What Might Kill Us

by M. N. Forgy

  “I agree. Keep the numbers small. Go scout it out, and call us with the details,” Shadow orders, his tone grating on my last nerve. When is the last time I shot this fucker?

  “You are my vice president, Shadow. Vice! I’m the president and will be until that patch is ripped from my cold lifeless body, don’t mistake that. I make the calls around here and I lay down the fucking law.” I point at him, sick of him trying to undermine me. I may have been off my game here and there, but I’ve had my reasons and this is still my club.

  “As your vice president, I’m making sure you’re safe. If you get into some shit down there, you will need your men,” Shadow clarifies.

  Biting my cheek, I grab my smokes from the table.

  “We leave at dawn,” I grumble.

  Three Days Later

  It’s hot. Too damn hot. Sweat slips down my back, tickling my skin before soaking into the hem of my shorts. Rubbing my forehead with my forearm I dip the glass cup into the ice bin not caring to use a scoop. I could care less if it chips. Twenty more minutes and I’m out of this dump… until tomorrow.

  Looking over my shoulder I glare at Carlos, before flipping him off. He smirks, but doesn’t budge. He’s six feet tall, and the beefiest Mexican I’ve ever seen. He looks like he eats steroids with his Fruit Loops in the morning.

  Alvaro made him my babysitter, following me everywhere in attempt to make sure I don’t run again. I touch my cheek where a green band-aid is placed. I knew I would pay if I ran though, and I did.

  Alvaro promised me that if I ever ran again, he’d kill me and I believe him. I don’t even recognize him anymore. In fact, I hate him. I was so fucking stupid to even attempt to run. I knew better, but I had to try and will try again even if it kills me. Which it probably will because there’s no end of the Earth I can hide.

  After all, you can’t run from your own DNA.

  I planned that escape for months and truly thought I had gotten away until I left the woman’s shelter and that fucking truck revved its engine behind me. I remember the dread that filled my chest. My heart beating so hard in pure panic.

  I was dragged back here and thrown in my motel room until I slept off the drugs they put in my system. Two days later I was doing what I was doing before. Slinging drugs.

  Alvaro is my keeper and my punisher while I carry out my duties my Uncle Benito has bestowed upon me. Waking up halfway across the border in a Hummer full of men a year ago, my throat sore and stomach cramping like I just swallowed acid wasn’t the way I pictured my way into America.

  “Hey. Psssst.”

  I look over my shoulder and find a woman with long mousy brown hair, her eyes are sunken in and rimmed red. She’s wearing what looks like an expensive black dress, or at the very it least used to be at one time. Slamming the glass on the table, I glare at her.

  “You have to wait your turn,” I inform dryly. I hate when they call at me like that.

  “No, I don’t want a drink,” she snaps viciously. I glance at her, finding her looking over each of her shoulders paranoid as she scoots over the counter to get closer. Clearly not wanting anyone to hear what she’s about to say. “I’m here for the Black Pearl,” she whispers. I sigh heavily. Of course she’s here for drugs.

  I step over to her, leaving the glass on the table.

  Holding my hand out I say, “You know the price for a gram.”

  She steps back, nodding excitedly as she fishes a wad of wrinkled damp twenties from her cleavage. That’s when I notice the oversized bump resembling a basketball under that dress of hers. She’s pregnant.

  “Are you kidding me?” I raise my brows as my face contorts into anger. Her brows shoot up and I wonder if she heard me clearly through my thick accent. I may have come to terms with a lot of things around here, but this will never be one of them. “This is not happening,” I annunciate. Even with all my practicing as a kid, I speak terrible English when I’m worked up.

  She looks at me with a pale expression. Panic flashing in the depths of her cold eyes.

  “Please, I need it,” she begs. I step back, my hands raised in the air. Drugs do something to a person, makes them lose sight of what matters. Their morals gone like much of the life inside of them.

  It’s hard to watch. I’ve seen someone come in who you’d never thought did drugs, only to see their blushed cheeks go pale, their bright eyes fading, their life evaporating into thin air with every gram they push into their system.

