by Box Set
“You okay?” Pedro’s deep voice draws my attention and I glance toward him.
He’s standing in the back door, smoking a cigarette, blowing the stream of smoke out into the night. I wrinkle my nose in annoyance. I hate when people smoke around my children or even in the same home as my children. Pedro knows that this behaviour is borderline unacceptable, but he also knows I can’t complain much. I have no one else to protect me, no one else that would have left the Los Zetas organizations with the wife of a Decena. He knew it was suicide and still he came.
I know why. Pedro wants me. He’s always wanted me. Fortunately for his health he was good at keeping his lustful thoughts to himself. If my husband had ever caught wind, Pedro would have begged for death long before Andres would’ve granted it. Instead, Pedro managed to place himself in a trusted position within the household as one of my personal bodyguard’s. A position that I shamelessly used in my bid for freedom.
“What do you mean?” I ask coolly, flattening my gaze as I stare past him. Long years as a cartel wife have taught me how to keep my emotions to myself.
“You left your husband and your home,” he says, taking another drag, this time not bothering to blow the stream outside. “They’ll come after you. No telling what he’ll do when he finds you. You must be upset.”
My eyes settled on him, letting him know just how much of a cockroach I think he is. This man is far too beneath me to be speaking in such a familiar manner. It doesn’t matter that he helped get me and my children out of Mexico. We both know how he expects to get paid. “You don’t know me,” I finally say, my voice dripping with ice. “And you don’t know my husband if you think you can predict his actions. You will not speak to me of this again.”
He holds his hands up as though surrendering and says, “My apologies Señora Decena. I only wanted to help.”
“I will tell you when I require your assistance,” I snap, slamming a teacup onto the counter and setting the pot to boil. At least this place comes with a few of the essential amenities. “For now, you are dismissed.”
I can feel his hesitation, can feel his brain working. He knows there is very little stopping him from simply taking what he wants. Taking what he came here for. My hands sneak around to the front of my bathrobe and tighten the knot below the counter where he can’t see, a useless gesture if he attacks.
“Goodnight,” he grunts and turns away, leaving through the open door and closing it behind him. There is a small shack on the property that I told him to stay in. I stare after him at the dark window, still shaken. What am I going to do about him if he gets serious?
I jump as the kettle starts whistling on the stovetop. Heart pounding in my chest I turn to take it off the heat and pour the hot water over my teabag. The soothing smell of chamomile teases my senses and helps to calm me. I take my cup to the table and slide onto the padded chair, setting my cup on the scarred table. Somehow this small, humble house calms me, despite the shabbiness. It reminds me of my home growing up, of mama. Her image comes unbidden to my mind. I smile at the bittersweet thought. My mama was strict, hard-working and crankier than a basket full of scorpions. But she was mine and she loved me.
I take a sip of the hot tea allowing the heat to help settle my nerves. I laugh a little. There’s no way to settle my nerves now. I’m going to be a nervous wreck, looking over my shoulder for the rest of my, probably short, life. My husband is going to see this as the worst kind of betrayal. And it is. I’ve done what I threatened so many times to do. I’ve left him. But I haven’t just left him, I’ve taken his children with me. The first is unforgivable, the second is a death sentence. He won’t have a choice. His family will insist that he hunt and destroy the woman who stole his legacy.
A shudder ripples through me and I try to shove such a grim thought to the back of my mind. I made my plan, executed it and now I must follow through. There can be no going back.
A loud ringing sound crashes through my musing, startling me. My fingers shake the teacup splashing hot water over my hand. I cry out and leap up from the chair, rushing to the stove to snatch up the cloth hanging there. I press it against my hand and gulp deep breaths in. It’s not the burn that’s upsetting me though. It’s the phone, sitting on the counter where I left it. My emergency cell. The last connection I have to Andres.
