Tough Break (FSCU Pitbulls Book 3)

by Stella Marie Alden

  I raise my hand. “I am. I’m Ms. Hughes.”

  Chapter 17

  Chris

  “Way to go!” I slap Jackson and Ryan on the back at the end of the game.

  Our team is shaping up well but there’s still a big problem.

  In the locker room, I grab my protégé and push him into an empty corner. “Are you ready to ’fess up?”

  “No, no. It’s fine.”

  “Listen, this has gone on long enough. I learned more about your trainer. He’s… not a good sort. Why don’t you let me-?”

  “Chris. I got this. You worry too much. I can’t put my career in jeopardy. Surely, you of all people, should understand.”

  “If you don’t tell him soon, I’ll have to.”

  “Know what? You’re a real ass.”

  “You have no idea. I want you back on the field tomorrow morning, early. And I better not find a pink-haired drummer in your dorm.”

  Dammit. My receiver has a great chance to succeed and even though Shannon helped me out, I got a real bad feeling. I may need my dad to step in and help out. After all, he’s the one that got me into this mess.

  Finished with my shower, I grab my phone out of my locker, hoping like hell it has an email from Danni. There is but there’s no text, only a video of my hometown. What the fuck is she doing in that hell hole?

  Worried, I call my dad and fire off my questions. “Is there some kind of demonstration going on at home?”

  “It’s fucking nuts. There’s hundreds, maybe even thousands of college kids. NBC, FOX, CBS, Associated Press… They’re all here. Are you living under a rock, son?”

  “Shit.” I make a beeline for the nearest college watering hole where a large monitor shows the rally.

  A sweating news anchor stands in front of the detention center. “For those of you who’ve just joined us, we’re here in McAllen, Texas at the biggest student rally since the sixties. Students from all over the US have joined in the peaceful protest vowing not to leave until the children are released.”

  Dear God. They have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into. The border police are ruthless. They deal with the Mexican Cartels, gun runners, and the locals who’d just as soon kill them as not.

  I remember one run-in last summer. I was drinking at my dad’s bar and a guard comes in thinking I look a little too dark and asks for my ID. I tell him to fuck off, it turns into a fight, and I end up behind bars because the ass-wipe pulled a gun on me.

  Even if I drive all night, by the time I arrive, she’ll be back home.

  I text her and when there’s no response, I run for the Pitbull bus in the parking lot. After taking attendance, I nod at the driver, and watch the protest unfold on my phone.

  There’s way too many people. Unless someone’s thought to bring in portable bathrooms, it’s going to get ugly. I doubt there’s enough bottled water, either.

  We’re just pulling into Freedham when the news feed shows a station wagon unloading boxes of food and clothing from the local sisters of mercy. Spotting Danni, I almost shit a brick.

  My phone battery goes dead so I dig out a backup from my knapsack, plug it in, and curse. Then, I check the video she sent me with fuller understanding. All afternoon, when interviewed, the guards have insisted the center is much like a posh daycare. McAllen boasts their facility is one of the cleanest and safest places for detainees but her video paints a far different picture.

  Shit. If this footage gets out, all hell will break loose.

  How the fuck did she do it? Damn. It tears my insides out. I call the only person I can think of who may be able to help me out, the college’s journalism professor, my English teacher.

  “Email me the link.”

  I do and a few minutes later, she hisses out her breath. “If the protestors see this, it’ll start a riot.”

  “And if I don’t give it up?”

  “No doubt everyone will all go home and nothing will change.”

  “So I shouldn’t.”

  “I didn’t say that, either. Listen, Danni must’ve sent you her video for a reason. What would she want you to do?”

  I play the video again and my fists clench. I see kids crying out for their moms with snot running down their faces. None of them has clean clothes. They range in ages from two to maybe sixteen. The worst part is the despair in their eyes. I’ve only seen the likes in pictures of Nazi concentration camps during World War II.

  “Can you help me put this on air?”

  “Give me a moment and I’ll conference you in.”

