What Might Kill Us Read online

  I thought I got my point across the last time he tried to put me to work in the drug trade, but apparently not.

  But to be free, to live the dream my mother and I talked about so many times as a kid would be like she was right there with me again.

  “You think on it. It is your decision at the end of the day. But if you choose not to, if you choose what is not right in my eyes and for my business then you will be put to other uses. Ones you have no say in,” he threatens as he stands up and swipes his hat off the bed. Opening the door, he leaves just as swiftly as he entered, slamming the door behind him.

  What does that mean? Other uses?

  I ponder on the conversation I shared with Uncle Benito, braiding the string I’ve collected over the last few months into one tight string. I pull on it again, testing its strength. It’s relentless to my jerking.

  Sighing I tilt my head to the side, noticing the bracelet is the first beautiful thing I’ve seen in months. It’d be gorgeous on an ankle, even a wrapped around a wrist.

  Shaking my head, I focus on the thought at hand. The deal Uncle Benito offered me. The ultimatum is my last resort.

  I’ve come to the conclusion Alvaro and I must run. That is my Plan A. We have to escape this prison.

  Somehow.

  We’ve been trapped in this house for three years now and treated like prisoners.

  Benito doesn’t care about us, and surely not what happens to us.

  When Alvaro returned that night, I told him I wanted to run away. He was quiet when I explained how I would overtake the guard at the door and we’d whisk through the halls to freedom.

  “You’re fucking stupid, Anahi. It’s time to stop playing princess and take on what you’re born to do before you get us both killed,” he bit out, his tone raging. He’s been getting angry with me a lot lately. He’s changing, I find myself thinking again. But something inside of me senses we both are.

  I lay beside him, my arms wrapped tightly around my body as I stared out the window. Curious what my mom would tell me to do if she were here. What my father would suggest I do. Their advice would vary so differently, a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.

  Reality and perhaps a dream that would always be just out of reach.

  Waking up the next morning, I roll over only to find Alvaro already gone. The bed cold and empty. I sit up, wiping the sleep from my eyes as they drift across the room and land on my breakfast placed on a tray by the door with a note sitting next to my eggs. My brows furrow in curiosity. Slipping off the bed, I saunter over to the folded paper and pick it up.

  “The clock is ticking,” I read aloud.

  Scoffing, I bite my inner cheek and drop it back on the tray of food of mushed eggs and cold potatoes. My appetite instantly gone.

  I’d kill someone for bacon, or a piece of toast that wasn’t soggy.

  Striding over to the window, I observe the scenery and all of my surroundings as time passes me by.

  Later that day when Alvaro finally arrived back in the room, he had on new clothes and smelled of expensive cologne. When he caught sight of me a wicked gleam flickered in his eyes, a cold chill running up my back causing me to stiffen.

  “Where were you?” I ask softly, sitting on the sofa across the room.

  “Doing what it takes,” he grumbles, sitting on the cushion next to me. His tone indicating I’m not doing anything. A dark lonely caress smothering me into isolation. I scowl. Alvaro isn’t the boy I used to have a crush on anymore.

  Suddenly he pulls a black shiny gun from behind his back and places it on his left knee, his eyes squinting deviously.

  “W-where did you get that?” I stand, scared as I suck in a shaky breath.

  “Enough of the games Anahi,” he mutters so low it almost comes out as a growl.

  I swallow hard. Knowing it’s too late for Alvaro, but not too late for me. I’ll just have to run by myself.

  I turn away from him, my arms wrapped tightly around me as I drop my head. Cold steel presses against the back of my neck. Slowly I lift my head, my heart beating a mile a minute as tears threaten to spill from my glossy eyes.

  The days of lying in a sea of blankets and pillows and watching TV are gone.

  The feel of his palm clasping mine − a façade.

  “Anahi?” He whispers into the back of my ear, making the hair on my neck stand on end.

  “Yes?” I attempt to keep my voice strong, but my body turns on me and I tremble.

