Someone breached the fortress and dealt him a blow to the heart, and that’s not something that will be easily forgiven, or forgotten.
As I nestle into the blankets that he’s wrapped so tightly around my body, I glance out of my bedroom window and sigh.
Tomorrow, I’ll put the rest of Mateo into the ground, and the sun will shine a little brighter because I’ll bury the damaged part of me with him.
Chapter Eight
The early morning Mexican sun is hot on my back. It has me sweating more than I thought I would be, but thankfully, I’m almost done.
I made sure to wake Tati up extra early so that I could get this done without Papa seeing, and I’ve made her my official water girl until this has been completed.
It’s almost seventy degrees already, and I swear God is trying to wear me down. He wants me to confess mine and Tati’s sins to our father, but I won’t betray her. I promised her that he’d never find out what she does when there are no eyes on her, and my sin is etched into my soul.
I’m a killer, plain and simple.
She just steals the scraps from my table whenever I leave any behind and uses them for her own pleasures.
You’ll have to try a little harder to break me, I think with a chuckle as I steal a quick glance up at the sky.
Besides, my sin is not my secret and only Tati seems to know what it is. Although, I have a feeling that Magdalena might have known too.
I stand up and bend my back a little as I hold out my hand for a bottle of water.
After I drink down what’s left, I toss it at her and throw Mateo’s head into the ground.
“Should we pray for him?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.
“Why?” Tati inquires in confusion.
“So he doesn’t take the taste of your cunt to Hell with him,” I snap at her, rolling my eyes as I begin to pack dirt into the hole.
“It’s not my fault. You left him where I could find him,” she grumbles as she plops her ass down into the dirt next to his grave.
I take a deep breath and remind myself that she can’t help it, that something inside of her is programmed wrong, and one day, she’ll fucking snap out of it. It’s all I can do in order to keep myself from smacking her in the face with the damn shovel.
Although I know that some things linger in someone’s soul for far too long to ever be completely shattered, I have hope for Tati.
She shows promise of being someone else when she regales me with her sexual escapades and the men she speaks of are alive and well.
“What’s wrong? You look like you just tasted something sour,” she remarks curiously.
I shake my head and shoot her a small smile. It’s nothing I want to talk about because she takes offense to it.
If only I hadn’t told her about how I felt the first time I killed someone—the feeling of fear, then the exhilaration that washes over you… maybe then she wouldn’t be this way.
Besides, I was nine, and it was a complete fucking accident.
* * *
“Look what I’ve got!”
Pedro lets out his breath in a loud sigh as he walks over. He’s never been impressed much with anything that I do; if anything, I think he just sees me as Tatiana’s annoying little sister.
“What now, Sofi?” he demands in a loud voice. He’s not nice to me no matter how hard I try to gain his approval.
I bite my lower lip nervously.
Maybe I shouldn’t show him. Papa would be angry to know that I left the house with this and even more so that I took it without asking his permission first.
But the feeling of being scared leaves me almost as quickly as it came when I see how he’s looking at me. With a bored look on his face, like even me just being here bothers him.
I’ll show him, I tell myself as bravely as I can.
I lift the bottom of my shirt and pull out the small gun. It belonged to my new mother before she left and made Papa sad by not coming back.
“Where did you get that?” he asks, his voice taking on a touch of excitement.
“It belonged to Mama,” I reply with a shrug. When he reaches for it, I take a step back and swat his hand away.
Pedro is older than Tati and me both, but I know how much they like each other, so I do my best to treat him as I would anyone else in my new family.
“You can’t touch it,” I hiss at him.
“But you can? You probably don’t even know how to fucking use it,” he replies with a smirk on his face. He likes to make me feel like I’m not as smart as he is, and I hate it.
“I do too!” I shout stubbornly.
“Go ahead. Point it at that tree,” he insists, using his chin to point to the one a few feet away from us, “and let me see if you can actually hit it.”
I give him an angry look.
He must forget that he can’t speak to me like I’m no one now. I’m a Cancio, and that means something to the people here. And even though he doesn’t think I belong, I’m going to show him that I do, once and for all.
Squaring my shoulders, I lift the small pistol and aim it at the tree. The tip of my tongue is clenched between my teeth as I raise my other hand and grip the gun as best as I can. It’s heavier than I thought it would be so it’s taking all of my strength and concentration right now not to drop it.
I’m going to look like a fool when I miss my mark.
I’ve never shot a gun before, and he knows it. He’s going to make fun of me and tell everyone that Ana Sofia is a chicken if I don’t do this.
Closing my eyes tightly, I let my finger find the trigger, and I squeeze it, jumping slightly at the sound.
“See?” he says with a laugh. “You completely missed.”
When I open my eyes again, I let out a heavy sigh and drop my hand to my side, finger still on the trigger.
From what I can tell, I didn’t even hit the bush next to it.
“Perdedora,” he mutters under his breath as he turns to walk away.
