by JB Salsbury
I NOD AS Maria ticks off the list of items in the bag she hands me, but I’m not paying attention. When I came downstairs this morning to allow Mercy to get ready, I told Maria I’d be taking my girl out of town for two nights. She insisted on packing us traveling food, saying there isn’t much to eat on the road and she wants to make sure we don’t go hungry.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that we’re only driving a couple hours south and that surely we’ll survive without a meal. Plus I know how Mexican women are when it comes to food. If they insist you take it, you better fucking take it, eat it, and enjoy the shit out of it.
“Gracias.” I set the bag down by my duffle and scroll through text messages on my phone.
Most of them are in a special code used only by the LS. Certain harmless phrases in Spanish, like “Do you want to grab a beer” or “How about dinner tomorrow” mean there’s a drop off being planned. “I can’t, but thanks” means the deal has been compromised, and “What time” literally means what time. I have five new messages, one from Sancho and a few from other members of Esteban’s crew, trying to get info in code. I punch back responses and sip coffee in front of me. Maria tops it off and I thank her.
“Buenas dias!” Maria says, and I know before I even turn to look that it’s Mercy.
She’s wearing a long colorful skirt, a green tank top, and flip-flops, an outfit Maria picked up for her on one of her outings into town. Mercy’s hair is gathered over her shoulder and braided into a rope that nearly touches her waist. She shifts uncomfortably, her gaze darting around as if she’s expecting a spider to jump out from one of the walls. She must be nervous about leaving the house. Not nearly as nervous as I am, but I’ll never let her know that.
I hold out my hand, and she walks to me. I pull her backpack from her shoulder and drag her between my knees. She bites her lip as I gaze up at her and smile.
I cup her jaw and run my thumb along the downy white skin at her cheek. “Have I ever told you that you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen?”
I wait for the blush to hit her cheeks, and she doesn’t disappoint. Leaning in, I press my mouth to hers. The mix of coffee on my lips and mint toothpaste on hers is a delicious combination. Maria sighs, and that makes Mercy smile against my mouth. I pull back and thank Maria for the food and coffee in Spanish before grabbing all our things.
“You ready?” I ask.
“Yes.” Mercy gives Maria a shy smile as we head out of the kitchen toward the doorway.
The dogs scurry up to Mercy the second we step outside. I can tell they’ve missed her while she’s been holed up in our room. She leans down and gives them all a pat while I toss our bags into the back of the car. I had one of the guys on the property wash the El Camino and bring it up for me, figuring it would be the best car to drive down the coast in.
“I’ll be back.” She rubs Toro’s head just behind his ear, which makes his back leg kick at full speed. “It’s only for a couple days.”
Even though I’m dead fucking tired from getting next to zero sleep in the last twenty-four hours, Mercy’s excitement injects me with adrenaline. Or is it panic that has my heart pumping a little faster? I’m sure everything’s going to be fine, but I can’t help obsessing about worst-case scenarios that I can’t handle on my own.
I tell myself I’ve got this and repeat it like a mantra. I hold the door open for Mercy.
She looks at me with eyes that dance with excitement. “Do you have a plan, or are we just going to drive and see where we end up?”
“It’s a surprise, Güera.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Now get your fine ass in the car.”
She grins and moves to jump inside but comes to an abrupt halt with her eyes glued to her seat. I follow her line of sight to the blue hoodie I tossed in the car earlier.
“It’s for you,” I say lamely.
Her mouth becomes a tight line, but she nods anyway and grabs the sweatshirt before dropping into the seat with a blank expression.
Is she pissed?
I head around to the driver’s side and climb in to find the sweatshirt balled up in her lap. Pointing the car toward the compound exit, I feel sick over what I have to do, but losing her will make life a billion times more awful. I crank the AC to high and roll up the windows before pulling over just shy of the guarded exit.
Her chin juts out as if she knows what she needs to do but she’s going to make me ask, which fucking sucks because I hate upsetting her. Especially after I just got her back.
