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A few minutes later I’m dressed, and in silence, I follow Juan along the hall, down the staircase, and through the immaculate foyer to the front door. When he reaches for the door handle, I hesitate, and for a fleeting moment, I wish my father or brother were here.
Sure, they hate me with passion, but I know that for now at least, they need me alive, while I’m certain that Juan will kill me without giving it a second thought.
The front door opens, and I spot my brother’s sleek, black BMW idling in the circular drive. Leaning against the car, Diego stands, a cigarette stuck firmly between his thin lips. He pulls it out, blows a ring of smoke into the air, then nods toward the back of the car. “Get in,” he says, motioning toward me.
No, anything but this.I close my eyes in acceptance, and my legs shake as I walk toward the rear of the car. Once I’minside, Juan pulls a black sack over my head. “You know the rules. It stays until I remove it,Isadora.”
The way my name spills from his lips laced in innuendo makes me sick. I turn away from his foul breath and filthy scowl. Juan grips my nipple between his thick fingers and twists it painfully before he slams the door closed.
After what feels like an hour driving on bumpy roads, the car finally stops and the cool, night breeze blows in as the back door of the car is pulled open. Juan yanks me out, and once I’m on my feet, he tugs the sack off my head. When he steps back and pulls out his phone to text someone, I scan the area, taking in the vast space surrounding us.
It’s the same, familiar place I’ve been to many times. In the middle of an otherwise empty lot, stands a lone warehouse. A single, dim bulb shines above the doorway I’m led to by my brother and Juan, along with Raul, another one of my father’s goons.
My head is screaming at me to run into the darkness and never look back, but the threat of being caught has me tempering my thoughts. Instead of attempting an escape, I wrap my arms around myself and follow in silence.
The interior of the warehouse is divided into three sections. The armory is the first we pass through. Metal tables are stacked with guns and ammunition as they’re packed into foam fitted cases and prepped for transfer. The second is the narcotics chamber. Kilos of cocaine are being meticulously concealed into the framing of various vehicles that will drive them to their next location, where they’ll be cut and distributed by local dealers.
It’s the final section that I’m most familiar with and the one I’m currently being led to.
We reach the closed door and the sounds of quiet sobbing and muffled screams coming from the other side remind me that this world I live in is filled with pain and brutality. And the men on either side of me are monsters in Armani.
If I want to remain on this side of the line, I need to remember my place. Still, my feet are frozen and no matter how much I beg them to carry me forward, I can’t move.
Juan finally shoves me through the door and the familiar sight has me forcing a swallow against the vomit that wants to escape. While I am painfully aware of the cartel’s business and everything it entails, I’m never fully prepared for the horrors that await. On one side of the makeshift room is a row of dirty mattresses, on each ‘bed’ a young girl sits, chained by her ankle to thick bolts attached to the wall.Allof their eyes are void of life.Allof them are sick, almost waiflike in appearance, and all their desolate, empty eyes are fixed on me.
Some recognize me. They see me enter and leave, untouched by brutal hands, and unmarred by the depravity hidden within these walls.
They have no idea that depravity lies in every corner of the Demonio de Hielo cartel. It hides in the shadows of their clubs and bars, and within the walls of the million-dollar mansion I call home. I may be untouched here and now, but the stain of their hands lingers on my flesh like indelible ink.
I try not to let their judgment hurt, but I want to scream“I’m a prisoner too… I’m a prisoner too.”But the words never pass my lips.
I’m so sorry.The thought plays over and over in my head.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
Ten minutes later, with a split, bleeding lip, and a large handprint on my cheek courtesy of Raul, I’m sitting in a cramped room no bigger than a broom closet. One of my father’s men stands vigil at the door while I tend to one of my father’s prisoners.
“I wanna go home,” her whispered plea breaks my heart. All I can do is ignore her pleading gaze while I gently dab at her thighs and chest with antiseptic. The girl whimpers as I lean in and cover the raw, bleeding bite mark on her inner thigh with gauze, then wrap a thin bandage around it.
Blood seeps from her vagina, and I discreetly wipe the affected area with a clean washcloth. When she doesn’t flinch or make any attempt to move, I know she’s dissociating; doing what she can to protect what’s left of her fragile mind.
After brushing her hair and pulling the dry, uneven strands into a neat ponytail, I hand her a bottle of water. “Don’t touch the wound while it’s healing, okay?”
The girl’s expression remains blank, her eyes void of life as she’s led away.
Raul returns minutes later with another screaming, writhing girl.
He throws her on the clean mattress and holds her down while I try to calm her. It’s no use, and when she lashes out and bites into the flesh of his tattooed forearm, he throws a punch that knocks her out cold.
I stare at him. He ignores my shocked expression. He drops his gaze to the girl and presses his fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. “She’s fine,” he grunts. “Clean her up while she’s out.”
The pale, naked girl is splayed out on the mattress. Her body is nothing more than an object to these men. Her mind, no doubt ruined by the trauma she’s faced, and her soul… I only pray her soul remains intact until she’s free.
I brush the girl’s hair off her damp, too warm forehead. “Hey, sweet girl, you need to wake up,” I whisper, cupping her cheek. Beneath her eyelids, I see her eyes moving, then she shakes her head slightly. Her lids crack open, a sliver of blue irises barely visible before she blinks rapidly and winces in pain. Her back bows before she curls into the fetal position and begs, “Please don’t, it hurts…”