But I’m not a loser, and he can’t call me names anymore. It’s not nice, and I’ll tell Papa if he keeps being mean to me.
“Pedro!” I bark after him.
When he glances at me over his shoulder, I raise the gun again and point it at him.
He laughs as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Go ahead, Sofi. I bet you don’t have the cojones to do it.”
The tears that sting my eyes are bitter.
The feeling swelling inside of me is telling me to show him that I’m better than the bothersome little girl he sees me as.
But I remember how Mama and Papa looked when they were shot down in the Culiacán state of Sinaloa, and I don’t think I could stand to see that again.
“Corre pequeño conejo,” I say to him in a low tone.
“For what? I’m not afraid of a little girl,” he huffs as he turns his back to me and starts to walk away.
The tears that were only just brimming begin to fall down my cheeks. I’m so angry that my body is shaking, but I can’t do it.
Instead, I throw the gun at him, and when it hits the ground, a loud bang greets my ears, then the sight of Pedro walking funny.
He stumbles a little bit, back and forth, almost like he’s drunk before he hits the ground with a dull thud.
What did I do?
* * *
The hot water that rolls off my back helps soothe the ache in my bones. It took longer than expected to put Mateo to rest, but now that it’s over, I don’t have to worry about him anymore. Well, not his physical form; his memory will stay with me until I’m buried in a grave dug by someone else.
As I turn and begin to rinse the shampoo from my hair, I wonder if it’ll be possible to have a quiet day today.
I’d like to stay home like Papa told me to, but I know that being alone with Tatiana will put me in a bad fucking mood.
I’m tired of her taking things that belong to me.
I’m tired of helping her hide her bullshit while trying to hide my own.
/> I’m just … tired.
And even though I sometimes find myself becoming tired of this way of life, I know that I won’t leave Papa.
I can’t.
I owe him my life and I won’t rest until all that has been asked of me is done.
I let out a heavy sigh as I reach for the bottle of conditioner and begin to lather up my hair. Resting my hands against the back wall of the shower as I let it sit, I close my eyes again.
* * *
I’ve broken my third kitchen knife, and I’m sure that Anabella will have no choice but to tell Papa that the silverware is missing. I inhale in a deep breath as I use my bloodied hands to push my hair behind my ears. I’m hot, tired, and sweating, but I have to finish so Papa doesn’t find out what I did.
I’ll tell him I’m sorry and he’ll make me go to Pedro’s house and tell his parents. I know he won’t spank me because he never does, though I know he’ll be upset. I hope he doesn’t send me away, I think frantically as I run toward the house.
I don’t go inside because what I need is in a small shed near the pool.
I look over my shoulder as I run, hoping that I can get by without being seen.
So far, so good.
The shed is unlocked as it usually is around this time of day, so I know that Anabella will probably start cleaning the pool area soon. I push the door open, leaving small smears of blood on the wood, but I know I don’t have enough time to clean that up. I push my hair out of my face again as I look around at the different tools inside.
Where is it?
I drop to my knees, then to my tummy, as I extend a hand under the large table inside. Papa doesn’t like things like this left where we can get our hands on them, but—I got it!
I get up carefully, then peek outside. I can see Anabella with her back to me as she begins to rearrange the lounge chairs, and I tell myself not to be scared. I count to three, then shoot out of the shed back toward the woods that separate our home from Pedro’s.
I’m tired now and have to use the machete to help myself stand up while I catch my breath.
The problem is that I know I can’t waste any more time than I already have.
With renewed determination, I take the few steps toward Pedro and line the machete against the wound I’ve been trying to cut through with the numerous kitchen knives.
A few good strikes, if I’m strong enough, should get the job done.
The sound is wet and makes me feel a little sick, and when I hit the bone, I do my best not to throw up as I drop my knees onto his chest and begin to saw at it. But something different comes over me when I put the machete down and reach for his arm. The more I tug and pull, the harder I huff and puff, the more my mood changes. I feel … happy. Almost as if his death is helping me cope with what happened to my real Mama and Papa, and tells me that one day, I’ll be strong enough to do this to the people that deserve it.
I toss his arm to the side, breathing heavily as I reach for the machete again and begin to whack at his other one. Since I kind of know how to do this now, it’s much faster and less gruesome. Even when I hear the sound the bone makes as the blade scrapes against it.
Once I have both of his arms severed, I get up and turn around, sitting on his tummy, and reach for the zipper of his pants. I grunt as I stand up just enough to pull them down, then take a seat again. I use my arm to wipe the sweat from my forehead and raise the blade again…
“Sofi!”
I gasp and turn my eyes up to my find myself staring into my sister’s horrified face.
“I didn’t mean to,” I say as a fresh wave of tears begin to fall down my cheeks again. Tati rushes forward and picks me up off Pedro’s partially dismembered body, holds me close, and runs for the house.