“Mercy, babe . . .”
Her cheek jumps as the muscles in her jaw clench.
I sigh and place my hand on her thigh. She jerks at the contact and I rub soothing circles, hoping she’ll calm. “You know you have to—”
“Fine.” She jerks the sweatshirt up and over her head, punching her arms into the sleeves so hard I have to move to avoid getting hit. She flips the hood over her head and turns toward me. “There. Can we go now?”
I grab the hem of the hood on each side, pulling it farther over her face, then tug her close to bring her lips to mine, where I whisper, “Don’t let this ruin the weekend. It’s only clothes.”
Her eyes flash then soften, and I kiss her softly until I feel her relax. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
With one last kiss, I release her. “It’s cool. I know you hate it, but we can’t risk you standing out too much.”
I throw the car into drive, and the guards open the gate to let us through. Mercy keeps her head down until we’re out onto the highway, then she stares out the window but keeps the hood in place.
I hit a few buttons on the FM radio until I find static-free music. Mercy looks from the speakers to me and smiles.
“Mariachi,” I say.
Her smile grows, and a little bit of the tension in my chest melts away. I remember the first time Mercy was in my car, how she tucked her hands deeper into the sleeves of her sweatshirt to avoid the sun. Back then, her sweatshirt was her comfort and protector, and now she can barely stand it.
Now, I am her comfort and protector.
A sense of pride swells in my chest as we speed down the highway toward an unnamed beach town where I hope Mercy will be able to feel free, even if it’s only imagined.
Mercy
“ . . . HE WANTS TO go home but . . .” Milo listens to the Spanish words that flow from the speakers and grins. “His mom kicked him out . . . his . . . wife kicked him out . . . he has no place to sleep.”
With my chin propped on my elbow leaning on the center console, I laugh as Milo translates the lyrics of the song.
“He’s sleeping with the—”
“Dogs!” I yell. “Perros. I know that one.”
He looks at me with that crooked grin I love so much. “That’s right, Güera. Dogs. You translate the rest.”
I squint one eye, listening intently and trying to pick up as many words that make sense as I can. “Without . . . hogar?”
“A home.”
“Oh, right . . . home. Without a home, without . . . love, I am . . . perdido?”
His pale brown eyes lock on mine, and even though it’s only for a split second, it feels much longer when he says, “Lost.”
“Yes.”
He smiles with his gaze back on the road. “Good job. You keep that up, you’ll be bilingual in no time.”
His smile makes me forget about the sweatshirt on my head. I tried not to be childish when I realized what he was asking me to do. I wanted to kick and scream and insist I could go out without covering up, but I can’t deny Milo’s concerns. I don’t look like everyone else, and if anyone is looking for me, it won’t take them long to find me if I walk around exposed. In order to stay safe, I have to go as unnoticed as possible. But for how long? How many more years of my life will I be a prisoner?
When I first saw that sweatshirt on the car seat, I had a horrible thought. I wished I’d just gone with Mikkel. The feeling was irrational, yet I’d longed for all the hiding to
be over no matter the cost. The thought was so terrifying that I felt awful and guilty for being so selfish. Milo left everything for me, he continues to keep me safe and protected, and by pushing against his demands, I’m only spitting in the face of his love for me.
“See that?” He points up ahead at a big blue building with white trim that sits on the cliff overlooking the ocean.
As we get even closer, it looks as though there’s a sign, but I can’t read it. “Is that were we’re going?”
“No, that’s the only restaurant in the area, but it’s pretty fancy. Look past it, just down the beach.”
I squint until my temples hurt. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s a small hotel.” He looks at me, grinning. “I got us the best room they have to offer.”
My cheeks ache from smiling as Milo turns off the highway onto an unpaved road. He points out a bait shop on a small dock, and he explains that it also sells snacks and souvenirs. After that, there’s nothing but wide-open sandy beaches as far as I can see, which really isn’t all that far.
