Primitivo

by Croft, Rose

  PRIMITIVO

  Copyright © 2019 by Rose Croft. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Bex Harper Designs

  Formatter: Integrity Formatting

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part One: The Past Humble Beginning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Part Two: The Present

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Preview - Cabezon

  Prologue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Rose Croft

  For Sue and Maria

  Past

  Sofía Romero Flores—Dallas, TX, Age 20

  My life was over. I felt the soft breaths of innocence on my skin mixed in with a little drool. I glanced down at my six-month-old son who was nestled in my arms as I sat contemplating my words. Sealing my fate. I swiped at tears that wouldn’t stop falling. I’d cried so much my eyeballs burned. I gripped the pen in my hand so hard I thought it might snap. I had to do this. I had no choice.

  Did you really think you could leave us, Sofía?

  You’re either with us, or you’re not.

  I knew what “or not” meant—I would end up floating in the bottom of a river with my throat slit. I bit down on my bottom lip and held in my anguish. And wrote…

  Emilio,

  I can’t be the person you want me to be. I never was… I’m not meant for this life. Sorry.

  You know what happens to deserters and snitches… Lucky for you I’m gonna give you another chance.

  I hated this life. ES-22 forever. That was my stupid childhood pledge years ago when I had nothing and knew what they offered was the only way of life for me and my brother. I was born into it. Forced into this existence.

  My baby stirred in my arms. Eric. One of two things that was ever pure in my life. I rocked him against me and placed my lips on his tuft of black curls, lingering, inhaling his sweet, baby scent. How could I give this up? Give him up? Giving him up meant saving his life.

  His little forehead creased as he shifted and sighed with eyes closed. He was perfect. The resemblance between him and his father was remarkable. Remarkably heartbreaking. His father. Emilio. The other pure thing in my life. My forever. Emilio took my heart and planted the seeds of hope. He showed me what love and kindness could be. And passion… so much passion. He made me believe there was something better in this world. He made me a better person.

  I shook my head and scribbled more lies.

  I don’t love you.

  I love you so much my heart will never recover from this.

  I found someone else.

  I’ve never looked at another man. It was always you. Only you.

  Don’t ever contact me again.

  I’m so sorry. I’m saving your life and Eric’s.

  I dropped the pen and dug my fingers into my eyes trying to kill my feelings. Numb the pain.

  Just get this over with. I grabbed the note and stood up with Eric in my arms walking over to his crib. I had to keep my hands from shaking. This was it. This would be the last time I would lay eyes on my son. It was like I was fighting gravity as I bent over the side of the crib. I was reluctant to let him go. Finally, I felt the cool touch of the fabric of his sheet and slipped my hands from underneath him.

  I choked on a cry. Feeling guilt and shame. I would never again see his lopsided smile. Or his repeated babbling of “dada.” His first crawl. His first steps. Every monumental “first” mothers should experience. Celebrate. Capture and put in a baby book for me to cherish and him to see when he grew older.

  “Te quiero, hijo mío.” I touched his chubby cheek for the last time. I leaned over and kissed his forehead. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

  I slowly broke contact and swiped my eyes for the millionth time and clenched the note in my hand. I wanted to rip it to shreds and burn it for good measure. But I held it against my thigh knowing danger lurked outside the house if I didn’t follow through.

  I walked down the hall to the master suite. My heart shattered piece by piece with each step as I neared the bed. Seeing the large form sleeping. My love. Emilio. I could hear the soft snores vibrating through the air. He’d always slept like the dead. One arm was thrown over his head.

  I stopped by his side and gazed down as though in a trance. The sheets were bunched around his waist. His broad chest contracted and expanded with each breath. I reached out, desperate to trace the lines and contours of his muscles, but I held back. I didn’t want to wake him. I couldn’t risk it. Instead, I studied the gothic script of my name and Eric’s on his left pec. He’d gotten that tattoo not long after Eric was born.

  Mi vida

  Mi adicción

  Mi amor para siempre

  My life. My addiction. My love always… My throat constricted remembering the words he’d said when he first told me he loved me, and I draped my fingers over my mouth, pressing my lips to keep from making a sound. I couldn’t do this. Unable to stop myself I leaned down and brushed his full, sensual pout. He groaned and shifted. “Sofía,” he murmured, and I froze in fear. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. He exhaled and shifted his head, burrowing into the pillow. His breathing evened out, again. My heart started beating, again.

  I brought my hands together under my chin—thinking or praying—whichever it was it was moot. A wasted action. It didn’t really matter how much I plead; he would never forgive me.

  “I love you, Emilio. Don’t hate me,” I whispered. Don’t hate me. Don’t forget me. Don’t let Eric forget me. Remember me.

  I dropped my hands and hung my head. Hating myself for what I was about to do.

  ES-22 forever, girl. You know that. You belong to us.