  “I will not sell to a pregnant woman. I won’t,” I state, shaking my head. I don’t care how much trouble this will get me in. I may have lost a lot of things chasing freedom, but my conscious is still intact. What’s left of it anyway.

  “Just sell it to me you little bitch!” her voice rises, catching the attention of the patrons sitting at their tables nearby.

  Pursing my lips at her I tear the apron off my waist and throw it on the counter, declaring my shift over for the night. Carlos digs out his phone; I’m sure to tattle that I left the bar before I was supposed to.

  Turning, I push through the double doors leading into the dishwashing room. The lady still screaming from the bar when I exit out the back door. The Texas moon shining along the Texas desert.

  I stop, closing my eyes to calm my racing heart. My eyes stinging with the urge to cry. I hate this. I hate this so much. I blame my parents for this hell. The blood running through my veins declaring me savage at birth. Regardless, if cruel intentions lay within my DNA or not. Simply because my last name is Gomez, everyone thinks I’m a sadistic bitch.

  A large hand clasps around my neck, my eyes snapping open from the contact as my body is slammed against the grimy building that makes up the back of the bar.

  “Anahi, you displease me,” Alvaro sneers. His dark eyes pinning me as hard as his grip. His hair is slicked back into a tight ponytail, the scruff on his sharp jaw matching it perfectly. My eyes widen, my heart picking up its pace in panic.

  Alvaro is still handsome and strong, but he’s also dangerous. He lives proudly at the end of Uncle Benito’s leash, and if my uncle told him to pull the trigger on me, I have no doubt he would.

  “Tell me why you broke the rules,” he whispers into my ear calmly. Not answering him fast enough, he slips his hand upwards and he jerks me by the hair. “Answer me, Anahi!”

  “I’m not selling to a pregnant woman!” I cry, tears filling my eyes. “Ever! You’ll have to kill me first,” I reply upset.

  “You are not here to be emotional or judge anyone, you are here to sell. Don’t mix the two, for the recipe for that cocktail would include your blood,” he jams my head against the wall and I wince. Leaning in his mouth brushes against my ear and my back shivers with disgust. “Your uncle gave me permission to end your life Anahi if you don’t fulfill your duties.”

  Having enough of him touching me and threatening me, making me out to be an object, much like the drugs I’m selling, I slam my foot onto his, causing him to let go of my neck.

  He jumps back and I lift my chin. I may look tough to anyone standing by and watching, but I’m not. I’m scared and high on fear.

  His shoulders lift as he takes in a large breath. A sly smile crossing his face at my bravado. Every time I show some backbone, it pleases him. I know what I’m capable of and it doesn’t sit well with me. I hate what they’ve made me become. What they have released inside of me. Because now a darkness like no other dwells inside my being, veering its head whenever I’ve had enough. It’s just a matter of time before the light that’s left inside of me is completely succumbed by evil.

  “I’ve done what my uncle has asked. I got the drugs here, never mind me almost dying in the process. I’ve sold them all and now you have me pushing this cheap black shit you guys just brought in. When am I free like he promised?”

  The image of me nearly dying flashes in my mind, making me think about how I became this.

  Uncle Benito made me swallow balloon after balloon of the shit. I was nearly unconscious, but
I remember trying to fight back as I came in and out. Biting at anyone’s finger that came near my mouth.

  He then told me if I didn’t give in, he was selling me to the highest bidder.

  It was Mexico. He could do it and nobody would blink an eye. I was a ghost to them, dead or alive.

  I couldn’t fight anymore, I was fully bound and at his mercy. So I swallowed what I could before passing out from the unbearable pain throbbing through my skull and stomach.

  I remember how I felt when I woke up hours later. My body was clammy and I became extremely sweaty and lethargic. I got sleepy to the point I couldn’t hold my head up and it didn’t have anything to do with the gun to the head I had received. I felt bloated and my body weighed me down heavily.

  Before I knew what was happening I was throwing up, and I couldn’t do anything about it as I slipped into darkness. Puke running down my face as I fell to the floorboard.

