by Skyla Madi
“Yasmine!” I shouted and she didn’t react. “What the fuck—”
She sped off, leaving me staring at her taillights as she disappeared into the forest.
Y A S M I N E
I drove for hours.
The sun was up.
The light on the dash begged for gas.
I didn’t know where I was going or which direction I was headed. I just drove.
And drove.
I spoke to Nicolás. I told him about the day he was born, how his existence completed me, and how his birth saved my life. Before him I had nothing to live for. After him, I feared dying and leaving him behind. I told him about Exeter, my time with Judge, and how I got him to help. Mostly, I apologized for every day of his life that led to this moment. My ultimate failure.
His untimely death.
I swerve on the road as I blink through a never-ending stream of tears, then correct myself, only for the engine to stall and the car roll to a stop. Out of gas. I swipe at my nose and sniffle.
It’s quiet, so quiet my ears ring. I look out the window for the first time since leaving Elias’s lodge. Endless mountains and tall trees as far as the eye can see.
What the hell am I going to do?
I glanced in my side mirror and catch the sight of three black SUVs as they roll to a stop behind me. None of them belonged to the Devil’s Cartel. If my heart still worked, it would’ve sunk into my feet. I keep my gaze on the first car. The door opens and out steps a familiar face. The last time I saw it, it was dark and obscured by shadow, but I remember his height and his width. The tall and imposing Ben Campbell kicks his door shut behind him and lifts his handgun.
Sighing, I open my door.
“You’re out of time,” he shouts.
I know. I swing my legs off the seat and step out of the car. My shoes touch the earth and my legs fall out from under me, exhausted. I fall to my knees on the rocky asphalt and drop my face into my hands. Tears flow. They’re unrelenting. Painful, even.
Ben approaches on his own, his gun still outstretched, and I lift my head as he peers into the backseat. He curses when he sees Nicolás, and his face falls.
“What happened?”
A gentle breeze blows, drying the tears wetting my upper lip. What happened? I lost everything. I hang my head.
“Get me water,” he demands of his men, and they bring him a small plastic water bottle.
Ben tucks his handgun into his waistband and unscrews the lid. Crouching, he shuffles forward, and the breeze blows his cologne past my nose. I breathe it in. It’s like Judge’s and it threads comfort through my bruised soul. I gently lift my chin and Ben places the mouth of the bottle against my lip. He gently tips it, letting water trickle over my dry lips. I part them, allowing the cold water to swirl around my tongue before I gulp it down.
“What hap—”
I choke as the water repeats on me, flying up my throat quicker than I swallow it. I keel over and puke the water onto the road. Nicolás’s tiny palm felt like heaven on my cheek. He didn’t open his eyes, but I felt the pure love in his touch. Then he left. And that moment of loss impacted my world with the force of an atomic bomb. I built my future on making it up to him, on making new memories—happy memories. Instead, I’m left with mistakes I can never fix, a hole I can never fill, and kisses I can never give.
I cough, spitting up the last of the water. Ben touches my arm and I shrug him off. “Don’t touch me!”
“You’ll die if you stay in Nevada,” he utters, his brows furrowing. “Let me take you closer to Exeter—”
I laugh and it’s ugly and bitter.
“I don’t care if I die.” I point at Armi’s car. “My son is dead. I want to die.” I glance at this hip, at the gun tucked into his waistband. “Give me your gun. I’ll do it myself.”
He swallows hard. “Do you need a hospital?”
I chuckle, my chest moving sporadically, and it swiftly turns into sobbing. It’s too late for a hospital. I cover my face with my hands and Ben stands up with an exhale and kicks a rock across the road.
“Boss said to kill anyone still on our soil,” another male says, and I don’t bother lifting my head to see who.
“She’s not a Cartel member,” Ben argues.
“Maybe she’s a clubwhore. Can clubwhores be members?”
“I don’t think she’s that either.”
I feel soft fingers under my chin and my head is lifted. I blink through the tears and look into Ben Campbell’s dark eyes. “Are you with them? Or not?”
With them? Yes, I’m with them. Or was. I was with them.