  I dropped the note on the nightstand next to his phone. The motion caused the screen on his cell to light up showcasing the three of us, all smiles—a happy family. My heart clenched painfully, and I forced myself to walk away. As I made it to the kitchen, I grabbed my purse and scanned the area. Our home. That Emilio and I helped nurture. Now I was going to destroy what we’d created. I stepped out into the night and gripped the strap on my duffel bag tighter and walked down the road.

  “Goodbye, my love.” The words felt like they were ripped from my heart. I hung my head down stifling my cries.

  “You did the right thing, Gatita.” Tito shoved his gun behind him in the waist of his jeans. “
You just saved their lives, and if you want to keep them safe, you’ll cut all ties.”

  This was where the circle came together.

  This was where the end killed new beginnings.

  Emilio Miguel García Mendoza—El Salvador, Age 8

  “Cuidense, niños.” Mami warned us to be careful and signaled the sign of the cross over my brother Vicente and I before we took off down the street with the packet Rafael had given us. Rafael Segura Hernández was Mami’s friend who insisted we call him Tío Rafael. He wasn’t really our uncle, but we called him that anyway because he’d been spending more time around us. When he visited our family, he always brought us clothes, toys, or other nice things we couldn’t afford.

  “What’s in here?” I asked Vicente squeezing the lumpy package between my fingers. The curiosity was killing me.

  “Don’t know and don’t you dare try to open it.” Vicente narrowed his eyes. “Rafael will punish us if we do. Tuck it in under your shirt so no one can see it.” I knew he was right. Although Rafael had given us nice things and seemed to care for Mami, there was also something that didn’t seem right about him. Like he could turn on us and hurt us at the drop of the hat.

  “I know, hermano. Do you think he’ll show us how to use a gun?” That was what Rafael said after Vicente and I delivered the package. He’d told us if we did good, then he’d show us how to use a weapon because he wanted Vicente and me to be able to take care of our mother when he wasn’t around. Lately, when we went outside to play, Mami was worried and told us to watch out for Los Malos, the bad people.

  “Yeah, he kind of showed me how to use one the other day,” Vicente admitted and turned away shoving his hands in his pockets as we walked down the street.

  “When?” How come my brother was always the one to get to do things first? He was nine, only a year older than me. It’s not like I was a little boy anymore. I was almost as big as him.

  “Doesn’t matter. Now, watch out. We need to stick together and not get lost.” Vince grabbed my arm, jerking me in his direction to avoid running into a group of people in front of me.

  Mami said this week was Semana Santa, Holy Week, and warned the streets would be crowded with people. She didn’t lie. I kept up with my brother trying not to bump into the crowd lined down the sides of the street. There was a sea of white and purple as a parade marched down the narrow roads covered with alfombras (carpets) of dyed salt and sawdust made into religious pictures.

  “Have you ever seen Los Malos?” I asked my brother.

  “No.”

  I scanned the area, searching for people who looked like bad people. What would they look like? Would they have horns? Look like beasts? Look like the devil? I didn’t know.

  Finally, there was a small opening in the crowd, and I peered to my right down an alleyway. I saw an older man in a white robe and purple cape who was quickly apprehended by three guys in white tanks and baggie jeans.

  I turned to Vicente. “That’s Father Pérez.” Our priest. He was screaming for help, and one of the guys slammed a fist down on his bald head. Vicente and I took off after him.

  A shot was fired, and Father Pérez sunk to the ground. “No!” I shouted in disbelief. Vicente held out his arm stopping me from moving any closer to the three men who now jerked their heads at us with smiles on their faces. All three had shaved heads and were covered in tattoos.

  One of the men frowned and stepped forward. “You looking for trouble, niños?”

  “¿Está muerto?” My words fell out in shock, never seeing a dead person before.

  “No. He’s not dead. Just sleeping,” the man said lifting his mouth and the other guys behind him chuckled. “Permanently.”

  I glanced over at the body slumped over with red liquid pooling around him. “You lie.”

  He took a step forward. “You calling me a liar?” He cocked his head and scratched his chin with the tip of the gun. His wide eyes popped under the ink on his face like a scary mask.

  I was scared, but I wouldn’t show it. Never show fear. Fear is for the weak. Rafael had told Vicente and I one day.

  “Cállate, hermano.” My brother nudged me to keep quiet.

  “Listen to your brother.” Crazy face leaned in. Up close, I could see the words and numbers tattooed on his neck and forehead. ES-22. He had painted teardrops that hung under the outer corner of each eye. He studied my brother and I. “You boys looking to join us? We’re… ah… recruiting.”

  “No. We got lost that’s all,” Vicente answered and gave me a look as if to say follow my lead and let’s get out of here.

  “We’re going to the store for our mamá.” That’s what Rafael told us to say if anyone stopped us.

