by Bex Dane
***
The Latina Choice producers went overboard on the "Latinas in Love" theme of the show. Romantic hearts and twinkling lights hung from the ceiling. Arching hearts on the stage glowed in shades of pink to deep red. Tables set for two lined the audience, chairs situated so couples sat side by side. I still felt nervous about the threatening email, but I did my best to put it out of my mind and enjoy the evening. I trusted Falcon to protect me if something went wrong.
They played romantic Latin music through a luxury seven-course meal before the show. By the time the waiters cleared the dinner and turned on the stage lights, my nerves had settled. I enjoyed sharing my first meal with Falcon. He didn't talk at all, and his eyes constantly scanned the crowd. He barely ate, but I felt comfortable and safe with him by my side.
When Enrique took the stage, Falcon's eyes stopped scanning to settle on him.
"You dated him?" he asked.
"Yes." He must've seen the details of our ugly break up. Enrique and I burned hot, and he might have been the only man who came close to making me moan, but we fought as much as we fucked. Not long after a huge fight, I'd found he'd posted images of himself on vacation with another Latina beauty. Someone much more famous and much skinnier than me as they kissed in the blue waters off Peru.
"You break it off?"
"No, he cheated."
Anger flashed in his eyes.
"Stand up, everyone. Move your body!" Enrique called through the microphone as his song picked up, and the beat pounded through the floor. The house lights went down, and the theatre converted into a dance club.
I stood and pushed my chair back. Falcon looked twice when he saw I'd moved to the aisle to dance. With a clear intent, he took his place behind me. Keeping a safe distance, always on guard. By the time the chorus of the song hit, the house went nuts. Everyone cheered and sang the song Enrique had topped the charts with this year. Falcon stayed still, but my hips swayed to the music. You could not listen to this song and not dance. I put my arms up over my head and enjoyed the moment. Enrique knew exactly how to get a crowd fired up.
The heat and weight of Falcon's hand hit my hip. I gasped as a hot tingle vibrated to my soul. He was touching me in public for the first time. I took a small step back to bring us closer and that was all we needed to set the fire between us to flame. The soft fabric of my dress brushed against the roughness of his tuxedo pants. I might have even felt his hips move with mine. Oh God, dancing with Falcon in public was something I never expected to happen.
His low voice hit my ear. "He doesn't deserve to be the dirt on your shoe."
My heart thudded and my body swayed.
"If he's the one threatening you, he dies tonight."
My breath caught in my throat, and I turned to look up at him. His eyes stayed on the stage. "Um, no. It's not him. Please, uh, don't kill him."
He nodded and looked down at me. He gave me the shortest flash of a smile before his gaze focused behind me and turned angry again.
A cameraman and a production assistant moved in front of us. Darnit. Falcon stepped back and the spell was broken.
"You're up in twenty, Aida. Need you backstage now," the PA said as the song ended and the lights came up.
"Okay."
***
I hadn't performed "Ya Te Olividé" since before Falcon and I began our arrangement.
The song had long been my anthem.
Every time I sang it, I declared my freedom and independence from the pain of my youth. I'd not only forced myself to forget Primitivo, but my family and the tragedy I'd left behind. Recently it had come to help me get the murders out of my mind, so I could perform without breaking into tears.
When the grief started to bombard me at the sound check, I fought it, putting up an imaginary fence between present and past. Found and lost. Life and death. Sex and love.
During the sound check, the fence worked. I didn't cry. I'd remained professional and I'd gotten through it. Tonight, with Falcon taking me on this non-date, sitting at a romantic table with me, and then putting a possessive hand on my hip to protect me from Enrique, the fence came crashing down like he'd driven a tractor through it.
He'd breached the boundary, and with it all the ugliness I'd been trying to forget slammed into my heart.
Manuel taking my mother.
A shooter in the brothel in Mexico.
Primitivo killing his brother.
The pain of twenty-two years of loss.