I knew he would call, and I knew that this moment would come. That I would only be able to answer this phone once. The ringing stops before I can pick up. But I know my husband. He’s a persistent bastard. He has now returned home to an empty house, no family, no note. He will give me this one opportunity to explain before he starts tearing the world up to find us.
I take the three steps that bring me to the counter and stare down at the silver phone. Untraceable he once told me. In case there was ever a threat to the family and I needed to disappear. I was to take this phone so Andres could connect when it was safe to do so. He never imagined he would be calling the phone for this reason.
It starts ringing again and I reach out with trembling fingers, wincing as pain from the burn shoots through my wrist. I feel dizzy at the coming confrontation. I pick up the phone, press the little green button and set it against my ear. “Andres,” I whisper, my voice weak and wobbly to my ears.
“You’re safe?” he demands.
“Yes,” I reply, trying to ignore the guilt eating at the edges of my consciousness. Of course the first thing my husband would want to know is if I am hurt. “And the children, we’re all safe.”
“Then where the fuck are you?” he explodes, he deep voice echoing through the line.
I wince, holding the phone slightly away. I picture him standing in our beautiful home in Mexico, on Los Zetas territory, at The Site. He would be alone, confused, justifiably angry. But I’m also angry. And I am done. I can’t survive this marriage anymore, never knowing if he’s going to come home or if he’s going to allow the darkness to finally take him. Or if an enemy has finally murdered the man I love. But most of all, I refuse to agonize over the years to come, the unimaginable pain we’ll be causing our children.
“I can’t tell you,” I say, trying to infuse some strength into my words.
There’s a moment of silence. I hold my breath and wait, not quite knowing what to expect. Andres can be a terribly violent man, but he shelters me from the worst. I’ve rarely had reason to glimpse the savage I know is buried within my husband, the man that emerges when he goes to work for the cartel. I can feel tension leaping down the line from him to me as his swift brain works out my cryptic words.
“Why the fuck not, Luna?” he finally snarls.
My fingers tighten around the phone until they stiffen. My knees buckle and I slide to the floor, my back against the counter. I wrap my free arm around my legs and stare unseeing at the wall opposite. I curl my toes against the cheap linoleum.
“You didn’t come home when you were supposed to,” I say, choking a little as I remember pacing and worrying, wondering if he’d been killed on his last assignment. Then his men came back home without him, his second-in-command explaining to me that he’s decided to stay behind for a few more weeks. I knew what that meant.
“I didn’t come home,” Andres repeated, his voice a deep growl. “So you decided to leave? Is this your way of getting attention? Is that what this is, Luna? Because if it is, then you can get your ass home now and we can discuss this, like the fucking adult you are.”
“I-it’s not about attention, Andres,” I stumble to get the words out. The heat of his anger stabs at me, even over the vast distance of the Caribbean ocean. I lick my lips and swipe a finger under my eyelids, catching the moisture.
“Then what, Luna? Make me fucking understand,” he snarls.
A shaft of pain slices through me at his tone of voice. He never speaks this way to me. I press a hand against my chest and lie. “You didn’t come back with your men from P-panama, Andres. You just disappeared for weeks after. For all I knew it was another woman, or… or drugs aga
in. What am I supposed to think?”
“That’s garbage and you know it, Luna!” he roars. “You are supposed to trust me. You are supposed to stay where I tell you, keep my home for me. Not kidnap my kids and leave because you think I’m doing something you don’t like. You stupid little bitch.”
I flinch under the onslaught of his anger. This was the side of my husband I knew I would have to face, the terrifying reality I’d spent years avoiding. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“If you were sorry, you would come home,” he grits out.
“I can’t do that,” I reply, my voice unsteady. “I don’t trust that you didn’t use heroin. I don’t believe that you can contain this evil and I don’t want my children around it. I’ve seen what it does and it frightens me.”
He says nothing for a moment, but his seething rage comes through loud and clear. I shove a shaking hand through my hair, wishing I had a cigarette to help calm me. I suppose I could ask Pedro, but the consequences of seeking him out might be more than I’m willing to deal with.
