On instinct, my hands begin to curl up beside me, preparing for the fresh fight. My anger is raging at the fucker who decided I looked like an easy bet and I swing around, my right fist collides with his jaw, followed by my left fist with his chest. I pummel punch after punch, hit after hit until I get him where I want him. I don’t even give a fuck as the skin on my knuckles splits, I just keep hitting. When he’s dazed enough, I throw an uppercut, landing my fist to his chin, causing his jaw to snap shut. In that same moment, I throw my fist, hitting his nose at the perfect angle so the bone shifts enough to pierce his brain. As he collapses to the floor, I pant looking down at him. His eyes remain open and I back away, looking for the next fucker to contend with.
It’s now I see how the numbers have decreased to myself and one final man. He’s a young man, like myself, clearly fit and willing to fight.
There’s an instant where we just stare at one another before we charge. We’re both without a weapon, and both looking equally hungry for a chance to win. My desire burns in me and I’m not willing to go down after being in the presence of the El Salvador cartel for less than an hour.
I came here for them, they found me. I was prepared to leave my mark and I would make the end bloodshed glorious.
There was nothing else for it.
We collide with a clash of punches, both prepared for the total combat. While I land a fist straight into his kidney, he fights back by smacking me square into my stomach. Both winded, we continue to fight, neither seeming to win until he punches me on the right spot on my cheek, sending me flying. Within seconds, he’s on top of me, trapping me beneath him and he’s free to punch wherever he likes and as hard, but it’s not enough for me to give in and accept death. I thrash beneath him, gaining enough chance to free my arm. I don’t care that he’s still on top of me, the moment I’m able to free my arm, I land my fist onto his face as many times and as fast I can manage. I attempt to hit one spot, and just when I think he’s winning, I land one final punch and put all of my might into it.
I can barely breathe as he falls down unconscious. Disbelief smothers me and I breathe heavily, pushing his lifeless body off me. For a moment, I lay on my back, staring up at the crystal blue sky, the sun beating down upon this blood bath and just find my breath. My ribs ache, my lip stings and the taste of copper is overwhelming, but the silence around me is soul-defining.
I have one more kill and I’ll be free to show them that I was the right candidate to prepare for.
I start to roll over, pushing myself up onto all fours. I heave, spitting out the blood that coats my mouth, and look forward. I see the boss is sitting upright in his seat, waiting for this endgame. Looking left, I take note of my final component as he remains knocked out beside me. Daring myself, I turn my head right, looking across the battleground and see the scattered bodies of fallen men and realize it is coming down to this.
I prepare to look away, but I see a hunting knife lying discarded and I know it’ll do the job. Its edge is jagged, perfect for cutting bone deep. I lunge for it knowing I’m on borrowed time. The moment my hand wraps around its handle, I’m chasing back my steps to get to the last man I know is alive. I throw myself over him, straddling his stomach so my legs can lock down around his waist, trapping him wholly. I raise my arms above my head; my entire body open to any offending hits. The man beneath me opens his eyes, looking up at my crazed face and then at the blade that glistens in the sunlight.
I don’t think twice, I bring the knife down, the vicious force sending the blade straight into the man’s chest. I know it’s not enough to give me what I need so I dislodge it and rip at the knife, sawing through the man’s sternum to free it before I send the knife back down. This time, I twist and turn the knife, not caring for my showmanship or the extent I’ll go to, but to split the bastard’s chest open. The noise resonates out, pure and disgusting, mixed with my violent heave to get what I want. No one stops me and I find myself focusing on the man beneath me. His eyes remain out but he is no longer breathing and I know that’s my doing. I keep looking at his eyes as the noise of his sternum splitting open sounds out, echoing around the silent courtyard.
When the knife slips, I divert my gaze, looking straight at the bloody mess I’ve created. I place my hands inside, ragged pieces of bone, shards of the sternum cut my hands but I apply brute pressure and force his chest to open, even if just minimally. When I’m done, I see that it’s all so easy. It’s now with complete ease I reach into the man’s chest, wrapping my fingers around his heart. It’s warm under my palm, but it doesn’t stop me yanking the organ out. It comes out still attached to his lungs, but I don’t allow that to hinder me. I reclaim my blade and use it to cut the arteries away, leaving it a free organ.
