Two weeks ago, Mexico …
The pounding. I feel it everywhere. In my head. In my throat. In my chest. In my heart. It’s going to give out.
My steps falter as my bare feet dig into the blazing hot sand. Just a little further. I’ll get out of here if I just keep going.
I’m about to collapse when visions of pigtails and a cocky little grin invade my mind. My children. I fucking left them.
Guilt spears me, cutting me right through the bone—and my only solace is that there was no other way. I had to get help. I have to get help.
The sun’s rays are punishing, making my neck blister as I trek another mile in the Mexican desert, but I can’t stop moving. Everything I put my family through, it won’t be in vain.
I’m huffing out heavy breaths as my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, reminding me I haven’t had a drop to drink in God knows how long, but it’s what I deserve. Hell on earth.
This is all my fault and I need to make it right.
Should I have stayed? Visions of my wife and children, tied up and on the floor, flash before me. And like a bat to the chest, pain slams into me, seeping into every cell of my body and making me stumble.
No. This had to be done. Staying would have meant certain death for us all. Leaving was the only way of finding help. Our only chance at survival.
I’d do it all again if it gives us the chance of escaping this Hell. One foot in front of the other, I move forward as my head replays the horror of the past few days…
“Enough, Blanca.” I glare at my wife, begging her to drop it.
“You won’t even notice I’m gone.” She bats her long lashes, slowing down her pace and letting our three kids walk in front of us.
We’ve just left dinner and she thinks now is the perfect time to drop this bomb on me. “No, Blanca. You cannot disappear for a week. Your children need you.”
I normally wouldn’t be against her taking some time for herself, but this is the third time in two months. The kids and I barely see her as it is. I swear she spends more time away from the house than I do, and that’s saying something.
“They have Pen. She’ll be eighteen in less than three months.” She waves a hand toward my stepdaughter, her long dark hair swaying with the breeze as she walks hand in hand with our nine and five-year-old.
Turning toward her, I suck in a sharp breath and beg for patience. “They need their mother, Blanca—”
Before I can finish my sentence, I’m cut off by screeching tires and our five-year-old’s scream. What the fuck?
A blacked-out van has pulled up in front of us, men pouring out of it like a damn clown car. But these aren’t clowns. No. I can tell by their tattoos. Jesus Christ.
My feet are already in action, running full speed toward my kids. They can’t take them. Over my dead fucking body.
Behind me, I hear Blanca screaming while Penelope is off to the side, fighting off a man with one hand and grabbing a hold of Alex with the other.
I finally reach Amanda just as she’s being thrown in the van. Wrapping my arms around her tiny frame, I pull back, but my strength is no match for the three men who’ve come up behind me.
I try a roundhouse kick in a last-ditch effort, but instead of succeeding, I feel something heavy connect with my head. It’s all over. I lose my balance as darkness takes me under. And as black shrouds my vision, I send out one last prayer of hope. My kids. God, please… save my kids.
Light seeps in through my cracked lids as I slowly come to, wincing at the pain that’s taking over my body. Damn. It hurts everywhere.
As I blink my eyes open, haunting images resurface. They’re memories reminding me of my reality. Horrible visions that will forever be seared into my soul.
I’ll never forget Blanca’s tear-stained face as they dragged her and our kids away. Helpless is too little of a word to describe what I felt as these fuckers ripped my family apart, pulling me down a long hallway before beating me and leaving me for dead.
I need to find them and get my family out. But these walls, they’re stifling, sucking out what little breath I have left and making each pull of air a staggering blow.
Assessing my surroundings, I know time is running out. There are no windows and the stains on the floor let me know this room has a purpose. One I’m not too keen on.
I’m in the middle, sitting on a cold metal chair with both arms bound behind my back.
Working with limited movement, I feel around for anything useful, wincing when my finger slits open against a jagged edge. Jackpot. If I angle myself just right, maybe I can cut myself free.
The rope digs into my wrists as I rub up and down against the raw edge of the chair, but I keep working despite the pain.