  “You will swallow those fucking drugs like gumdrops, or I will make you. Do you understand?” he threatens, his voice eerily calm. I don’t answer, tears springing from my eyes and rolling down my cheeks. Every tear symbolizing my lost freedom. Washing away the innocence and breaking in the Gomez DNA I’m forced to render myself to.

  He nudges the gun in the back of my neck at the same time his groin presses into the back of me.

  Bile rises in my throat at the thought of him touching me now and I push myself away from him and turn to face him. We, us, will never be. Ever again.

  I glare at him. His beady eyes watching me like the venomous snake that he is.

  “Why? Why are you doing this?” I can’t help but ask. I thought he was different; his mother isn’t even a Gomez. Why would he care if I took Benito’s deal?

  “Only a child would walk away from such greatness. To have family, power, respect… who wouldn’t want that? Benito welcomed me into his familia and I accepted graciously. He has done nothing but show me respect and I intend on honoring that with my loyalty.” He taps the barrel of the gun against his chest as he snarls out each word. “He believes I can do the family name well—”

  I laugh. I laugh at how stupid he is. “You’re not even a Gomez, he’s playing you!” I yell at him, my face turning red.

  He steps over to me in a hurry and fists my hair. My scalp burns at the bite of pain and I wince.

  “Maybe I’ll have to make a little Gomez bitch my wife then,” he threatens, his tone grim.

  My lip curls and my teeth grit. My heart beating so hard I can feel it thud in my temples.

  “Over my dead body,” I whisper.

  And he smiles sinisterly.

  “That can be arranged.”

  I slap him hard in the face, done with his empty threats, and he lets go of my hair to touch his smarting cheek.

  “Stay the fuck away from me.” I point at him as I make my way over to the bed. My voice cold as ice and filled with hatred. He wipes at his bottom lip, side eying me as he takes a seat back on the sofa with a look that suggests this isn’t over.

  Folding my legs, I sit there and stare out the window again as thoughts of betrayal and what I need to do for myself sit heavy within.

  Tonight. Tonight I will escape.

  Waking up in the middle of the night, I find Alvaro sleeping on the chair. Walking up to him, I nudge his knee, testing to see how hard he’s sleeping. He doesn’t budge, so I tiptoe over to the door and lightly hit my knuckles against the wood.

  “What is it?” A guard responds, his voice muffled by the door. There is always someone on watch, at all times.

  “I’m hungry,” I respond softly, not wanting to wake Alvaro. I let out a slow breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

  “Breakfast will be served in three hours,” the voice states in a matter of fact tone.

  I shift on my feet, trying to think about how to counteract.

  “Please, I feel like I might throw up,” I stall, trying to think. “You’ll have to clean it up if I do because it will just make me throw up more,” I try and convince, but am met with silence.

  I cover my mouth and pretend to dry heave, taking this to a whole other level.

  “Don’t!” The guard barks. “I’ll find some crackers or something, fuck!”

  I can’t help but grin, nerves fluttering in my stomach and excitement making me feel like I need to pee. I glance over at Alvaro, finding him fast asleep still.

  The door clicks open slightl
y a few minutes later and I grip the colorful braided string tightly in my hand.

  The guy pokes his head in with crackers in hand and instantly I wrap the string around his neck. He stumbles with surprise and I jump on his back. Kicking the back of his leg, I take him down to the hall floor. I squeeze the braided string, little strands snapping in my hand from the harsh tug. He pulls at my fingers, choking. Blood tinges his fingertips as he tries to pry it free, the sharp string cutting into his skin.

  My eyes sting with the urge to cry, the idea of what I’m doing not settling well. Even it if is to survive, it’s still inhumane.

  My morality sifting away with the life I’m taking. The reaper standing by proud and ready to leap at the soul I’m so graciously giving him.

  I cry, a sob wracking my whole body as I pull the life out of him. His movements start to slow, his fight giving out. He gargles, a spurt of energy trying to fight for his life one last time.

  “Just die,” I whisper, wanting it over. Warm tears falling onto my bloody hands. I pull tighter, the string cutting into my own fingers. My blood mixing with his. My sins running as deep as the crimson string slicing through my fingers, surely to scar and remind me for life of the Gomez that resides within me. Darkness I will never escape.