I bury my face into her neck as I continue to sob and tell myself that if I could do this to Pedro, I can do it to anybody.
And I’ll do it to keep Papa safe.
* * *
Papa needs someone to protect him at all costs and without regard for themselves.
While most of his sicarios are like that, there are a small few that aren’t, and I have to finish weeding them out before it’s too late.
Twenty-five minutes later, I’m dressed and walking toward his den.
I’m sure that my memories of my first kill differ from Tati’s, but they can’t be that much. She always did like taking on the role of being the older, protective sister, but there were days when we were younger that I could see the resentment in her eyes. And for a time, she didn’t want have anything to do with me. Even when I took up the mantle of becoming a Sicario for the Cancio Cartel, Tati still had trouble reconciling that she wasn’t Papa’s only little girl anymore.
I shift my thoughts immediately, because if I approach my father with a look of worry on my face, he’ll shut me down before I even get a chance to say anything.
I know he has to be awake by now, and this where he usually likes to spend time before seeing anyone else.
I knock gently on the heavy, wooden door and hope that he hears it.
When a moment passes, I clear my throat and knock a little harder.
“Entrar!”
Here goes nothing.
“Good morning,” I say to him as I peek my head into the room.
He looks over at me with his warm eyes and smiles, “Good morning, Mija.”
I begin to chew my lower lip nervously as I step into the room and close the door quietly behind me.
If Tatiana knows I’m in here, she’ll more than likely come barreling in and demand equal treatment.
Sometimes, it feels like she thinks I’m trying to take her father from her when I’m honestly just happy to belong.
“What’s bothering you?” he asks as he sets his toast down and looks at me curiously.
So, that’s why he rarely eats with us, I think with a slight chuckle. But I can’t say that I blame him. Having a meal in peace every now and then must do wonders for him.
“Um,” my voice breaks, and I take a deep breath, then try again, “I know you said you wanted me to stay close to home, but I was hoping it would be okay with you if I went out for a little while today.”
“To where?” he asks.
There’s no point in lying to him.
He has eyes from here to the fucking border and beyond.
I take a deep breath and wait for his resounding no to my request. Especially since I want to go to a place I haven’t been to since I was a small girl.
“Culiacán.”
Chapter Nine
Thirty minutes of begging and pleading, assurance that this wasn’t a suicide mission, and a promise to call him every twenty minutes, I finally get him to relent.
I understand his concerns.
He knows that I want revenge for what happened to my parents, and the only way I can get that is by going back to the place it all started.
I walk up the steps of the bus and head to the back, taking a seat near the window.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that my wanting to go there was nothing more than a carnal feeling that’s been building inside of me since I was attacked. It’s a miracle alone that he made the bargain with me to let me go. Revealing my secret to him isn’t something I wanted to throw onto the dumpster fire that became our deal.
I guess my body wants to feel normal again, and the only way to help it achieve that is to find a place where I can be myself without worry.
Granted, a few people might know who I am on sight, but since I’m alone, they won’t make an attempt on my life.
That is seen as a coward’s move, and every sicario, regardless of who they serve, would rather die than be lowered to that status.
An hour and a half and numerous phone calls later, I step off the bus with one hand in my pocket and the other shielding my eyes from the sun.
I’ll just walk around until I find something that catches my attention.
As I expected, a few people recognize me, which is amusing, co
nsidering I haven’t been back here since my parents were murdered.
Perhaps, in their praising of my father and everything he’s done for this place, they may have stumbled a picture or two of Tati and me. Something that he’d have the head of the perpetrator for.
“Hola,” I greet a little girl standing outside of a mom and pop shop.
The way she smiles up at me as I walk by her, almost in awe, makes me hope and wish that she never has to become what I have.
She looks so happy to have just been acknowledged that I shake my head when she runs back into the store as happy as I once was at her age.
I’ll pray for you, I think, as a tinge of sadness begins to well inside of me. I linger in the doorway of the store for a moment, then smile when I see her mother hugging her. And I’ll pray for her too.
As soon as I start to walk again, the phone in my side pocket begins to vibrate. Instead of feeling slightly annoyed, I feel grateful to know that my father gives a shit about me.
Especially in a place that he knows I consider to be the scene of the crime, because it is.
“I’m fine,” I assure him softly as soon as I answer his call.
“I wanted to be sure,” he replies gruffly. “You were supposed to call me ten minutes ago, Sofi.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Where are you?”
“Just walking around. Staying out of trouble like I promised.”
He sighs heavily, “Okay. I love you, mija. Be safe.”
He hangs up before I have a chance to tell him that I love him too, but he knows that regardless of me saying it or not.
After spending hours chopping up Pedro’s body, I confessed to him when I couldn’t figure out how to hide it from him.
That was the first time he told me that he loved me.
He saw the scared little girl that he picked up into his arms in this fucking place. The same one that would wake up crying and screaming for her mother, knowing that she’d never get to touch her again.
La Carnicera Page 5