Page 32

How long did they know?

If Bass figured it out⁠—

I’m so stupid. I’m such a naive moron. I thought I was so clever keeping everything hidden, using Hector as a proxy, keeping my head down and doing my best work at the hotel.

I thought if I was good, they wouldn’t see me. Skyvale was a punishment from the start, a way to keep me useful but to tuck me out of the way. Stick me behind the desk, give me enough leash to make me feel like they aren’t always watching⁠—

Enough leash to hang myself with.

Old dust and cobwebs drift across my face. I keep my eyes tightly shut. I remember what happens next. A boot through a hotel door, fists smashing into Danny’s face. All his blood staining the mattress, splattered across the walls. Ruben’s smirk when it was over. Now you won’t try that again, will you, fucking cunt?

All this time, I was so, so stupid.

Eventually I wriggle out from under the bed. I leave the hole open. It’s not protecting anything anymore. I slip on a pair of jeans and change into a sweatshirt before ghosting out into the hall. It’s late, nearly eleven at night. Cruz is probably playing videogames and Javi’s probably out with his friends. Mom’s watching TV in the den which leaves⁠—

I find my father in his office.

He’s sitting by the fireplace in sweats, his feet up on the ottoman. A book’s folded in front of his face. Jazz music drifts from his high-end speaker system. I swear, growing up I thought he loved those speakers more than he loved me. Tomas Escalante isn’t much: skinny, slump-shouldered, glasses, frizzy gray hair. He’s darker than me—I got Mom’s pale skin—but we share the same high cheeks and brown eyes.

“Papá,” I say, voice catching on the word. I don’t remember the last time I called him that. Not since I was a little girl.

He glances up in surprise. “Mari? What are you doing home?” He lowers the paperback. “I thought you had work tonight.”

For a moment, his smile brightens, and a slight warmth kindles in my chest.

“Papá,” I repeat, stepping closer. “I think… I think I’m in a lot of trouble. I don’t know what to do.”

That smile fades away. He studies me, this sharp-edged man, strangely soft for someone who looks like a knife. My father works for his brother keeping the books, but he doesn’t do much else. If anyone in the cartel can help, it’s Papá. He was never that into the dark side of our life. Always had one foot on the outside.

“What happened?” he asks, putting the book down and removing his glasses.

“There’s a man… he comes to the hotel every week. He knows Ruben… I think they’ve been meeting…” I tell him about Bastiano, about earlier tonight in his hotel room. I don’t leave out any details. Lying won’t save me now. It won’t keep my head above water. I talk about the spreadsheet, about the duffel, about the car. Dad listens patiently, his frown deepening, and when I’m done, he stands and goes over to his desk.

“Stay right there,” he says, nodding toward an overstuffed armchair.

“What are you doing? Don’t you get it? Uncle’s going to kill me. Ruben’s going to⁠—”

Dad holds his phone to his ear. “Gerardo? Don’t tell me I’m interrupting your favorite shows. Yes, it’s about Marisol⁠—”

“Papá, no!” I lunge for the phone in a blind terror, trying to knock it from his hand, but my father steps away.

“Yes, you should come now, if that’s alright. I’ll keep her here. I think she knows about the arrangement. Yes, I believe it was the husband. I know, I know, but we should get it over with. Yes, alright. See you soon.”

I stumble backwards, hands coming up to my throat. A scream lodges there, aching to escape, as my father looks at me sadly.

“I know it isn’t easy to accept, Mari, but this is for the best. The outsider, Bastiano, I’m told he’s a decent man. You’ll have a husband now, you’ll have stability. That problem a few years back won’t matter anymore. We’ll move on⁠—”

I turn and run.

It’s stupid, I know, but I’m like a rabbit facing down a hungry fox. I yank open his door, ignoring his commands to come back, and sprint out the back. I’m running blindly, arms flailing, mind racing.

Dad knew. He knew. He sold me from the start. He was a part of this nightmare—this sick, fucked-up nightmare⁠—

I run until I’m too winded to keep going. I don’t recognize the street I’m on and have to summon an Uber to come pick me up. While I wait, I try to gather myself together, but my mind keeps coming back to one unforgiving truth:

There’s nowhere left to run.

Unless…