by Ella Miles
It was a long shot. I wasn’t expecting him to answer. He wouldn’t have known it was me. He doesn’t know that I’m here. I just hope he is here. I need to convince him that I’m on his side, or my plan will never work.
I end the call and then try calling Killian’s cell. I’m not going to speak if he answers. I just want to hear his voice. I just need to know that he is okay and back in the US, back with the FBI. I did everything I knew to do to make that possible. I just need to know that my scheming didn’t go to waste.
I wait though, but there is no answer. I try his number one more time, but there is still no answer. Damn it!
I need him. I need to know that he is okay, that he is going to move on. Instead, I got no answers. Instead, I just have to hope that he will find a good life without me. I expect the FBI will continue the investigation, but I don’t expect him to come running in here, like he would have before. He thinks I hate him. He wouldn’t go out of his way to help someone he hates. I gave up on us. I just hope my words were strong enough that he won’t come after me, not beyond what his job requires anyway.
I walk back outside and watch the sunset. It’s beautiful here. I could just stay here. No one would find me, not for a long time anyway. I would be safe here, but the world wouldn’t be. Not as long as my family is out there, smuggling and killing.
I walk back in and put on the same clothes I wore the last night I had with Killian. I grab my purse with my cell phone and leave the rest of my belongings. I won’t need it, not where I’m going.
I head downstairs. I try my best to soak in the beautiful modern lobby that is full of color and life, but I can’t. I’m too focused on my mission to enjoy the last beautiful thing I might ever see.
I walk outside the hotel into the muggy air and dark sky that is getting darker by the second. The streets are still busy with people—some heading in from the beach, others just beginning to go out for a night of partying. I envy them, all of them—the families, the couples, the kids. I would easily trade my life for any of theirs.
I walk three blocks to a shopping mall I saw when the cab dropped me off at the hotel. I duck inside the first store. I don’t know why, but I feel like I have to change. I can’t wear the torn jeans and ratty shirt. I have to make a good first impression. I have to come off as strong and independent if I want them to believe me, and I won’t be either of those things if I feel weak or if I’m thinking about Killian.
I walk up and down the racks of clothes. There are several things that would do, but I don’t pick any of them up. I realize I’m stalling. I know this is the last step before I call a cab and walk into what is most likely going to be a suicide mission.
So, I force myself to pick up the next suitable outfit—a pair of black leather pants and a black halter top that will make my boobs look good.
I take them into the dressing room and slowly strip out of my jeans and T-shirt. I take my bra off and then slip on the pants and halter top. I was right. I look good in this. I’m lucky that my body type looks good in most anything since designers make clothes with my body type in mind.
My ass looks good stuck in the tight pants, and just enough of my nipples is pushing against the thin fabric to make any man who looks at me melt in my hands.
I fluff my hair, and then I pull my red lipstick out of my purse and apply it. I look hot and strong. It’s the best I will be able to do. All I need now are some heels.
I gather up my clothes and head back out to find some heels. I easily find some and then check out, paying with cash. I’m still carrying my old clothes when I leave the store. I hold the clothes up to my nose and take a deep breath. I can still smell Killian’s scent on them—a mix of expensive cologne and sweat that I couldn’t mistake for anyone but Killian. It’s the last thing I have of him, but I have to let it go.
So, I walk over to the nearest trash can and reluctantly toss the clothes into the bin. And then I walk away before I change my mind and dig the clothes out of the trash. Before I change my mind and put Killian in danger.
I pull my phone out to call a cab. I’m surprised that my hands aren’t shaking as I dial the number. I expect to have butterflies swarming around in my stomach, but there are none. Whatever happens, I know I’m doing the right thing.
Ten minutes pass before the cab pulls up, and I climb inside.
“Adónde?” The cab driver looks to be in his early forties.
I pull up the address I have saved on my phone and hand it to him.
“Here,” I say, pointing to the screen, knowing that my Spanish isn’t good enough to communicate where I need to go. And I don’t know if his English is good enough for me to communicate with him either.
The man immediately begins shaking his head. He pushes the phone back into my hands. “No, no, no, señorita. I can’t take you there. No safe.”
I frown at him. “I have to go here.”
“No. You go there, you never come back.”
I sigh. I know the man is right, but I don’t have a choice. I need him to take me there. I dig in my purse and pull out enough money to triple what the fare will be.
I hand the money to the man. “Take me there.”
He shakes his head again. “No, no.” He shoves the money back into my hands. “Stay at one of these hotels. Whatever your troubles, the hotels will fix them. Not at that place. That place only brings pain.”
I don’t know how I’m going to get through to this man, but if he knows so much about this place, there is a good chance all the cab drivers know about it, and none will take me.
“Señor, please. I have to go there. My family has done some bad things there. I don’t believe anyone will hurt me. Not if they know who I am. My name is Kinsley Felton, and I have to make things right.”
When I say my last name, I watch as his eyes widen with fear, and it rips through my heart. I didn’t think we were bad people. I thought we were a good business family. Maybe that’s what we are known for in the US, but here, it is clear we are known as vile, vicious people who deserve to die for what we have done.