I slowly stand, staggering with the still warm organ in my hand. The courtyard is now deafeningly silent and I know all eyes are on me as I stand here, waiting to cement my place among men and criminals.
I lift my gaze, staring straight at the boss Joaquín Castillo – a man I already know of very well – and offer him a sideways grin before bringing the heart to my lips as if it’s the ripest of apples I could’ve plucked from temptation. I hear a few gasps as I bite down into the vessels, blood pumps from the chambers, dripping down my chin, onto my shirt, smothering my hand before trawling down my forearm.
I gag a little as I swallow lumps of heart, but I persevere. I tell my conscious to not recognize what it is I’m eating and just eat it. I try to disassociate myself from what I’ve done and why I’m doing it and make it through this one meal. My stomach involuntarily convulses, my body heaving with it, but I close my eyes and swallow.
I know what this means to them, if I throw up, I lose out.
And I make it. As I do, I lavish that final swallow because it tells me how I’ve won, tells me how I’ve made it and losing it all was well worth it because I’m here, right where I want to be. My hands fall away from my mouth upon that final mouthful and I stare straight at the boss. There’s a moment of pure stillness as I wait for the sound of a pin dropping, but it never comes. The deafening silence is broken when Joaquín stands up applauding me passionately, roaring with pride. Soon everyone follows suit, clapping and causing the room to come alive regardless of the death scattered around.
I’m applauded for being a fucking psychopath.
“Javier Santos, everyone!” Joaquín announces as he approaches me. “Joaquín Castillo,” he introduces, taking my blood-soaked hand in his. He gives it a stern and steady handshake. “Welcome to the family, Javier. It’s nice to see a real man out here willing to show us what he has to offer and not what fear will make a man do.”
“I don’t take too kindly to fearful men,” I state, standing tall before the boss.
“I like you already,” he says before releasing my hand.
Joaquín turns away, shouting at the young man from earlier to get a room ready for me. He goes over to his throne and sits back upon it. He does nothing but watch me, his eyes boring straight into mine. It’s a contemplative glance, but I know he’s trying to work out just where I would fit in with all of these men.
At first, I don’t notice it, but then movement catches my attention. For a moment, I stand beguiled by the sight before me. By the boss’ feet is a petite blonde, her messy curls fall over one shoulder while she sits on the floor looking upon the bloodshed and debauchery. I’m not sure what has me so captivated – the fact she doesn’t even shy away from the horror show that just came to life, or the fact that her innocence in no way fits with this place.
And then it’s as if she notices me – like really notices me before her. The moment our eyes meet, I feel myself come alive.
I only look away as the boss begins to stands again. He looks like he has a plan of intent now, one he’s willing to share.
“Guess tonight we celebrate the last man standing!” he declares, putting his hands out while he smirks smugly. “Javier Santos just proved what the El Salvador really stands for.
.. men standing victorious!” He smiles brightly at me, clearly proud of my efforts. “For now, Eighteen...” he says, tossing the comment somewhat over his shoulder. “Come here, Princesa.” On cue, she’s on her feet and by the boss’ side, facing me with big blue doe eyes, waiting to be given her orders. “You’re to help our guest settle in before the meal.”
Holy fuck, this I was not prepared for.
“Javier,” Joaquín states to our newest recruit while putting his arm around my waist. “This little beauty is Eighteen. She’s my prized girl, but like all victors, for tonight, she is all yours.” He pulls me close with bruising force, letting me know my job once more. “She’ll get you cleaned up and settled into your room and she’ll bring you down to the feast tonight.”
“My stuff...” Javier muses, not yet looking back at me.
“One of the men will bring it up for you in a bit,” Joaquín comments, dishing out that same fiendishly friendly smile he does for all the new guys. “For now, get acquainted with Eighteen, she knows what to do.”