  He stills, his eyes bugged out and face blue and lifeless as I finally release him. Using the back of my hand I wipe at the snot and tears, smearing warm blood across my face. Pulling the string lodged in the flesh of my fingers I wince. It’s deep. God, there’s so much blood. Only, I’m not sure if it’s his or mine.

  Did I strangle him or cut into a main artery? I shake my head, there is no room for vulnerability. I look at his torso for a weapon. My heart jumps when my eyes land on the handle of a gun sticking out from the front of his jeans.

  Using my foot, I push his heavy body over and grab the gun.

  It’s cold and heavy. I’ve never held one before and as soon as the metal grazes my palm I feel intimidated by its boldness.

  Looking up and down the hallway I sprint. I run, and run. Turning down a long corridor where another man stands guard there. I stop, my bare feet squeaking along the marbled floor. The traction making me fall on my ass, this gaining the guard’s attention. He gives a double take before realizing who I am and starts after me. My eyes widen, fear setting its claws into my chest. I raise the gun, my hands shaky.

  “Don’t!” I threaten weakly. My breathing harsh. “I’ll fucking shoot you, I’ll do it,” I say with a shaky breath, barely able to stand on my own two feet from the rush of adrenaline.

  He glances over my shoulder, the tension in his shoulders relaxing.

  A clicking noise sounds and my spine goes straight with its recognition.

  “Drop it Anahi,” Alvaro rasps.

  My lips tremble as if I’m cold, my world crashing at my feet.

  “Let me go,” I plead. Hoping that there’s compassion left somewhere in Alvaro’s heart for me.

  Cold steel presses into the back of my head once again, and my eyes sting with the urge to cry. Angry that I ever trusted Alvaro. I push my head back onto the barrel. A side of me just wanting him to pull the fucking trigger already. To end everything.

  A clap sounds, making me jump out of my pity.

  Uncle Benito walks out of the adjoining room, a cigar between his teeth.

  “That! That is what I have been waiting for! Awaiting the lion cub to see its potential and go turn into a man eating beast!” He beams, pointing at me with praise. “This is why I had you locked up for so long. I knew you were capable of such evil things, I just had to poke the beast I see,” he chuckles and I shake my head − confused. “Others are a work in progress,” he eyes Alvaro, his humor gone.

  “I admit, I started to wonder if you had any Gomez in you at all, Anahi. Maybe too much of your whore mother, or maybe you were a bastard child.” He squints his eyes, the cigar now in his fingers. “I was wrong. You’re very smart; brutal. What did she use to kill Kulo?” he asks, looking over my shoulder. A guy steps by me, acting as if I don’t have a gun raised, and dangles the braided string. What’s left of it anyway.

  He shakes his head, his face elated with praise.

  “Fucking brilliant!” he booms. “I thought you were making a damn bracelet.”

  Angry and done with the misplaced praise, I pull the trigger. The gun making a loud clicking sound, but no gunfire. It catches everyone’s attention and Uncle Benito’s happy go fucking lucky face falls when he realizes I just tried to kill him.

  I panic, looking at the gun for the safety lock.

  “Do it,” Uncle Benito orders, and the cold steel that was pressed against the back of my head slams into the back of my skull, knocking me to the ground in a stupor.

  “Get the drugs, we’re doing this now,” he demands, the sound echoing through my throbbing head.

  A hand caresses my face. I want to pull away, to cuss at the contact but I can’t move. The ache in my head too much to bear.

  “Welcome to the family, baby,” Alvaro coos as he places his lips against mine briefly before withdrawing.

  “She’ll make a pretty drug mule if I ever saw one!” Benito chuckles loudly and I feel myself giving in to the blackness. “You both have more than earned your bandanas, kids.”

  I open my mouth to reject, not wanting to be a part of his crew but the darkness rushes over me, it smothers what’s left of the little girl that liked to pretend she was a princess.

  It forces a hostile bitch to rise. Ready to cut someone’s throat if that’s what it takes.

