their homes. None of them are calling for help. None of them are trying to save me. None. They are all just as afraid as I am, cowering behind splotchy curtains, or running into buildings to hide.
“Come here, you stupid bitch!” The man clutches my leg, getting a good grip. He drags me across the backseat, but I hang onto the edge of the driver’s seat, still fighting—still kicking and screaming for my life.
If I’m dying, I won’t go down without a fight.
Fuck that.
I hear something creak behind me and when I look back, I see Kevin opening the door to bend down. He releases a long, deep sigh, and then he leans forward to get closer.
“Kevin!” I scream. “Why are you doing this?! We’ve been nothing but good to you!”
He shakes his head, looking me over. Before I know it, he’s wacked me across the face with the butt of his gun.
; Blood fills my aching mouth, running down to my chest. The man that has my legs is still tugging, grunting as he tries to wrench my body out.
But I don’t stop fighting. I can’t. I don’t care if I end up dying because of it. My acrylic fingernails sink into the leather and I hold on even tighter.
“That hit was supposed to be enough to get you to stop fighting, Gia. You’ve left me with no choice. You’re causing a scene now and we can’t have that.” I look back at Kevin with the taste of hot copper on my tongue.
“I fucking hate you,” I spew right before spitting my blood in his face. My words mean nothing to him, nor does the spit. When it lands on his cheek, he acts as if it never even happened.
He doesn’t flinch or react. He doesn’t do anything at all, except what he planned on doing in the first place.
The butt of his gun comes crashing down on my skull, causing a cracking noise that sounds unreal.
My body crumples down, my arms giving out on me. The man that has my legs finally yanks my weak body out of the car. My head drops down hard on the pavement, causing another splitting crack, but I can’t feel it after a while.
All I feel is numbness.
Coldness.
I can’t even see the sun. All I see is blackness, and that’s when I realize something is now covering my head. Something is blocking my vision.
Before I know it, that darkness becomes all consuming, and I sink deep into the depths of it.
I hear myself breathing hard, so I guess I’m still here.
I hear my heart sluggishly pounding in my chest, so I guess that means I’m still alive.
But I wish I weren’t.
I picture Toni’s blue eyes when he looked at me with remorse. I remember his blood on my hands. I taste my own blood, and the only thing I wish is that I was already dead.
In only five minutes, I have suffered from my very own decision—loving one of the most dangerous men on the planet.
Loving a murderer.
A liar.
A psycho—that’s what they all used to call him, but he was none of those things to me.
He was my husband. He was my rock…but now—because of these men—he is nothing.
Chapter Two
Day 1
The sound of water splashes from a distance.
Deep voices hiss and hum. Some are boastful and arrogant. Some are faint.
Pain sweeps across my entire head. The back of it hurts so bad that I wince. I try reaching up to touch it, but I can’t. My hands are stuck. I’ve been restrained.
I snatch my hands forward and backward, feeling something burn my wrists with each tug.
Rope.
I open my eyes, greeted with blackness. My breathing picks up, my lungs working double time. The rope around my wrists is so tight it burns and I’m not even moving them anymore.
The sound of water picks up. It seems closer now. My head feels heavy as I lift it, trying to move whatever it is covering my head so I can see something.
I panic.
I rock my body sideways, pushing onto my left arm, giving it all I’ve got. At first, it’s useless, but as I continue swaying, I finally get up.
I pant raggedly, looking down through the small slit, spotting old hay and moldy wood. The deep voices grow louder and then I hear something creak before slamming. A door.
I gasp.
“Check on the bitch! Looks like she’s moving.” A deep voice shouts this in Spanish. I barely comprehend it at first. My mind is in such a fog. “It’s been two days now.”
Two days?
By pressing my lips together and moving my head a little more, I get a slight view of my hands. My wrists are bound tight. Almost like shackles are around them, but I was right. It’s rope.
My wrists are raw and red. There is fresh blood, and it stings the more I struggle.
Tears burn my eyes, but I don’t let them stop me. I don’t know where I am, but I pick up my wrists and drop my head, biting into the wide, thick rope. None of the strands come off though.
The heavy footsteps drift down the hallway, getting closer and closer to where I am. I can hear the man breathing. I can smell his stench…or maybe it’s my own.
I hear keys jingle and then a throat being cleared.
“Stop,” someone says, and I’m surprised it’s in English. I gasp, immediately dropping my wrists. I move my head to look around, even though I can’t see a damn thing. I see the floor and that’s it. “He’s close,” the person whispers. It’s a man’s voice. “Pretend you’re still unconscious. Now.” His last word is a demand, but I don’t hesitate.