Milo turns down the radio and pulls his phone from his pocket. “Si.”
All the good humor in his voice is gone as he murmurs lightning-fast Spanish to whoever is on the other line. Just like with the song, I try to pick up on his words, but one word melts into the next and I can’t get a hint of what he’s saying.
The road is bumpy, so I roll up my window to avoid getting a face full of dirt. We pull up to a bright orange two-story building with a circular thatched roof. It looks like a large house rather than a hotel. There’s a patio with thatch umbrellas and steps leading down to the beach, where it looks as though more umbrellas are planted in the sand.
Milo barks something in Spanish then hangs up the phone. I watch him seem to gain his composure before putting the car in park and popping open the door.
“Let’s go, mi alma. We’ll have the bellman get our bags.” He winks, and my stomach warms at his easy-going smile. It’s been so long since his happiness has seemed genuine rather than cast in shadows.
I adjust my hood before hopping out of the car and meeting Milo, his hand outstretched for me. The ocean breeze is a cool contrast to the heat of the sun as it falls hard on my sweatshirt, and I hope this place has working air conditioning. I tuck into his side and melt comfortably against him while trying not to overthink why his grip seems tighter than usual.
There are only two other cars in the lot, and when we walk toward the brick arch I assume leads to the front door, the faint sound of music comes from old speakers placed along the entryway. We head inside and into a room with a couch and two chairs to the left and a large kitchen to the right. A man wearing a white guayabera shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals comes racing down the stairs with a smile.
“Emilio!” He hits the bottom step with his arms outstretched.
Milo gives him a one-armed hug, making sure to keep me in place at his side. That seems to satisfy the man as he looks Milo up and down, rambling in Spanish about how big Milo has become. His eyes track to mine, and I dip my head instinctively.
Milo doesn’t introduce me, but in English, he asks for our room and says our bags are still in the back of the car. The man hands Milo a key before he scurries past us while waving us upstairs. The sound of his shoes slapping the tile echoes off the walls.
“Come on.” Milo takes my hand and guides me upstairs and to the right.
I count doors that are numbered one through four. Milo sticks a key in the one labeled three, only releasing me once we’re inside and the door is closed.
The room is a little smaller than our room back home, but the view is just as beautiful. Big French doors open up to a small patio that has a table and two chairs overlooking the ocean. The bed and couch are covered in brightly colored blankets.
“What do you think?” Milo drops down on the bed with his arms locked behind his head and a smile on his perfect face.
“I like it.” I pull my hood down and wonder if it would be all right if I took the sweatshirt off completely.
Milo seems to understand. He sits up and motions for me to come to him. I stand between his knees, and he grips the sides of my sweatshirt, his pale eyes peering up at me. “We’ll be safe here. I rented out the entire hotel, so it’s just us.”
“How could you afford that?”
His expression darkens, but it’s subtle. “I get paid well for what I do.”
We’re here alone. That should make me feel better, but the pinch of disappointment in my chest is hard to ignore. I tell myself that at least I’m not locked behind the walls at the compound, at least I can experience something new, but the seclusion from the outside world is what makes me feel so alone.
He pulls the sweatshirt up, and I lift my arms for him to tug it from my body. The air on my sweat-dampened skin cools me down, and goose bumps rise along my arms. Milo runs his palm from my shoulder down to my hand and squeezes.
“Mercy.” His voice is low and rumbles in his chest. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get you away.”
I lock my hands behind his head and pull him to my chest. His arms come around my waist, and he exhales long and hard, as if he’s releasing whatever stress he’s been carrying around for months. “How long can we stay?”
“Two nights.” His shoulders deflate in what I assume is disappointment because it mirrors my own. Or maybe he’s feeling relief.
“If that’s all we have, we better get started.” I put a knee on the bed, and he allows me to press him back.