When the tension on the rope starts to give, my heart fills with hope. I don’t know how the chair came to be in this state, but I do know that I’m so damn grateful that it is.
Working my hands faster, I feel the material give. And just in the nick of time, as a man dressed in all black walks in, followed by one of the men I’d seen before.
With a quick glance past him, I can see the hallway is empty. A possible escape. The asshole from earlier walks toward me, ripping off the gag they’d tied on inside the van. They didn’t even bother with a head covering. Not their usual M.O.
This can only mean one thing… A dead man can’t leak coordinates, and they have no plans of my ever leaving.
Well, too bad. I’m not on the same page. “Where’s my family?”
A fist flies toward me, knocking my face back and sending the chair rocking, making it difficult to conceal the fact that my hands are no longer bound. Somehow, I keep both behind me, using my legs which are free to stabilize myself once more.
“Don’t talk unless I ask you to, you fucking rat.” The man in all black spits out, his eyes narrowing, assessing. “You’re going to tell me exactly where you hid it. If you don’t, Marco here is going to show you just how we treat those who betray the cartel.”
The man next to him grins as he traces a finger across his throat, no doubt fantasizing about decapitation. El Jefe and his men are known for their gruesome punishment, something I knew about going into this but never expected to be a part of.
My stomach rolls, fear turning my body to ice. I’m not worried about myself, but for my kids. They don’t deserve this.
“You better start talking. The boss doesn’t like waiting for information.” The man in black raises a brow, an evil smirk playing on his lips.
I lift my chin defiantly, unwilling to let him see me cower. “I’ll tell you what you want if you let my family go.”
“No deal.” The man in black turns toward the door. “Marco, rough him up. Maybe when I come back, he’ll be in more of a talking mood.” He’s about to walk out when he turns back to me. “Mr. Crown, if you don’t tell me what I want to hear, I’ll force you to watch as my men rape and torture your family. One by one, we’ll take them from you until you break.”
The door closes with a thud, and my heartbeat jacks up tenfold. This is it. My odds of fighting off two men at once weren’t great, but one I could manage. Especially if there aren’t any guards outside this door.
Marco walks over to a table, pulling open a drawer and running his fingers along a selection of surgical instruments. “What will it be, hermano?”
“I’m not your brother,” I spit back, unwilling to make this any more enjoyable for him.
“That’s not what you had us believing. Negotiating with the boss, just like your viejo.”
My eyes narrow, the topic of my dad hitting me where it hurts. Anger burns through me, making my breath come out in short, shallow breaths. “Stop talking and get on with your plans. Nothing you say or do will make me give up the information el Jefe wants.”
“You think you’re this big tough guy. But you’ll crack. They all do.” Marco’s lips peel back, exposing his yellowing teeth as he walks toward me with a scalpel. “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun making you beg.”
Not if I can help it.
As soon as he’s within reach, I kick out my leg, swiping it under his and making him fall on his ass—the scalpel flying up before coming back down and impaling itself on his face.
“Pinche pendejo!” He groans on the ground as his hands reach for the blade, but I’m already on my feet, hand reaching for the handle of the scalpel and digging it in further.
I’ve never killed a man, but it’s not beyond me. This is him or me. My family or his sick and twisted soul. The choice is clear. He needs to go.
His yells of sheer horror bounce off the walls, and thankfully, his crew was expecting torture to be had… they just didn’t know it’d be on one of their own.
Wanting to end this shit as quickly as possible, I flip this asshole onto his stomach, pinning him down with my weight as my arms go around his head in a choke hold. Acting on instinct, my hands go to his head, and with a sick crack, his head twists, his entire body going limp in my arms.
It’s done. Now, how in the hell am I going to get out of here without alerting everyone that I’ve escaped. If they find his body, they’ll kill my family without a second thought.
My eyes are lingering on Marco’s prone form when the answer hits me. Shit. I don’t want to do this, but will it buy me enough time?