  “We like ’em young. Easier to mold into good soldiers.” Tear Drop pointed behind him to the graffiti-covered wall a few feet away. “They look about your age and are part of our organization.” There were two boys with shaved heads wearing the same white tanks and jeans. One boy had bruises on his face like he’d been in a bad fight, while the other boy glared at us with a knife in his hand. Next to him stood a girl, younger, with brown hair and the most unusual eyes I’d ever seen. Scared eyes. She leaned in closer to the boy with the beaten face.

  My curiosity got the better of me, and I pointed. “What happened to him?”

  “Initiation. You wanna join Los Malos… you gotta fight for it.”

  Los Malos.

  “No. Never,” I responded automatically.

  “Never?” The three chuckled like I’d told some kind of joke.

  Tear Drop laid an arm over my shoulder like he was my friend. “Here’s the thing. You don’t really have a choice. We own this town. Everyone answers to us. Including you two putitos.” They all laughed again.

  “Go to hell, baboso!” I slung his arm off me, and he immediately had his gun at my temple. I heard the click of the hammer.

  My heart raced. My breaths were loud. I was terrified.

  “You think you’re tough, niñito?” Tear Drop asked. “I’ll put you to sleep just like the padre over there.”

  “You hurt him, you’re dead,” my brother warned quietly in a voice I’d never heard.

  “Oh yeah? What you gonna do?” Tear Drop pressed the barrel harder into my skin.

  I closed my eyes concentrating on controlling my fear.

  “Tío, no!” I heard the scream of a child as I heard the click. Nothing. No pain. “Boom! You’re dead.” Tear Drop chuckled and let the gun fall to his side. “Get outta here before I change my mind. Lucky for you, I’m in a forgiving mood. Next time I see you, you better be ready to join us or die.”

  A shaky breath escaped me, and my brother was tugging on my arm to leave, but I was caught by the little girl’s wide eyes as beautiful as the ocean in La Libertad that reflected both our truths and our fears.

  Two months later, I was on a bus with my family. Mami said we were moving to the United States. We’d crossed through Guatemala and were entering southern Mexico. Our mother told us we could only bring our most important things because there wouldn’t be enough room for extra stuff. We were going to live with our aunt, uncle, and cousins Adrian and Eduardo in Texas. They’d moved to the States two years ago.

  The bus was full of people I assumed would be traveling with us. As soon as we crossed the Mexican border, two men who dressed like soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders stepped on the bus carrying large bags. Another soldier climbed on and motioned for the driver to get off the bus. Soon that soldier was sitting at the wheel starting up the vehicle.

  “What’s happening?” my sister Lilyana asked confused as the bus groaned out and trudged up to full speed.

  I glanced over Lily’s head to Vicente, who was studying the soldiers. “It’s okay. I think they’re here to protect us,” I said and patted her on the shoulder hoping I was right. They looked official. I’d heard sometimes roads could be unsafe because of robbers. Also, I now knew the fear of Los Malos was real.

  Lily made he
rself smile and nodded. My sister was the same age as me. We were gemelos, twins. I remember asking Mami if Lily and I were twins how come we didn’t look the same. She patted my head and told me not all twins were identical.

  Mami was sitting across the aisle with my little brother Yovani who’d just turned six. He was sleeping with his head on my mother’s arm. I could tell by the crinkles in her forehead, my mom was nervous.

  “I need everyone’s attention!” one of the soldier’s voices boomed like a loud cannon. “We will be passing out these bags for you to put over your head. You will not remove them until we tell you. If you do not comply or if you take them off without consent, then you could end up dead. Do I make myself clear?”

  Lilyana clutched my arm and sucked in a breath. “Emilio. I’m scared,” she whispered in my ear. The soldiers were passing out the burlap bags and motioned for people to put them on immediately. I shushed her remembering how Mami had warned us to stay quiet throughout the trip. My sister’s sack dropped through her shaky hands, and I quickly picked it up and helped cover her face before she drew attention.

  I donned the burlap as well and heard the silent sobs my sister tried to hide, and I reached out until I felt her fingers and closed my hand around hers. “Nothing will happen to you, Lily. I’ll protect you,” I said quietly into the musky darkness.

  It seemed like hours before we felt the bus stop and someone said we could remove the sacks. My face was scratchy and sweaty, and the odor of stale vegetables was all I could smell. I sucked in a fresh breath of air and squinted my eyes adjusting to the sunlight pouring in from the bus windows. Never-ending fields of flowers and weeds surrounded us filled with men and women picking the buds off the plants and stuffing whatever they picked in the bags at their side.

  Soldiers walked through the fields carrying rifles. Why did farmers need soldiers to protect them? Why did we need to keep our face hidden? Why was my mom so nervous? I had so many questions and glanced over at Mami who gave a slight shake of her head. A silent reminder. I knew I needed to keep my thoughts to myself. It seemed everyone else on the bus knew it too with the only voices heard being those of the soldiers.