  I woke up to the smell of lemon and antiseptic. A painful incision halfway up my stomach. The facility was dirty and unsanitary, the stucco walls covered in webs and dirt. A door barely on its hinges and windows cracked. It’s as if they just pulled off to some abandon house and met a guy that knew a guy.

  The scar marring my skin begins to burn beneath my top just thinking about it.

  Thirty-two balloons and one broke.

  Alvaro told me I would be paying for the balloon that busted. I tried to explain it wasn’t my fault, but nobody was having it. I was responsible for all thirty-two balloons. Whether I wanted to be or not.

  Alvaro steps back into my personal space taking me from my thoughts, but I don’t cower. I straighten my back and tighten my jaw. He lowers his head and glowers at me.

  “Free? Don’t you get it, princesa? You’ll never be free.” His tone holding more ego than the man that he is.

  My eyes widen with surprise, my mouth parting in disbelief at his response. What does he mean I’ll never be free? The deal was I got the drugs over here, sold them, and I could be free!

  “Never mind you losing drugs getting across the border, but you’re a Gomez, Anahi. You hold potential that no hire out could ever be taught. You will never escape your calling.”

  He wasn’t lying, because here I was and I would need a miracle to escape. My face contorts into anger and I shove past him, he laughs amused with my reaction.

  Running to my room, I lock the door and refuse to come out for the rest of the night.

  “Anahi!”

  I instantly wake up, and I clench at the sound of Alvaro’s voice. The tone bitter and unforgiving. I slow my breathing and slip off the bed and slouch against the floor, my back against the bed; scared if I inhale a large breath he might know I’m in here.

  “Anahi, you in there?”

  I close my eyes and bite my lip. My heartbeat thudding against my chest from nervousness.

  Please go away. Please go away. I think to myself, but it’s pointless. He has a key; he could just come in if he wants. I pray he doesn’t though.

  “Goddamn it.” He kicks the door in frustration and I jump from the sudden noise. His heavy footsteps fading as he leaves.

  I sigh, my body relaxing knowing he’s now gone. I know I can’t hide from him all day. Eventually he’ll find me and he will make sure I take the drugs I am to sell tonight.

  I just don’t want to see him first thing today. Seeing him right when I wake up puts me in a bad mood for the day.

  Climbing off the bed, I get dressed in a simple dress and boots before opening the door. Peeking my head around the corner, I glance each way to make sure Alvaro isn’t around.

  “Going somewhere?” Carlos’ voice asks, making me jump. I look in the direction of his voice, finding him leaning against a column on the patio. He smiles, before stepping from behind it.

  I roll my eyes, closing the door to my room behind me and head for my motorcycle. Something to fill the time between working at the bar and basically hiding from Alvaro.

  It’s just a rat bike. Jose from the restaurant called it that, said it was bits and pieces of motorcycles. I named it Fixie, because something is always breaking on it and needing fixing. I found her by an old shed about a mile away and rolled her back here. I thought maybe I could drive away with it, but this old bike can barely make it around the motel, let alone a getaway attempt.

  I go to kick start it and it just sputters, doesn’t even turn over.

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath. She’s been doing this a lot lately.

  “I would worry you’d try to go somewhere, but I think we’re safe,” Carlos laughs, insulting my motorcycle.

  “Fuck off!” I clip over my shoulder, tired of his constant hovering.

  Setting it against the brick wall of the motel, I cross my arms and head across the street to the diner. It’s old and doesn’t have the best food, but it’s the only place that isn’t in Alvaro’s pocket.

  “I’m going for breakfast. I’d invite you but they just ran out of steroids,” I tease, and he shakes his head annoyed.

  I like going to the restaurant. Not for the food particularly, but because of Jose. He works the grill and is always up for a chat. He’s got a unique fashion sense, which usually includes an array of bright colors, and skinny jeans. He’s funny though, and that is what makes him my best friend. Too bad he’s gay, he’d be an awesome boyfriend.

