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As soon as I step out of the car, the hot desert air suffocates me. The sand feels abrasive and coarse against my skin as the wind tangles my hair. It’s hot and dirty, but there’s something about the wildness of the desert that I find cleansing. The stale air is somehow freeing, full of space and possibilities.
I trail after Rafael as he yanks a door open with a low groan of protesting hinges. My footsteps falter when I step inside. There are long tables, workstations set out. Standing at each one are several women, all in their underwear, paper masks covering their faces as they work. They cut, pack, and wrap blocks of cocaine, working quickly and efficiently like a well-oiled machine. Men load boxes of the packed drugs onto trucks that are parked at loading bays. It’s a huge operation.
There’s a one-story breezeblock structure within the warehouse, and above it, railings enclose a second floor. Glancing up, I catch sight of two women leaning on the bars, watching me carefully. Cigarettes hang from their fingers, their bodies clad in tight jean shorts and cropped shirts. Something about them is…sad. Desperate. It’s a look I know well, one I’ve seen too many times to recall.
Rafael opens a door and pulls me into what looks like an office. It’s simple, functional, not like the warm décor of his home office. This is clearly all business. Taking a seat behind his desk, he presses a button on a remote, and a wall of TV screens fill with various images from around the warehouse.
“Why are they all in their underwear?” I find myself asking.
A smirk graces his lips as those dark eyes meet mine. “So they can’t steal anything.”
“You think they would steal from you?”
“I find it easier to assume they will and avoid it, rather than trust they won’t and have to fix it.” He takes a cigar from his pocket and places it between his lips. I stare at his mouth for a second, so cruel and yet so soft, so undeniably alluring, even to someone like me. The flame from the lighter dances in front of his face before a long stream of smoke clouds his intense gaze. “The cartel runs on its reputation. A violation, no matter how small must be punished. Severely.”
“I know.” I know better than anyone, but then, I never committed any violations in the cartel did I? I stayed there like a good, willing little whore as long as they gave me the drugs I needed to forget. So, I don’t know.
“The few die so that the many survive. Humans are like sheep. Every now and then one might stray, but if it gets eaten by the wolf, then it scares the rest of the flock, and they don’t stray again.”
“Are you the wolf?”
His smiles as he pushes up from his chair, placing the cigar in the ashtray. “Oh, avecita, I’m the big bad wolf.”
He rounds his desk, stalking me just like the wolf he declares himself to be. He stops, so close that I can feel the heat of his body. The scent of citrus and cigar smoke engulfs me, and I inhale the intoxicating scent. I slowly lift my eyes over his enormous chest until they meet endless pools of darkness. His fingers gently trail my jaw.
“Oh, what big teeth you have,” I whisper.
A grin covers his face, and he leans in, brushing his lips over mine. An involuntary shiver races over my skin, and I grip his wrist. “All the better to eat you with.” His teeth scrape over my bottom lip leisurely. My heart does that strange spluttering in my chest, and I inhale a deep breath, trying to calm it. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, and I find myself pitching forward, seeking, wanting. He groans against my mouth and then wrenches away from me, something feral and unrestrained flashing behind his eyes. “Careful, Anna. You taste a little too sweet. Don’t tempt me.” Part of me wants to tempt him while the other part recoils in absolute horror. Closing my eyes, I push that sick feeling down and focus on calming my racing pulse.
There’s a knock on the office door before it opens, and Samuel glances into the room. His gaze darts from me to Rafael and back again.
He clears his throat. “Boss, we have them.” He arches a brow pointedly.
Rafael picks up his smoking cigar from the ashtray, and strides out of the office. I follow because he didn’t tell me to stay. To the side of the warehouse, two armed men stand with two women between them. The girls are on their knees, their faces bruised. Blood trails from the nose of one of them, coating her lips and staining the front of her pale blue shirt. Though she’s beaten, she doesn’t look scared. Her jaw locks and her eyes burn with a kind of rage I know very well. The other isn’t so strong. Tears track down her cheeks, shoulders shaking silently. Badly bleached hair hangs in front of her hollowed face, brushing collarbones far too protruded. I’m sadly familiar with the haunted, sunken look in her eye, the look of someone who is a slave to a simple high. Heroin.