I’m pushed toward Javier and there’s an awkward moment of silence before I break into an innocent smile. Behind the smile I’m a bag of nerves, knowing how this man will tear me to shreds with my forced consent.
“Your room is upstairs,” I begin to say, my voice kept low like Joaquín likes. “You can follow me.”
“Remember Eighteen, you have an hour,” Joaquín orders, reiterating what I already know.
“Yes, el maestro,” I say, going up to Joaquín to give him a kiss on the cheeks, a sign of my respect for him. “He’ll be ready.”
“As will you I hope?” he says, stalling the moment.
“Yes, el maestro.” I look at Javier, taking a moment to take in his blood-sodden exterior before giving him a softer gaze. “This way.”
I extend my arm, touching his elbow lightly to force him to turn ready to leave the room.
“Remember, Eighteen, anything this man wants, he gets!” Joaquín shouts out as we leave. “He may be new, but you look after what is mine.”
“Yes, el maestro,” I announce, looking back, I give Joaquín a smile before taking Javier completely out of the room.
I walk through the house, sensing how he looks around at the passing doors and archways. Curiosity is the same beast that captures them all. If you’ve seen it in one, you’ve seen it in them all. I remain silent as I turn to a set of stairs and begin to climb them, an act I’m so used to, I don’t even think about the steps or the journey.
As the newest recruit, Javier has a lot of men to match up to and in a house this size, he won’t meet them all at once.
Then, of course, there are the girls.
I know them like my sisters, but he’ll only meet their docile side. He’ll never meet them after their first rape; he’ll never see what becomes of them when they’re passed around a room. He’ll never see a girl on the come down from whatever drug is tonight’s fancy. He’ll never have to nurse our broken souls or fill our empty hearts. He’ll only see the side of us girls that matter most, the one that appeals most to the El Salvador members – we’re the vessels they get relief from.
Whatever that relief may be.
“This place is enormous,” Javier comments, but I don’t respond.
Again, not a first for me, while they get caught up in the wonderment Joaquín’s house has to offer.
Perched out the back of La Ponderosa, Joaquín’s family chose an idyllically spacious mansion, bland on the outside, full of life on the inside. Hidden down a winding dirt road, no one ventures this far to see the activities that go on behind the gates, nor do strangers know about its location.
I continue to walk, knowing we are nearly at his room, as we turn the corner I reach into my pocket for the key Joaquín gave to me in preparation for this very moment. I begin to slow, turning slightly toward one of the oak-paneled doors.
“If there’s anything wrong with the room, do not hesitate to tell me and I’ll have Santiago arrange a new one,” I tell him, unlocking his door.
“Santiago?” he questions, hovering behind me.
I’m not sure if the quiver that just hit his voice is one out of nerves or just the overwhelming surge of excitement that is finding its way to the surface.
“Joaquín’s son,” I tell him blandly, stepping into the room to hold the door open for him. “He deals with the newest recruits.”
I watch him walk in, his cut jaw line catches my attention first. Now, in the quieter depths of the house, I’m not engulfed by the rush new recruits bring with them. I’m not overcome with the blood or the gore. He doesn’t catch my staring as he enters, coolly lifting a hand to push back the stray strands of hair that have fallen out from its messy quiff.
I mustn’t look, I scold myself.
Us girls are always told that we aren’t to stare at the men – new recruit or old. We look when we’re told and not a moment too soon.
Slowly, I close off the rest of the house with a soft push. I go over to the windows, throwing open the curtains to let in the bright Mexican sunlight. One by one, the windows fill the room with blistering heat and I enjoy the feel as my skin warms.
“We need to get you cleaned up,” I mutter, dragging myself away from the warmth. “I’ll start a bath and we’ll get you cleaned up. Hopefully, your clothes will be in the room by then.”