A groan rumbles in his chest when I straddle his hips and brace my arms on either side of his head. My braid falls down to brush against his neck, and he picks it up, rubbing the thick knots between his fingers before tugging it to bring my lips to his.
Our mouths fuse together and although—
There’s a knock at the door.
“Tengos tus maletas!”
I scramble off the bed, and Milo chuckles as he rights himself. “It’s our bags, that’s all.”
I curse my fluttering heart. I have no reason to be afraid. The knock was loud and sudden. I spooked, that’s all. Milo cracks the door just enough to take our bags and pass the man some money, then he drops them near the couch and turns back to me.
“How do you know him?”
He stalks toward me. If I didn’t know it was impossible, I’d swear his eyes get darker with each step. “Sal. He’s a friend of a friend.”
“It seemed like he knew you from when you were younger.”
He lifts his brows, and my cheeks get hot from referencing his conversation earlier. One I wasn’t supposed to understand.
“Your Spanish is getting better.” He closes in on me and wraps his arms around my waist. “Sal came to the States a few times when I was younger. He does business with Esteban.”
I open my mouth to ask what kind of business, but Milo presses his thumb against my lips.
“You have two choices. We can pick up where we left off before Sal brought our bags.” He replaces his thumb with his lips and kisses me until I sway on my feet. “Or we can go to the beach.”
My gaze slides to the window and I contemplate for a few seconds before blurting, “Beach.”
He furrows his brows, his lips lifting in a crooked grin. “You pick the beach over me?”
I shrug. “I figure I can have you tonight.”
“Any night. Every night.” His hands slide into my hair to cup my face, and his gaze bores into mine. “It’s been too long since I’ve been able to stay with you all night. I want to be inside you.”
My entire body turns to jelly, and if it weren’t for his hold on me, I’m afraid I would’ve melted into a puddle on the floor. “I want that too.” The hope in my voice would be embarrassing if it weren’t for the excitement in his eyes feeding it.
“If we don’t get out of this room and out on that beach in the next ten minutes, I’m going to toss you on that bed.” He slides his hands down my arms, brushes the outer
swells of my breasts, and digs his fingers into my ribs.
“Hey!” I giggle, pushing away his hands, and he tickles me. “Stop it!” I bark out a laugh when he hits an especially sensitive spot at my hipbone.
“Go get your bathing suit on!”
I slap at his hands. “I will if you let me go!”
We laugh together as I dart from his hold and race to my bag to grab my suit. He watches me with hungry eyes as I slip into the bathroom to change and catch my breath. I lean against the door and breathe slowly to calm my racing heart.
I didn’t realize how much I missed the playful side of Milo. The dark shadows in his eyes are still there, but only barely. Getting away is exactly what we needed, and after two days, I can only imagine how much better, stronger, we’ll be when we’re finally forced to return.
Milo
EVERYTHING IS GOING to be okay.
I repeat this to myself as I watch Mercy walk around in nothing but a black bathing suit—her paper-white skin on display for all to see. Mercy picks up shells at the shoreline, the wind catching pieces of her hair and pulling it free from her loose braid under one of my baseball hats.
“There’s no one here,” I mumble as I watch from the shade of an umbrella. “She’s safe.”
I don’t doubt that Sal’s eyes are glued to Mercy from the small hotel behind me. I thought he was going to fall over himself and choke on his own tongue when he saw us making our way down the stairs to the beach. I made sure to give him a look that said he’d better keep his mouth shut or I’d sew the fucking thing closed.
He did what any death-fearing man in his position should do when facing off with someone more powerful than himself. He dropped his gaze and walked away. But I know his curiosity will get the best of him, and if I turn around right now, I’ll see that fucker’s beady eyes on my future wife.
Wife.
I’ve never been in a relationship with a woman as long as I have been with Mercy, and yet the word barely scratches the surface of what she means to me. Granted, the circumstances are different from any traditional relationship, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s mine. Mine to protect. Mine to covet. Mine.