The answer to that has me walking toward the table where Marco had pulled the scalpel from. I open the deeper drawer and find what I’m looking for.
I pick up the machete, my stomach rolling with the knowledge of what I’m about to do. This has to be done.
Switch clothes, decapitate him, and hide the evidence.
This should get me enough time to find my family and get us the fuck out of here.
As soon as I’ve switched clothes, I position him for the infamous cartel welcome. Fuck. Sucking in a massive breath, I lift the machete and swing down. The sound of metal connecting with bone forever embedding itself into my soul. There’s no coming back from this.
My chest heaves from the effort as my stomach rolls. For my family. For my kids. I repeat the mantra over and over as the blood pools and splatters. For my kids.
In a daze, I finish the task at hand, shoving his head into a bag I pulled from the torture table.
With a few tentative steps forward, I press my ear to the door and listen. Quiet. Taking a chance, I crack the door open and peer out. Just as before, the hallway is empty.
It’s now or never, Austin. Stepping into the hall, I take in my surroundings. I’m in a long corridor, and if my memory serves me, they brought me in from the left.
Walking on the balls of my feet, I ditch the head inside the first flowerpot I see and pray that this takes me to my family.
I’m about to turn left when I hear men talking. “The cunt is saying she has ties to the leader of the Cárdenas Cartel.”
They’re talking about my wife Blanca. I discovered her well-kept secret when I started on this fucked up journey. My eyes briefly close as I take in a quiet breath. Lies, deceit, and death. That’s all that surrounds me.
After a beat, another man speaks up, his words coming out with a thick accent. “If she’s speaking the truth, el Jefe will want to keep them alive. Use them for leverage.”
Hope sparks in my heart. God. Maybe Blanca’s past will be the ticket to our escape.
“You’re right. We’re in deep with their jefe. You know what that means, right?”
“Yeah.” I hear a deep exhale. “No playing with our catch.”
“Especially not the girl. If she’s Cárdenas’ daughter, she’ll be worth a pretty penny.”
Footsteps take over their conversation, the sound drawing nearer. Damnit! I have nowhere to hide. If they find me, it’s over, and how will I save my family then?
My eyes fall to a window, and I know I have to jump out. It’s a matter of seconds before they find me.
Knowing that my family is relatively safe for now, I take the leap of faith and crack the large window open, sliding out just in time. Thankfully, we’re on the ground floor and I crouch down as soon as my feet hit the gravel.
“How long ‘til the boss is back?” The words float out of the small opening as the men walk by.
“A week. He’s got business in the states.”
Their conversation trails off and I’m left with nothing but silence and a choice to make.
This new revelation has given me an opportunity.
Stay and try to sneak my family out, battling countless men at the same time and exposing my family to more danger… or take a chance that they will be safe for at least a week, giving me enough time to find help and come back with a team to wipe these sick bastards out.
With my heart in my throat, I make the hardest decision of my life. Though the latter separates me from my kids, I know it’s the lesser of two evils. They’re relatively safe for now. I just need to get my ass in gear and get back to them as soon as possible.
If any of them die, I won’t survive it. Nor should I.
My face contorts as visions of my lifeless children float inside my head. My kids. They’re so young, so full of life. This can’t be their end.
I’m too lost in gruesome thoughts, I don’t see it until it’s too late.
My foot sinks into something sharp, the jagged material sending shooting pain up my leg and making me tumble to the ground.
Fuck.
My vision blurs as it focuses in and out on the cut. Glass. I stepped on a broken beer bottle.
Glass… Glass… Glass! People! Glass means people!
I squeeze my eyes shut, a choked sob ripping from my throat as my eyes tingle with impending tears that never come, my body too dehydrated to offer a drop. No matter. This isn’t the time for tears. I’ll save those for when I’m holding my babies once more.
God. Will they ever forgive me? If they only knew. I’m the reason they’re in this mess.
It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I’ll make things right if it’s the last thing I do.
With my renewed determination, I walk on, praying against all odds that I find people and make it out of Satan’s sweltering asshole alive.