Andres tries to soften his voice when he speaks again. “This is ridiculous, Luna. Just tell me where you are. I’ll come get you and we can talk about this when you and our children are safe at home again. This is a marriage, one that you agreed to willingly. You don’t get to just walk away because you don’t like something.”
I laugh bitterly. Yes, I’d agreed to the marriage, but Andres wouldn’t have let me escape him, even if I hadn’t been willing. Once he set his sights on me there was no going back to my old life. What a naïve child I was. Well, I’m grown up now and I’m not willing to compromise. Not on this.
“No, Andres. This is too important to me.” My voice catches as I think of the many nights I sat up waiting for Andres to walk through the door, disappointment my cold companion when morning lit the sky and my husband had not returned. “We won’t be coming home, not to a husband and father that is unstable.”
“That’s not your choice!” he yells.
My heart thunders in my chest, feeling as though it will claw its way up my throat and right out of my mouth. Andres’ anger is fearsome and I hate that I’m on the receiving end. I take a few calming breaths. I can hear that he is doing the same.
“Actually,” I say in a much calmer voice, “it is my choice now. I have removed my children from the danger.”
Heavy silence fills the line. I can hear the ticking of a clock and glance toward it. It’s old-fashioned, like so many things in Cuba. I love it here, which is part of the reason I chose Cuba as an escape. It’s also relatively easy to hide out.
“You are going to think hard about this now, baby, because your response to my questions will determine your future. Where the fuck did you take my children?” he demands, the hard edge to his voice razor sharp. “Tell me now and I will keep this between us. If you resist, then it becomes Los Zetas business.”
We both know what that means. Once my disappearance is known to his family there is nothing he can do to save me. They will demand my blood. A sob catches in my throat and I feel myself weakening. Andres is the only man I have ever loved. He is my lover and my protector. Leaving him went against my every instinct. But I still believe it was the right thing to do.
“No, Andres,” I whisper.
I hear something shatter in the background and wonder what he’s broken. I decorated our house, painstakingly chose all of the beautiful, expensive furnishings. Lovely knickknacks that have very little use, but that I value anyway because I grew up destitute, in a home where all our money had to go to food and shelter. I hadn’t intended that I would ever see my house again, but the thought of my husband breaking up the contents of our home still hurts. Poetic, I suppose, since I’m breaking up his family.
“Then we have nothing else to say to each other,” he tells me after bringing himself back under control.
“I love you, Andres.”
“I will find you, Luna,” he says, his voice low and lethal. “God help you.”
The line goes dead. I sit with the phone still cradled against my ear. A cold shiver slides down my spine and the phone drops into my lap. I finally allow the tears to fall, slipping warm and wet down my cheeks. I drop my face against my knees and sob for the first time since taking my children and walking away from my marriage.
God help me.
2
Andres
Betrayal churns in my gut as I stare down at the phone, disbelief still my strongest emotion. How is it possible that Luna, my rock, my only love, could leave me? Not just leave but take my children with her. Fury wells up once more. I pick up the phone and hurl it, uncaring that it smashes against our stainless steel refrigerator and falls to the floor in pieces. I know Luna well enough to know that she won’t answer the sister phone again. She’s said her piece, explained her betrayal. Weak as it was.
My fingers clench into fists and I know if she were standing in front of me I would snap her neck without a shred of remorse. I would tear her body to pieces with my bare hands and feed her to the dogs. I’ve spent years defending her selfish, reckless behaviours. But this… this cannot be explained away. This will be her final act. If she is running away because she fears the darkness, the monster, then she better be ready, because she’s seen nothing yet. When I get my hands on her, she will beg for a swift death. And I will smile at my bitch of a wife while denying her request. She will live just long enough to regret leaving me.
With a roar I turn and throw my fist through the sliding glass door. I can feel the flesh split on my knuckles as the satisfying sound of glass shatters the silence. Still the anger rides high, the black stain that I can never fully get rid of urges me to do further damage, to tear apart the home that my wife built for us. It’s a false home anyway, built on false promises.