“She’s with us,” Judge shouts, and I hear boots on the road. “If you want to keep your hand, I’d take it off her.”
How’d they find me? I didn’t hear their bikes. Ben drums his fingers underneath my chin, then stands up. His demeanor changes in the presence of the Devil’s Cartel. He’s taller, straighter, and his movements more calculated. He flicks his fingers toward Ventilli’s SUVs and men spill from the black vehicles. I peer over my shoulder at Creed and Judge. They’re outnumbered, but you can’t tell it bothered them. They stand side by side, their rifles up, their faces pinched into angry scowls. My gaze meets Judge’s and his tough façade softens.
“We’re gonna bring you home, Minnie,” he calls out. “Nicolás too.”
“You missed your deadline,” Ben shouts. “I can escort her out safely, but there’s nothing I can do for you two.”
“We can give Ventilli more money in exchange for more time to get home.”
Ben laughs. “Unless you’re hiding half a million dollars in your pockets, I doubt it.”
Ben’s men shuffle nervously as Creed reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “I have a contact in my phone. That’s pretty much the same thing.”
He taps the screen and lifts the phone to his ear.
“We found her,” he says. “But they’re not gonna let us take her without—” He listens to what the person on the other end is saying, then he lowers it from his ear and holds it out to Ben. “If you’ve got a minute?”
Ben saunters forward, but not too far, and Creed meets him. Ben takes the phone and lifts it to his ear.
He listens intently, then his lips quirk. “Isabelle Laurent. I should’ve known you were funding their little excursion. He doesn’t want any more of your money and I can’t agree to anything without discussing it with him.”
Ben’s jaw tightens. What’s she saying to him? Eventually, he hangs up the phone and returns it to Creed. Pulling out his own phone, Ben dials a number and strolls away. The low hum of his voice is all I can hear over the sounds of nature.
"Minnie," Creed grumbles, placing his rifle on the ground beside me. He touches my hair, smoothing it over with his palms, and grabs my face. “What the fuck are you doing?”
My chest shudders with the remnants of my sobbing. “I ran out of gas.”
Creed looks exhausted. Why wouldn’t he be? He's been up all night. “We’re taking you home.”
Home? Where the hell is my home? With them? “I don’t have a home.”
Creed pulls his head back a little, offended. “You’ve got one."
I do. I know that. I felt at home at the clubhouse. I felt wanted and appreciated. I never felt alone, not for a second. But right now? I’m depleted. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to go anywhere. I blink. None of this even feels real. It’s like I’m here, but I’m not here. What I wouldn’t give to wake up, for this to be a nightmare.
I pinch the collar of my shirt and wipe my nose with it. “Is he mad at me?”
“Uh,” Creed glances at Judge and swallows. “Yeah…but he’ll be happier once we get back to Exeter and you’re safe.”
Exeter is ages away. “I have to take Nicolás to a hospital—”
“We'll stop at the first one we pass as soon as we’re in California, I promise.”
A lump wedges in my throat and I feel my face pinch as I hold back another surge o
f tears. Suppressing the grief sends sharp slices of pain through my chest. “I can’t do that drive, Creed, not with my dead son in my lap. Not for that long.”
"Then I’ll hold him."
I shake my head as tears spill over the rims of my eyes. Oh God. I'm going to have to plan a funeral and purchase a plot. I have to do it all for a child no one knows exists.
“A hospital here can take care of him, clean him, and transport him to Exeter,” Ben chimes in as he approaches. "You’re free to go,” he tells Creed, then points at me. “But she’s staying.”
“Get fucked,” Creed bites out, standing up. “She’s coming with us.”
The sound of hammers being clicked bombards my ears. I don’t want anyone else to die—especially Judge and Creed, who went out of their way to help me.
“Her car is out of gas. Are you going to transport the boy on your motorcycles?”
“If we have to.”
“I want to stay,” I say. I twist my torso and look at Judge. “I want to go to the hospital with Ben.”