  “Fine. Do whatever you need to do but make it quick.”

  Shit. Even without the video, the scene unfolding on the TV screen is bad. Army reserve tanks circle the area and they shoot tear gas into the crowd.

  My English professor comes back on the line. “I have Kevin Forest from CNN on the line. Tell him what you told me.”

  With one eye on the TV, I pace. “I got a video of inside the detention center taken by Danielle Hughes, the teacher in the station wagon. Do you want it?”

  “Damn straight we do. Name your price.” The bass voice on the connection clips his words and I match his pace.

  “When’s the next flight out of Freedham? I need to be on it.”

  “If you have what you say you have, I can make it happen.”

  I send him an address in the cloud, and after he authenticates it I arrive at my gate just as they’re about to close it.

  My girlfriend’s video hits the airwaves as I wait on the runway, watching on my phone. In McAllen, tanks have mostly cleared the area as public outrage floods social media.

  Where the fuck are you? I try to call again before we take off but I’m taken straight to her voicemail. Then, the flight attendant insists I turn off my phone. Four miserable hours later, I land and because I flew first class, I’m one of the first off the plane.

  Ignoring the pain in my leg, I sprint down the short hall to where my pop waits, two helmets in hand.

  We clasp forearms and I take in courage from his solid hug. “Thanks for picking me up.”

  “She must be real special.” He leads the way out the door as I mutter to myself.

  “She is.” Again, I try Danni’s number.

  Frustrated, I call her sister. “Karen, did your sister call home?”

  “No. But some lady called Mrs. Griswold is here. She wants to talk to you.”

  “Put her on.” With the phone to my ear, I follow my dad across the lot to his bike.

  “Christof? Are you in Texas?”

  “Yeah, I just got here.”

  “Ms. Hughes didn’t arrive back at the bus with the others. They think she was arrested.”

  Shit. My fists clench. “For what?”

  “They figured out who took the video. The college has hired a lawyer but the officials in McAllen say they’re still processing the people they arrested. They claim they haven’t got the manpower and it could take all night. I’m going to stay with Karen.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.” I grab my helmet and straddle his hog behind him. “C’mon Pops. Let’s go bust some heads.”

  Grinning, he settles onto the bike and turns. “Now, that’s the man I’ve missed. I think we should call a quick club meeting. We may need a few more men.”

  Chapter 18

  Dannielle

  I have no idea what time it is but when I wake, it’s dark and Sister Mary Francis is one of the few protesters left inside the fence with me. All night long, people have been released and now it’s just us.

  “It’s good you got some sleep.” Hands tie-wrapped in front of her, my new friend does her best to make the sign of the cross, then rises off her knees to sit cross-legged on the pavement.

  Stretching and shivering, I moan from the aches spreading across my body. “Do you know where we are?”

  “The old JVC factory. It’s just north of the border.” Her dark eyes gleam in the little light given off by moon, setting low in the starry sky.
<
br />   “Did anyone tell us what we’re charged with?”

  She shakes her head, no. “But I did hear some men talking in the building. Your video has caused quite a stir. Even the staunchest supporters of the president are calling for him to order the release of the border children. God has answered my prayers.”

  She smiles, seeming at peace while I pace the small enclosure. I’m dehydrated, hungry, dirty, and need to pee.

  I think of those poor kids behind bars. They must feel like this every hour of the day. My resolve strengthens when I drop my pants, squat, and try to stream away from my clothes.

  While I do my business, three other dark-skinned women speak excitedly in Spanish by the building. One of them slinks to the ground, puts her face into her knees and cries.

  I straighten my clothes as best as I can and rush to join them.

  “What did they say?” I sit next to the brown teenager, pat her shoulder, and try to recall my high school Spanish. “Estate calmado.”

  Sister Mary pales in the moonlight. “Maria heard the guards say they were keeping the pretty ones.”

  My heart races. “Surely, they wouldn’t dare…”

  “They’re sending us over the border. Deporting us.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I’m an American citizen.” My thoughts shoot to Karen. If I don’t come home, who will take care of her?