  Crossing the street, I hear thunder. Glancing up, the sky is clear blue and not a cloud in sight. The sound gets louder and I realize it’s not thunder. Off in the distance a haze of motorcycles and a big truck right behind them head toward me. I step off the street, observing the ominous crew. The one leading the pack has dark hair and sunglasses on, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Passing me he looks over his shoulder, watching me. Though I can’t see his eyes, everything else about him reminds me of the man I ran into in Los Angeles.

  A shiver races up my back and shoots down my arms, exploding in my fingertips. Biting my lips, I roll my fingers into the palm of my hand and pull my gaze from the lone biker, looking at the others riding behind him in awe.

  I swallow hard, noticing the patches on their back.

  They’re not just any old bikers, they’re a gang.

  I question why they just rode into town, a thousand different motives running wild through my mind but only two stick out.

  Either they are here working for Alvaro, or here for me.

  Pulling up to the main office I kick my kickstand down, resting my bike on it. It’s a shitty looking motel. Bricks missing from the foundation, tires leaning up against the building, and a couple of metal barrels that look as if they’re randomly placed around the property.

  Great. It’s a five fucking star kind of place.

  I look back at the street where I saw the girl. The one with long black hair and the lost eyes. Her off-white dress whipping around her legs as a tumbleweed fumbled along the desert floor. I only caught a glimpse of her, but she’s for sure the same woman I saw back home.

  She’s no longer there though. She is gone like dust that was kicked up by our bikes moments ago. Maybe I’m still drunk. Maybe I imagined her. Can’t worry about it now because we have bigger fish to fry in this one traffic light town.

  Kane pulls up in his truck and a female climbs out of the passenger side. Her long dark hair pulled into a ponytail. She’s slender, wearing a white shirt and black sweats. She’s gorgeous, but a big fucking problem.

  “What the fuck, Kane?” I bellow. We don’t bring females on runs and he knows that. The amount of disrespect he has shown toward the law of the club with this simple act alone has me ready to make his ass go back to fucking LA, bitch in tow.

  “Bull, this is my sister Simone. She speaks Spanish, I thought we might need her,” Kane informs, pushing Simone back inside the truck like hiding her will make this better.

  “You know the fucking rules are there for a reason. This is dangerous and you just put her life at risk,” I exclaim, angry as fuck I have to make sure this gir
l doesn’t wind up dead because of Kane’s misjudgment.

  He nods. “I know, but she’s family and needed me. She is my responsibility.”

  “Damn right she is!” I nod, my brows raised.

  I point at him, my knuckles turning white. “Breaking my fucking rules is not going to get you a patch, it’s going to get a bullet in your leg.”

  “I’ll get us some rooms,” Bobby informs, breaking the tension between Kane and me.

  I shake my head pissed the fuck off and stare off at the street as if that girl will suddenly reappear and that feeling, no matter how brief that she elicited in me would reappear too.

  “Something I can help you with?”

  I turn, finding a tall stocky man with dark eyes. His shaggy, ink black hair is smoothed back into a tight ponytail, a cigarette hanging from his lips. I arch a brow and take in his appearance. Black shirt and jeans matching his black boots. He lifts an eyebrow in return, and all the hairs on the back of my neck stand tall. I already don’t like him. No man fucking assesses me.

  “Just passing through,” I lie as I continue to stare him down, trying to remember if I’ve seen him before. I have worked amongst a lot of bad people in this trade. Rapists, abusers, addicts, immigrants, but this motherfucker has red flags popping up everywhere and I can’t for the life of me place him.

  “Passing through, huh?” he questions with doubt.

  Placing his hands on his hips he looks between me and my men, revealing a black .45. His intimidation game is borderline rookie, I have to fight back laughter.

  “Yup. Running business and need a break.” I tilt my head to the side, the sun blinding me.

  He widens his stance and rubs at his chin. “You say business. What kind of business?” He’s feeling me out, curious if I’m here to buy or sell.

  I drop my cigarette to the desert floor and twist my boot on it.

  “Did I say business? I meant me and my men are here for a relaxing getaway,” I banter.

  He scoffs, dropping his hands. “Well, Rosa can set you straight at the front desk.”