A hospital will take care of my boy, and I need time to process, to grieve. I can’t be with the Cartel right now. They’ll want to recap, they’ll want to talk, and I don’t have it in me. I need to be somewhere no one knows me and no one cares. Judge lowers his rifle and the look on his face is gut-wrenching. He’s disappointed—heartbroken—but I need to put my boy first for the first and last time. I look away from Judge as Ben holds out his hand. I take it and he eases me to my feet, all while telling someone else to grab Nicolás out of the car. He escorts me toward the SUVs and eases me into the backseat. Ben slides in behind the wheel and the back-passenger door is opened. A brutish man avoids my eyes as he places Nicolás on the seat like a sack of potatoes and closes the door. If it weren’t for the blood soaking his shirt, I’d have thought him peacefully asleep.
My heart stutters and I shuffle closer, crying as I lift Nicolás’s head and slip my legs underneath. The SUV rolls forward and I look out the window as we pass Creed, then Judge. Judge is furious, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw tight. I offer him a small wave and he gives nothing back. I don't expect him to…I just hope he knows I’m not blaming him, and it isn't anyone’s fault but my own. I hope he knows I need to grieve on my own—just me and Nicolás, like it’s always been.
TWENTY
Y A S M I N E
◦
EXETER, CALIFORNIA
SIX DAYS LATER
I tilt my head, lifting my chin to the sky. The sun shines brilliantly, basking me in all its glory as I stand beside my son’s unfilled grave. It’s convenient that the worst day of my life is the most beautiful I’ve seen. The grass is as green as ever, and the flowers are blossoming earlier than the year past. I should be thankful for such a stunning day, but it feels like betrayal for the day to be anything but overcast and miserable, like my soul.
“Anyone else?” the Father asks, and I bring my attention to the white wood of Nicolás’s casket as I stuff my hands into the pockets of my flowing, black dress.
Squinting behind my big sunglasses, I shake my head. Nicolás has no one else. Not even my parents know about him. Even if they did, they wouldn’t make the trip from Washington since we haven’t spoken since I was seventeen.
I’ve been in Exeter for five days and avoided the Devil’s Cartel like the plague. I’m sure they know I’m here, but I haven’t heard from them since I deserted them in Nevada. I left Creed and Judge on a road somewhere, and Isabelle half a million dollars poorer. I don’t doubt they hate me for wasting their time and resources—for the loss of many of their members. I can’t just send them a letter asking them to join me at a funeral when I shunned them from the night of his death. I owe them more than I can ever repay, and I’m terrified they’ll never accept my thanks, or my apologies. I want to talk to Judge, to tell him it isn’t his fault, but how can I go back there? How can I slip into his life like I didn’t lose my heart and soul? I stare at the giant photograph of my boy. What I wouldn’t give to kiss his round, pink cheeks, and ruffle his dark curls, and listen to him giggle as I did it.
The minister speaks and I’m unable to hold back my grief. Behind my black sunglasses, silent tears flow steadily down my face and it hurts. I’ve cried so much my insides feel battered and bruised. I will never see his face again or feel his embrace. The warmth in his eyes has been extinguished for good, the playful curve in his lips forever straight.
I hunch forward with a sob and the minister pauses in his speech. I gesture for him to keep going, to ignore me as realization of Nicolás's death settles in my soul. He continues his service, but the words he's saying takes the backseat to a constant buzz, much louder than a swarm of bees can make. It grows louder the closer it comes, the buzz turning to a hum, the hum morphing to a roar. Then they crest over the distant hill, spilling into the cemetery like ants on their shining, metal machines.
The Devil's Cartel.
My stomach rolls. How’d they find out I was burying Nicolás today? I kept it out of the papers for that reason alone. Worry pricks at me. Are they here to ruin it? To cause a scene?
The minister hesitates and casts an uneasy glance as the men draw closer. “Friends of yours?”
I swipe at my cheeks, clearing away the tears. “I’m not sure anymore.”