A bomb at my concert.
Six dead girls on a dock.
Ya Te Olvidé.
I've already forgotten you.
No. I had never forgotten. I'd only blocked it out. His reappearance forced me to face every dirty detail. Each time he touched me with his incredible hands or tantalizing cock, he reminded me.
Maybe he hadn't forgotten me either.
He'd sent money.
No. I couldn't entertain such ideas. I had to prove to him I could keep my end of our deal, but deep inside, I didn't want an arrangement. I wanted him to care. I wanted his soft eyes on me. I wanted to be free to fall in love with him like my inner teenager had done years ago.
And so the words stuck in my throat.
The band stalled a beat then played the lead in again. I needed strength to get through this. But where would I find it?
As they repeated the intro two more times, I imagined a cinder block wall around Falcon.
As he stood guard just off stage, the blocks stacked around him like a fortress. I added another wall of blocks in front of the first because Falcon was strong too.
When it reached the roof of the theatre and boxed him out with no windows or doors, I found my voice.
The first few notes sucked, but at least I'd begun.
By the time the chorus hit, I'd connected with the audience. The past evaporated. The future disappeared, and the current me sang to them, the people who had nominated me and this song. I owed it to them to keep it together for the next three minutes.
And I did. I sang the song with all my heart. I sang for today and Falcon stayed locked behind his block wall.
As soon as it ended, of course, he broke out. Because no wall could keep Falcon back. He'd break through any barrier put in front of him. He clapped and smiled at me with pride in his eyes.
I walked over to him with my head down. His arm came around my back. "You did good, mi paloma."
I didn't want that to mean the world to me, but it did.
"Go get your award."
"What?" Looking up, I saw his gaze aimed out at the stage. "You won. They called your name. Go get it."
Then I heard the crowd cheering and the replay of my song.
I ran out to the podium. A billion eyes stared at me, but my brain was fried. I felt like I was floating above the room watching this happen. I let my gut speak for me.
"Who would have thought a girl like me could make it this far? But here I am holding this award chosen by you. You chose me. Thank you from the bottom of my soul. I can't express my gratitude to my manager, the record company that took a chance on an opera star, and my family. Soledad, Thorne, and Gaspar. I love you with all my heart. You are my everything. And to the man who keeps me safe despite my efforts to thwart him. Thank you."
I walked back to Falcon, and his hand found my waist again for a moment before the PA ushered me away to the media room.
"I can't do any media," I said to him.
He nodded. "She's going to skip the interviews." Falcon spoke for me.
Thank God because I could barely form a sentence.
"Okay, Mrs. Soltari," the PA said. I'll tell the production coordinator you were sick and had to skip the interviews."
"Thank you."
***
The motorcade fell in line in front and behind us and we drove home in silence. When we reached my hotel, Falcon came in and closed the door.
He moved toward me, but I held up a hand. "Stop."
He didn't. After three long stri
des, he wrapped an arm behind my back and mashed us together. "What's wrong?"
"I'm just drained. The song, the award, all the emotion and excitement on top of the threat. I'm done. I can't take any more. I can't take you right now."
His eyes scanned mine from left to right and back again, looking for an answer.
"I need to process a lot of very deep emotions tonight. I'm soaring and crash landing. There's going to be ugly tears. You don't want to be here for that."
He didn't let me go. His eyes weighed the pluses and minuses of staying. If he stayed, he'd have to listen to me, but he might get laid. If he left, he wouldn't have to listen to me, but he certainly would not get laid. "Alright."
He released me and I felt the loss of his warmth. I knew what he would choose. He'd never willfully share emotion with me.
"I'll be in the hall."
I nodded, but I wouldn't call him. I needed to keep that cinder block wall up around him.
I set the award on the table and took off my dress. As soon as I hit the shower, the tears flowed. Mostly for the victims in St. Amalie and their families. I felt the grief for all of them. Then I cried for my mother and all the women forced into prostitution. I felt the weight of it all on me.