I leave him in the bedroom, not one word uttered and head for the en-suite attached to his room. I don’t hesitate to put the taps on and start filling the large, white marble roll-top bath. I only stop when I sense Javier come into the room. I place my hand into the water, mixing up the bubbles. I like drawing this moment out, almost like reveling in that beautiful calm before the horrendous storm.
I sometimes wonder if it’s not so much the storm I enjoy delaying or that reminder that luxuries like a deep, bubble bath do still exist in life. In a place like this, you get what you’re given. For us girls, it’s communal showers built onto a communal dormitory style bedroom.
Only men get their own rooms.
Today, however, I know I’m delaying the storm because of the man behind me. I’ve met many storms in my life here, but never any like Javier Santos – he’s different, I can sense it. I’m just unsure if that’s a good thing or a terribly bad one.
A silent prayer leaves me, praying it won’t be the latter, but I know my wishful thinking is going to be the death of me.
“Is this what you always have to do?”
“Yes, el señor,” I respond as I reach to adjust the cold. “This is part of your reward.” I place my hand under the running water, knowing that I’ll have to make sure Javier is immaculate and pleased. “You came out as the victor, you deserve anything you desire.”
“What if I don’t desire you?”
My head snaps back, my eyes wide as I look at him in horror. My heart begins to pick up a new rhythm, a panicky one and my breathing slows to staccato inhales and exhales. I can’t have him refuse me. That’s not how it happens. If he rejects me, I’m as good as dead by sunrise. I begin to stand up, grabbing the towel from the side to dry my hands. I know the game; I’ve played and lost far too many times. I approach Javier, my body moves sensually, bringing me closer to him.
“Then I have to make you desire me,” I tell him in a soft tone, reaching up for the collar of his bloody shirt. “It’s my job, after all.” I look up into his eyes, allowing my eyes to fall for a second to land upon his lusciously plump and kissable lips. “If you don’t want any of this, let me know,” I say, releasing my fingers from his collar to drop upon his chest, my palms against the bloody material. “And I’ll tell Joaquín.”
I know I could guilt trip him, but I don’t trust this man. I barely know him and I refuse to trick him into keeping me here. If he doesn’t want me, then so be it. If I lie, who am I to deny him telling Joaquín what I did? There’s no trust, no faith in one another. No more than twenty minutes ago did I see him kill multiple men. Why would I trust him to keep a secret?
“What would Joaquín do if I said I didn’t want you?” he asks, cocking a brow.
My eyes lift to look into his. “He’d bring you a range of girls to pick from until he had one to give you.” I look at his chest now, my fingers coming to play with the buttons undoing the top. “And I’d become the entertainment of the evening.”
I don’t elaborate on what that means, I know not to feed new recruits too much information.
“You can tell me to stop...” I trail off, moving onto the second button.
When he doesn’t force me off, I continue. It’s as the buttons become undone, I’m left with a ripped chest, tattoos on his right side, looking set to travel into a sleeve down his arm. I continue down, revealing a body of a god and I have to bite my lip, not usually getting this far before the man takes command. As I undo the final button and reach up for his collar to drag the shirt down his arms that Javier fixes me with a look and speaks.
“I can undress myself,” he states, not looking best pleased.
“I understand that,” I whisper gently, taking his shirt off him. “But this is part of my job.”
“I can do this,” he states, taking his hands away from his shirt and doing the job himself. “I won’t tell them if you won’t.”
I don’t reply, I’ve been here far too long to know that nothing remains a secret for very long in this place. It’s as if the walls know everything and utter the secrets which happen behind closed doors. No one gets away with anything. But I allow him to strip and I go back to the bath. It’s not a perfect temperature but I turn the faucets, switching off the running water.
It’ll have to do.
When I back away, I see he’s down to his boxers, that man’s blood tainting his skin having seeped through his shirt. As his fingers come to the hem of his boxers, I turn my back on him, allowing him his privacy, facing the window. I listen to the sound of him stepping into the bath, knowing it’s nearly time to get this over with. The water sloshes around him, but I still don’t turn until it’s completely quiet.
Heroine Hearts: Darkness Made These Heroine Hearts Page 3