I pick up one of her favourite vases and hurl it at a window, adrenaline coursing through me as I watch my refection shatter. I don’t stop until I’ve broken everything within reach, stalking through the first floor of our house throwing, smashing and tearing everything within sight. It helps relieve some of the terrible rage that boils up.
“Everything alright?”
I pull my gun and turn on the spot, my finger twitching against the trigger. If anyone except Alberto had been standing there they would’ve been dead. “Get the fuck out,” I growl, slamming my gun on the counter.
He holds his hands up but doesn’t leave. “Can I do anything?” he asks, as though asking in a different way might get him a different answer.
I open my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, but then I stop. I need him. Alberto is the only man within the cartel that is entirely loyal to me. Who won’t go to Charlie, my brother, my boss, if I ask him for complete secrecy. And though I want to tear her treacherous heart out, I want to do it in my own time, in my own way, without the demands and influence of my family.
I nod once and wave him to a chair. Striding over broken glass, uncaring of the damage I’m doing to the floor, I grab a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. I sit with Alberto, setting the bottle in front of him and waving at him to pour. He unscrews the cap and splashes a healthy shot of the clear liquid into each glass. Without pause I toss mine back, savouring the burn as it hits the back of my throat and warms my stomach.
I set my glass on the table and nod for another pour. He obliges and this time takes his shot with me. Once our glasses are back on the table, I speak. “Luna has taken my children and left.”
I can see a quick flash of surprise before Alberto manages to smother the emotion. He knows better than to have any kind of opinion, even a silent one. Unsolicited opinions within our organization can be deadly. He inclines his head and pours another splash of liquor into each glass. “She is on vacation?” he ventures. “Shopping perhaps.”
We both know that this is not true. “Sí, she is shopping,” I grunt my acknowledgment of the lie.
“We will find out where she is shopping so you can join her,” he continues, his agile brain work
ing faster than mine. This is why I need Alberto on my side. I’m too caught up in emotion. I want to find her, strangle her, fuck her, beat her. But I won’t be able to do any of that if I can’t get my hands on her.
“Yes, we must find her,” I agree. “Bring my children home.”
3
Luna
It’s been three days since my conversation with Andres. I try to settle into a routine with the children, try to show them the Havana that I love, but I can’t help but look over my shoulder every five minutes. If I’m honest with myself, I know it’s just a matter of time before Andres finds me. He has connections, he has motivation and he won’t stop until his children are safe at the Los Zetas site once more. And I’m punished for daring to remove them, and myself, from his life.
I adjust my oversize sunglasses and glance around surreptitiously. We’re visiting the Plaza Vieja in Old Havana. Nothing compares to the old cobbled streets and restored buildings of Old Havana. Although Sola is still too young to appreciate the sights, Cristo is intelligent and I want my children to soak up as much history as possible. Perhaps come to understand both the allure and the harm of a regime under a dictatorship. No one suspicious catches my eye. Except for Pedro. That asshole has been trailing us everywhere, even when I tell him to stay behind. I give him the evil eye and clutch my daughter harder against my chest.
“I can take her if she she’s getting too heavy for you, Luna,” he drawls, looking down my cleavage where Sola has grabbed onto my peach blouse and pulled it to one side.
I try to delicately pull the material from her small fingers and rebutton it without drawing too much notice. “That’s Señora Decena to you,” I snap coolly, holding his gleaming brown gaze. “And no, I can manage my children.”
He holds my look for several long seconds before lifting an eyebrow and moving slightly away. My heart pounds. I know my outright hostility won’t hold him for long. But God help me, I need this man. He has access to underworld contacts I don’t, people and papers that will allow us to travel without discovery. The problem is, eventually he’s going to demand payment, and it’s not going to be money. If I’d had any other choices, any other men willing to betray my husband, I would have chosen them over Pedro in a heartbeat.