All the other memories took their turn in my brain. I couldn't stop them with an imaginary wall. If something wants through, it finds a way.
After I cried it all out, I heaved a final sigh and fell into sleep.
***
Somewhere in my dream, I heard a click. Soft footsteps, the rustling of clothes, the bed dipping, and a giant body sliding up behind me. It was a nice dream. In my dream, Falcon wrapped an arm over my hip and worked his big warm hand under my breast. His breath in my ear soothed me. We were one. Everyone was safe. No one was dead. Twenty-two years hadn't passed.
When I woke, the bed was empty.
Chapter 15
"We need some privacy, if that's alright?" I played it off like I was still upset about the awards show. I wasn't, but I needed some space from Falcon for other reasons.
Falcon glanced at the numbers on Thorne's closed hotel suite door. "Okay, but I'll be right out here."
"Thank you."
If the woman Thorne had rescued and brought here was my mother, all this subterfuge would be worth it.
Falcon opened the door and let me in. He scanned the living area and closed the door again. I ran to the bedroom where Thorne sat with a woman. She wore the clothes I had given Thorne to bring to her. A black hoodie, a clean white T-shirt, and sweatpants. Her curly dark hair billowed out from her head, covering her face as she cried into her hands.
My mother had straight hair. This girl looked in her twenties, much too young to be my mother. But no matter, she needed help and maybe she could lead me to my mom eventually.
I approached her slowly. Thorne looked up at me from where he kneeled in front of her. He questioned me with his eyes. Is she your mother?
I shook my head no.
He nodded. We'd been through this many times. We didn't expect to find her, but we had found this girl and could help her.
I kneeled down next to him. I didn't touch her or force her to look at me.
"What is your name?"
"Isabella." She mumbled into her hands, but she said the I like an E with a Latina accent.
"What a beautiful name," I answered in Spanish. "I know you're scared, but we are here to help you. You are safe. You can calm down. We won't harm you."
She stilled and peeked up at me through her hair. Makeup smeared down her cheeks. I placed one hand softly on her shoulder. She cried harder. I hugged her, fighting back my own tears. This was so fucked up. How could someone treat another human being like this? Forcing them to have sex, controlling them, selling them like livestock. Breaking the trust of a family, the trust of humanity. Her basic rights had been stolen from her. Ivan's group of pimps were ruthless gaslighters. They used beatings, threats, drugs, anything they could to force the girls to perform. They obeyed out of sheer terror. But no one chooses this life.
The door burst open. Three men with guns entered the room like an avalanche. Thorne stood up. I grabbed Isabella tighter and wrapped my body around her to protect her. Her pimp had followed us here or even worse, Ivan's assassins had cornered me in a room and this poor girl would die with me.
"What the fuck?" An angry voice filled the silence after the crash. I didn't look, I just braced for the shot that would end my life and hopefully spare Isabella.
"Stay back," Thorne yelled.
A long confused silence passed. I held her tighter to me. Her curly hair crunched under my hold.
"Aida, look at me." A familiar voice.
I raised my head to see Blaze, Diesel, and Falcon standing above us. The raised ends of their rifles slowly lowered to the floor.
"Who is she?" Falcon asked me.
"She is my mother," I answered.
"She is not. Who is she?"
"She's a woman. Like me. Like my mother. She's been trafficked. She needs my help."
They relaxed their stances and looked at each other. While they adapted to what was happening, I released Isabella and spoke to her in a soothing, calm voice.
"You are safe. They won't hurt you. Please, listen to me. You have been trafficked, your dignity stolen, your choices taken from you. I'm here to tell you that is over. You can begin to heal now."
I peeked up to see Falcon's shocked face. All three of them stood motionless and listened to me talk to her.