  My new friend’s voice grows tight. “So are we but our nationality carries no import. The border policía will merely say they made a mistake. Their crimes will be well-executed then covered up. It is not the first time they’ve done such a thing.”

  She bites her lower lip. “I am very sorry I got you involved. I thought with all the publicity, they would not dare.”

  I hold her shaking hands. “Don’t worry. I came with a large group. They’ll start looking when they realize I’m missing.”

  “I have no doubt, Miss. But by the time they come for us, I fear it will be too late.” She points into the desert where two tiny white dots grow larger in the distance.

  A few seconds later, a white van barrels through the desert, engine whining.

  I shiver, sweat dripping down my sides. Never in a million years, did I imagine this ending to my protest. Will they kill us, rape us, or both?

  I pull us into a huddle. “Promise me, you will do whatever it takes to survive. Vow it, now.”

  Holding hands, we watch in horror as the van pulls in front of our fence. Two huge, gun-carrying men in light colored uniforms exit the vehicle and slam the door. Laughing, they unlock the padlock and pull off the chain.

  As it clunks to the pavement, the sisters pray and we all back against the building.

  “Todos ustedes vienen aquí. Come here.” The biggest waves his pistol’s barrel toward the other man, opening the side door of the van.

  Shuddering, I lower my gaze as I pass by. I’ve only seen eyes like his once; on a TV documentary of famous serial killers.

  I struggle at the vehicle’s door. “Please, por favor. I am American.”

  He grins. “We know.”

  Doors slam shut and all hope vanishes with the moonlight. At one point, the van must go off the road. The vehicle bumps over rough terrain and the tires spin more than once.

  My stomach churns but not having eaten for hours, nothing comes up when I retch. I give up screaming because my voice goes hoarse and instead pound with my heels on the inside metal walls.

  The sister and the other three women pray quietly in Spanish but there is no comfort. Even though I take my sister to church every Sunday, I’m more of an agnostic.

  Hey God, if you’re out there, this might be a great time to prove it.

  My heels sore, I wait for his response but none comes.

  Later, daylight peaks through the holes in the back of the van and I shake uncontrollably. Hours have passed and by now, we’re way behind the border. What chance do we have without passports, without cellphones and with no identification what-so-ever?

  How will we ever get home? Worse, what will these men do to us?

  The back door finally opens and what little hope I had falls away when a large rat runs over my foot. We’ve stopped in the middle of a dirt road in front of three adobe buildings with nothing else around for miles in every direction.

  About a dozen men appraise us as we stand on display. One has his hand on his dick, his cheeks already flushed.

  Internally, I try to brace myself for the worst but my knees grow weak. Sickened by the thought of one of these brutes forcing himself upon me, I scream.

  “Someone, anyone. Policia!”

  A few faces poke out of round windows but quickly disappear. No doubt, this is a town where evil rules.

  The sounds of motorcycles give me pause and I moan. Holy shit. Six men on low bikes circle the van. They’re armed with sawed off shotguns, pistols, and knives.

  Helmets block their faces but the bikers have huge bodies and their leather boots are twice the size of my sneakers.

  Is this who we are to be fed to?

  The two kidnappers pale. One grabs me by the hair, pulls me into his chest, and puts an arm around my neck.

  Gasping for oxygen I struggle but he only holds me tighter.

  One of the men drops his ride, jumps off, and approaches as he pulls off his helmet.

  Chris? I blink twice, refocus. I must’ve finally lost my mind and succumbed to hallucinations.

  However, I open my eyes and he’s still there with his brows creased and mouth tight.

  “Let her go.” My angry leather-clad lover looms over my captor.

  The kidnapper holding me shivers, pulls out a knife, and holds the cold metal to my cheek.

  “You want me to cut this pretty angel, eh, amigo?”

  I kick and squirm but the edges of my vision turn black. I take my last dying breath, eyes locked on the man who tried to save me.