I drop on my side, and it makes my brain ache, but I shut my eyes and steady my breathing. I try and remember the position I was in when I was asleep, but I can’t. The footsteps get closer, my breaths thickening beneath the black hood.
“Fuck,” the man snaps. “Bitch is still out cold.” The keys jingle some more and then some sort of gate or door screeches on the hinges. The footsteps come closer and then they stop.
One of his feet nudges me in the belly, and I try not to make a noise. I don’t dare swallow or breathe. The man sighs and after several moments, his footsteps are going in the opposite direction. The gate screeches, something clinks, and then his footsteps continue down the hallway.
I don’t exhale until I hear the other door shut.
Thank God.
I push up by my bound hands to sit up as much as possible. I’m wary, though. I now know there is someone else here. Someone watching me.
“Who are you?” I ask.
The person doesn’t speak, and I think I must be crazy—imagining the voice, that is, until he speaks again.
“Ronaldo.”
“Ronaldo? Why are you in here? Are you one of them?”
He scoffs. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
“What?” I spit, grimacing beneath the hood.
“If I was one of them, do you think I’d be in here?”
“I don’t know. You might be a guard or something.”
“If I was a guard, I wouldn’t have helped you.”
I remain silent for a split second. I drop my head and study pieces of my torn wedding gown—the pieces I can see—and my eyes instantly burn when I remember it all.
The blood. The tears. The horror.
Fresh tears come streaming down as I touch the silk, my bodice.
A heavy feeling fills my veins and then I remember the most important memory of all. Toni.
His eyes.
“Gia… baby.” Those were his very last words.
I sniffle.
“Ah, shit,” Ronaldo groans from wherever he sits. “This is why I didn’t want them to put a female in here with me. Bunch of fucking crybabies.”
“Hey—fuck you!” I snap.
“Ohh…and a feisty one at that. First one I’ve encountered here.”
Confusion floods me. “First one you’ve encountered? How long have you been here?”
“Six months.”
“Six?” I gasp.
“Yep.”
“And they haven’t tried to kill you or anything?”
“If you could see me, you’d know they’ve done much worse. Killing is easy. Torture is…well, torture. Plain and simple.”
My eyes expand beneath the hood. I wish I could see who this mystery person is.
“Are you tied up?”
“No need,” he mumbles.
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t say anything.
“Well, do you think you could take this hood off of me? I can’t reach high enough.”
“I could…but I won’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I don’t want to see you. When I get out of this place I don’t want to remember a fucking thing. Though it is nice to talk cordially to someone after so long.”
I swallow thickly, but the spit gets stuck in my throat. My mouth is so dry, as well as my throat. I lick my lips. “Is there water?”
&
nbsp; “You shouldn’t drink it,” he says. “You’ll have to piss…and there is no pot to piss in here.”
“Where have you been going?”
He doesn’t respond, and frankly I’m glad. I’m terrified to know the answer, but as I sniff a little harder, I catch the stench of urine…and something else unpleasant.
“God,” I groan. “I can’t be in here for six months. I didn’t even do anything wrong.”
“That’s what we all think.”
“But I didn’t. I swear.”
“Sometimes it’s not about you, but how you are connected to someone they know or need information from. My guess is you are here as bait or some shit.”
“Bait?” I shake my head. “No. They murdered my husband right in front of me and my Dad is dead and I—” My throat thickens with a wave of emotion. I drop my head as more tears flow down my cheeks. “This has to be a nightmare,” I whisper.
“Fuck, would you stop fucking crying already?”
My head keeps shaking. My body is violently trembling now, and all I can remember are the gunshots. The blood that was shed. The people watching and not helping. And that traitorous fuck, Kevin.
“Shit,” Ronaldo groans. “All right, let’s make a deal. You stop with the pity party and I’ll take your hood off.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t,” I sniff.
“I wasn’t…but I will if it’ll shut you up.”
I quickly nod my head. I need this thing off. I’m tired of feeling blind. I need to know where I am—figure out how to get out of this place somehow.
“Okay,” I whisper.
I hear rustling across from me and then I feel him get closer. He is near my head. I feel him moving the fabric and, slowly, it slides off from behind me. The hood lands on the ground, and he moves away, sitting against the wall.
And it’s when I see him that I almost can’t believe my eyes.
He’s an American man, clearly. His skin is pale and chalky, his eyes nearly sunken into his face, surrounded by dark, painful looking circles. He isn’t wearing a shirt and there are scars all over his body.
His hair is dry, brittle, and touches his shoulders. He’s so skinny I can see his ribs. Chapped lips, no shoes or anything on but a pair of hand-trimmed khakis.