My response makes him uneasy. The hoard of bikers stop not far out, a foreboding sea of leather and faded black denim. At the forefront, Judge swings his leg over his bike and stands beside it. Next to him, Creed and Isabelle do the same. He looks in my direction through his mirrored Ray-Bans and I can’t tell if he’s a friendly or an enemy. My heart tries to punch its way out of my chest as I stand and stare back. Please don't be here to break me anymore than I already am. Anxiety is a crushing pressure in my chest, but I won’t let him see it. Swallowing hard, I lift my chin, holding my head high. I’m not going to let them ruin this.
“Please continue,” I tell the minister, and he carries on with the service, his voice quiet, his face wary.
The Devil’s Cartel lift off their bikes and every muscle in my body tenses, holding so tight a headache brews at the base of my skull. My vision blurs as the bikers move forward, an army of memories thrust to the forefront of my mind on a day I’d rather forget them. In a single file line, they approach Nicolás’s grave and stroll past, lowering objects onto the grass beside it. Frowning, I blink to clear the blur and push my glasses off my eyes to the top of my head.
Flowers.
And teddy bears.
And toy planes.
They brought…gifts? One by one, and more than I can count, they place their gifts around Nicolás’s final resting place and stand silently, listening to the minister. I feel Judge’s presence at my side, tall and looming, but I keep my attention on Nicolás’s casket, which is the only thing giving me strength right now. If I look at Judge or focus on the beauty of what the Devil’s Cartel is doing for me, I’ll lose it. I know I will.
Judge takes my hand in his. My heart stutters and I part my lips to let out a gentle gasp. He’s so strong and warm. His touch sends zips of electricity up my arms, reminding me that even though I’ve been feeling disassociated with myself lately, I’m still very much alive. The feeling overwhelms me. After abandoning him in Nevada? After costing Isabelle a ridiculous amount of money? I thought he’d hate me. But he doesn’t. He stands beside me, holding my hand and caressing my soft skin with the rough pad of his thumb. He doesn’t need to speak because his actions are loud. He cares about me, despite my mistakes, and he cares about my son even though he never got the chance to meet him.
As the minister finishes his service and Nicolás is being lowered into the ground, the minister turns to me. "Nicolás would be happy to know there’s so many people to see him go.”
I nod and thank him for his time. He plants a gentle kiss on my cheek and gives Judge a small smile of farewell. I thread my fingers together and inhale the fresh morning air deep into my lungs before turning to face Judge. He li
fts his sunglasses onto the top of his head and our gazes meet. My ribs clench around my organs at the sight of his dark, ocean eyes as he flicks them over my face. The longer he watches me, the more uncontrollable my emotions become until they’re bubbling right under the surface and my skin is alight with tingles. I blow air out of my lips and cast my attention across the cemetery to tall, decaying tress down the back, irritated that I can’t keep it together in his presence.
“Come here,” he says, and he pinches the front of my dress and tugs me forward.
He pulls me into his embrace and holds me tight, his big arms a strong rope that replaces the frail twine I’ve tried keeping myself together with. I press my cheek into the warm leather of his cut and breathe him in. Peace slithers through the chaos inside me and my muscles release from their tight clench as I lift my arms and wrap them around his waist.
“He would’ve loved you,” I tell Judge, not bothering to fight the quiver in my lower lip.
“And I would’ve loved him back.”
I close my eyes, turn my face into his body, and cry. I cry because I’ve lost my son, because I wasn’t enough, because the strangers standing around his grave cared for him more than his own father did, and because every word out Judge’s mouth is true. He would’ve loved Nicolás with everything he had.
Judge holds me for what feels like hours. When I finally pull away from him, Creed and Isabelle approach and offer their condolences with a side of more warm hugs. A part of me is wary, worried they’re manipulating me for payback, but I’m sure that’s the automatic negative thoughts talking. What will they gain from it? I have nothing left to lose.
“There’s a barbeque for Nicolás back home, if you’re feeling up to it,” Isabelle says, brushing her long blonde hair out of her face. “We miss you.”
I miss them too, more than I thought I would, but I don’t belong there. Do I? I start to shake my head, then stop. I could use a distraction. Besides, what better things do I have to do? It’s a barbeque for Nicolás. It’d be rude not to go.