"We are going to get you some help. We'll take care of food, clothes, a place to stay. You won't be arrested. Your pimp won't find you. You're not going back. You will heal. It will be difficult. The first few weeks are the hardest. But you'll have a team of mediators, teachers, social workers, and doctors at your side. And me. You will have me. I promise to stand by you and help you through this. I've helped lots of women and girls and you must trust in me that it will all be okay."
Falcon's whole face had softened. He finally saw what I was doing here. He got it.
The three guys sat down in chairs and continued to watch us. Slowly, she raised her head. Accepted my words, nodded, and said, "Thank you."
We exchanged more tears to shed the pain and hugs to start the healing.
With a knock at the door, all three commandos stood alert again.
"It's okay. It's the volunteers from the shelter. They'll get her settled in a room. They'll process her papers, get her some identification, try to find her family, and get her into therapy and rehabilitation. Let them in."
Falcon opened the door after checking the peephole.
I placed an arm behind Isabella's back. "These are mediators. They've been where you are and know how you feel. You can trust them."
The meditators came in and held their arms open to her. "Her name is Isabella," I said.
She stood and walked toward them.
"Sleep tonight, Isabella. Sleep safely. I will visit you tomorrow."
She left with the volunteers.
Falcon came to me and towered over me. His firm hand landed on my back between my shoulder blades. I looked up at him. "You come with me."
***
He ushered me out of the room and back to my hotel room. When the door closed, he planted his fists on his hips and nailed me with a vicious glare. "You lied."
"About what?"
"I asked you what you know about who is targeting you, and you said you thought it was a fan. You had no idea. Tell me the truth now or so help me God, I'll leave and you'll never see my cock or my face again."
His anger intimidated me, but I wouldn't let him see it. "Calm down. No need to use your dick as a weapon."
"Calm down? My team, a highly trained Special Forces tactical unit, has been racking their brains trying to figure out who's after you. Many agencies are working full-time on the murders in St. Amalie, and you have a connection you didn't share?"
Okay. When he phrased it like that. "Isabella is not a connection."
He took a step closer, towering over me like an irate father. "She's not? How many women like her have you rescued?"
I looked away. "Thousands."
"Thousands?" In all my previous efforts to shock Falcon, I'd failed, but this? This shocked the hell out of him.
His voice scratched, and his brows drew down. "And you send Thorne on thousands of missions like that? Unarmed?" He pointed to the door in the direction of Thorne's room.
I stepped back to get his wrath off my skin. "I usually go with him, but my bodyguard hampered my plans, so he went alone." I flicked my wrist like this was no big deal.
"You go with him?" Oh boy. If he wasn't mad before, he was now.
"Yes."
"Do you know how incredibly stupid that is? God, the pimps could be there and kidnap you, rape you, turn you into a victim in a second. You're playing with fire."
"The pimps usually aren't there. If they are, Thorne goes alone, makes the payment and waits for the pimp to leave before he makes the girl an offer. If the pimp doesn't leave, we give the woman the number to the center so she can call us when she's alone."
"So you leave your calling card behind? No wonder you're being targeted." He paced the room, his shoulders high. "You manipulate people. Thorne does this for you? What other dancers do you have out on the street doing a job the police should do? Trained professionals deal with this stuff. They know what to expect. They prepare. You two walk in there like lambs for the sacrifice. Completely unprepared and unarmed marching into the slaughter."
He was totally overreacting. It wasn't like that. "I've been doing this for ten years."
"And how many times in those years did you come close to dying?"
"A few."
"Right. And how did you get out of those?"
"We got lucky. Ran before we got caught. Thorne runs a distraction and I sneak the girl out."
"Thorne runs a distraction? Thorne? The fucking ballerina who can't even tell his parents he's gay?"
"Don't attack Thorne. He's a brave man, and we know what we're doing. We're helping people. We're making a difference."
He pushed his fingers through his hair and tugged on it. "You said she was your mother. Is this all some delusional way to convince yourself she's not dead?"