  “Last chance.” Chris’ dark gaze flicks off mine to the guy about to cut my face.

  Suddenly, something whooshes by my ear and the man holding me screams. The pressure at my neck releases and I drop to my knees wheezing.

  I feel no remorse at the knife in the kidnapper’s eye socket. As blood pools around him, I shake wondering why the desert heat has turned so damn cold.

  My savior lifts me to my feet. “Run, dammit.”

  With his arm around my waist, I stumble and he lifts me only to drop me behind the van. One of the bikers has gathered up the other women and they lie flat with me as bullets ping the vehicle overhead.

  “Stay low. I’ll be right back.” My hero grabs a shotgun slung around his neck, cocks it, and aims into the nearest window.

  When a bearded face appears, he blasts. Glass and wood explode and when a man gurgles his last breath, Chris shouts out, “I got the one in the window, how many more?”

  A gravelly voice answers, “Three ran out the back door. We’re clear.”

  Closing my eyes, shivering so bad my teeth chatter, I pray. “Okay, Mr. Almighty. You made your point. From now on, I’m less agnostic, more believer.”

  The young women with me whimper but Sister Mary prays. I’m guessing it was her faith, not mine, that saved us.

  It seems like ages before my knight in shining armor returns. “Was anyone hurt?”

  One girl lifts her forearm displaying a cut and another bleeds from her knee.

  “I-I’m o-k-kay.” I wrap my arms around his calves.

  Why isn’t anyone else cold?

  Sister Mary Frances scoots over and puts a hand to my forehead. “She’s going into shock. Find a blanket.”

  Chris runs away and comes back with a faded black comforter, squats, and wraps it around me. “Baby? You with me?”

  “We need to head out.” The gruff voice belongs to a gray bearded man with the same eyes as the man staring into mine. They’re not quite brown, more amber or gold, especially in the desert sun.

  “Danni, will you be able to hang on to me?” My rescuer lifts me to standing and point
s to his motorcycle.

  I nod and numbly imitate the other women who find seats on the men’s bikes. After straddling the seat, I rest my toes on metal bars and wrap my arms around his waist.

  My hero points to the exhaust. “Don’t touch the pipes. They get hot.”

  He turns the key, rotates his wrist, and the engine roars. Then, we jerk forward and I hold on for my life.

  At first, I keep my nose plastered to his leather jacket with my eyes closed but after a while, I turn my head.

  Holy shit. The desert is so beautiful. As the sun rises, cactus cast long blue shadows over the sparkling desert sand. A few yellow and red blooms dot the empty landscape making them more precious than gemstones.

  No traffic greets us on the road and as we reach a small town, people wave as if they know these guys. We stay on local roads and don’t stop. My butt falls asleep from the vibrations and I’d love to pee but don’t say anything.

  Dead bodies, even of the nasty sort that tried to kill me, will cause questions with the local authorities, or so I assume. We need to exit the country fast.

  When the sun goes overhead I’m way too warm and afraid I may burn. My Mexican heritage provides me with some pigment but still, a little sunblock would help.

  Chris pulls to the front of the line, holds up a fist and all six bikers pull to the curb. “Any one need to use the facilities?”

  “Seriously?” I gaze around seeing only a shack of well-worn wood, mostly collapsed.

  “Sorry, babe. You can hide behind. We still got an hour’s ride before we hit the border.”

  “I don’t suppose you got any suntan lotion?” I point to my reddening shoulders.

  “Shit. You should’ve said something.” He pulls off his leather jacket and hands it to me. “What happened to your blanket?”

  “Blew off about an hour ago. I couldn’t keep it from flapping in the wind.”

  The older man with the same eyes as Chris looks up and down the road. “Speaking of flapping, go do your business then we need to vamoose. It’s not safe.”

  “Sorry.” My face heats as me and the ladies walk a few feet off the road.

  By now my squatting aim is pretty good. Bottom wet, I check his jacket pockets and when I find a napkin, rejoice.