  But this won’t be the end. As soon as my feet hit American soil, I will run. I will not let this be it for me.

  Three Months Later

  Sitting at the bar I palm the glass, looking the amber liquid over. In my head I know I don’t need it, but I can’t seem to put it down. I started drinking excessively when I lost the woman I loved for so long in secret. It helped dull the ache that rooted itself in my soul, tangling and snubbing out my spirit to the point I hardly recognize myself anymore.

  I tell everyone I can quit when I want, but the truth is I’m not so sure I can anymore. When I don’t have a drink at least once a day I begin to sweat and become sick to my fucking stomach. I can barely ride my motorcycle my hands begin to shake so bad. The only focus digging in my brain is when I’ll get my next sip of burning alcohol.

  I used to be a God fearing outlaw who showed no mercy.

  I would walk down the street and the crowd would split like the Red fucking Sea because they were so scared of me. Now, I stumble down the street, everything in black and white, blurred, and standing still in time. I’m afraid those who once feared me, look at me with pity, watching another lost soul staggering through life.

  Everyone that is close to me asks if I’m okay on a daily basis and I always reply I’m fine, because I have to. I’m the fucking President of The Devil’s Dust, I look after my people. Not the other way around.

  “Bull, you think you might want to drink a glass of water? Let up a bit?” Arnold asks, sliding a dirty glass of water across the bar. Slowly I lower my head and scowl at him. He senses my aggression, his pierced brow raising as he holds his hands up in surrender. Who the fuck does he think he is, askin’ if I want a glass of water?

  “How about you just give me the fuckin’ bottle of Jack like I asked for and stop tryin’ to play the good guy, hmm?” I slide my empty tumbler toward him, the glass skidding along the cracked granite, and he catches it. Shaking his head, judgement filling his face.

  I lost my give a fucks on what people thought about me long ago.

  Fuck him.

  I pull out my smokes, taking one from the pack with my lips and light it. The smoke filling my lungs beautifully. I stare at the red ember glowing at the end of my cigarette and wonder where in my fucking life I went wrong. Is this the kind of life that is bestowed upon an outlaw?

  Arnold slams a glass down, catching my attention from my cigarette.

  “Take th
is and make it your last one,” he states sternly.

  I blow smoke into his face and eye the glass of Coke and Jack in front of me.

  “I didn’t ask for this, or your opinion,” I sneer. I wanted the damn bottle, not this shit.

  “You’re pissed drunk, Bull, and need to go home.” Arnold crosses his arms, trying to act tough. I smirk at him. He’s young and stupid. Tough isn’t in his vocabulary. He’s about to see what tough is real fucking fast though.

  “I’m not pissed drunk, stop actin’ like such a pussy,” I remark, taking a sip of my drink. It’s burn not near enough, but it’s taste fueling me to take a bigger gulp. I always want more; there isn’t enough alcohol in this world to satisfy my thirst. One that cannot be quenched as the kind of comfort I seek doesn’t come with a shot of whiskey over a bar’s counter.

  I need a woman.

  One to stand behind my chair when I slam that gavel down at the end of church.

  One to ride on the back of my bike at the end of a long day.

  One that gives as good as she takes when I’m pissed off.

  I need an old lady.

  The bar door opens, slamming against the wall. I lazily pull my gaze that way finding Shadow. His dark hair pulled back and blue eyes looking at me accusingly.

  Jesus Christ. Why is he here?

  Shadow is my daughter, Dani’s, husband. But he’s more than that. He’s the vice president of my motorcycle club too.

  My fingers dig into the glass as I cut my eyes back to Arnold, I can’t believe the fucker had the balls to call Shadow like I’m some kid out past curfew. I should pull Arnold over the bar and kick his ass.

  “You call my son-in-law to come pick me up, Arnold?” Disbelief high in my voice.

  “Sorry man, but you’re a scary motherfucker when you drink.” He shrugs, walking away from the bar. I didn’t used to always be such an angry drunk. Life has a way of beating a fucker when he’s down though. You either grow some fucking balls and weather that shit, or lay down like a dirty rug and let life walk all over you.