He begins driving and doesn’t say another word. I stare out the window and watch as the sky grows from dark to complete blackness as we drive. I watch the pretty lights of the hotels disappear as we drive farther and farther away from the tourist area and into the heart of the city.
The city seems nice, just like any other city I have ever been in, but then we turn, and my worst fears come true. We drive into what looks to be an abandoned part of the city, except I know it is anything but abandoned. It is full of a dark evil that I never imagined existed.
The cab driver slows as we grow closer to our destination. His eyes glance into the rearview mirror, showing sorrow, pain, and hatred for me and for what my family has done to these people and this town.
He stops outside the worst building of them all. It’s tall and dark and looks completely uninhabitable. The door is barely hanging on the hinges. The windows are mostly boarded up. The roof looks like it could collapse at any second.
I get chills just from looking at it. This is where my father, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather would come to do unthinkable things. This is where they came, so this is where I shall go.
I hand the money back to the cab driver, but he shakes his head. He doesn’t look at me. Instead, his eyes are focused on the door in front of us. A door that I will soon enter and might never return from.
“Please, take it,” I say, my voice strong.
“No, señorita. I can’t take your money.”
I sigh, but I leave the money in the backseat. Surely, he will take the money after I leave.
I slowly get out of the car. My feet in heels are unstable while walking on the gravel, but I walk steadily anyway toward the door, my destiny.
I think about my father. I hate him. I hate him for what he did. I hate him for writing me the letter that I left in the hotel room. I couldn’t bring it with me.
He supposedly wrote the letter to pro
tect me, to keep me safe. He wrote it to ask for forgiveness.
It’s all bullshit. He didn’t write the letter to protect me. He wrote the letter because he knew I was the only one who could put a stop to everything. And he knew that if he told me not to go, I would. He wrote because he thought I could save him from his sins. He was right.
I take a step forward and then another and another. My anger overtakes any fear and keeps it buried deep inside me.
I glance up and only see the moonlight shining down on me. The cab driver drove away the second my feet hit the ground. I’m all alone.
I walk up to the abandoned building. I don’t have to do this. It’s not my responsibility to put an end to this. I don’t even know if I can put an end to this. I don’t even have a very good plan. My plan is based on convincing everyone that I want to follow in my family’s footsteps. Then, I’ll either convince my grandfather to put an end to it or call the police once I’ve infiltrated them, know who all the players are, and have evidence against them. It’s a terrible plan, but it’s all I have. And I’m not turning back now.
I walk to the door and press my ear against it, trying to hear anything inside. I hear nothing but silence. Is anyone even here? Could I be wrong? Could this address be an old one? It might be too late. They might have already moved on to a new address that I might never be able to find.
I try to decide if I should knock or just open the door and head in. Neither seems like a good option, but I decide it is better to be invited in than to walk around a dark building until someone finds me.
I just need to tell them my name. As soon as I do, they will have to listen. I don’t know who is the boss in all of this, my family or someone else, but I do know if they want to continue working with my family, they will have to hear me out.
So, I move my ear from the door and force my hand to form a fist. Then, I knock as loudly as I can against the wooden door. I wince when the sound echoes in the alleyway. I glance behind myself to see whom I might have pissed off, but I don’t hear a sound, and I don’t see anyone. I turn back to the door and don’t hear any movement inside.
I wait a few minutes and try knocking again.
Nothing.
Damn it!
I was wrong. I’m out of clues. I’m at a dead end. If they aren’t here, I have no idea where they are. I have no idea where to find them. Everything I just did was for nothing.
I turn and walk away from the door while digging in my purse to pull out my cell phone. Now, I have to convince a cab driver to pick me up here. Yeah, that’s going to happen. I glance down at my heels that now look like a terrible choice now that I have to walk to a safer area before I can get a ride back to my hotel.
“Don’t move,” a deep voice says.
My heart skips a beat at the sound. I drop my purse. Shit.
I steady my breathing and open my mouth to speak. “I’m—”
“Shut up, bitch,” the man says as he presses a gun into my back.
I close my eyes. I’m going to die before I even had a chance to speak.
I gather myself and try again though because I know it is my only chance at surviving long enough to get inside. “I’m Kins—”
“I said, shut up!”
That’s when I feel something hard come into contact with my head. My last thought is of Killian and his beautiful grin that is only for me. How I yearn to see it just one more time, but now, I never will.
“Breakfast!” the officer yells as the door to the cell opens.
I don’t move though. Instead, I close my eyes and turn over in bed. I’ve been in this jail for three days now. And, for three days, I’ve barely existed. I haven’t eaten. I haven’t showered. I haven’t shaved. I haven’t watched TV or read. And I haven’t heard anything from anyone.
The only time I even seem alive is in the afternoon when I get an hour to make as many phone calls as I want. And, even though I know my calls are being monitored, it hasn’t stopped me from trying to call Kinsley and her damn grandfather who got us both into this mess. It hasn’t stopped me from calling my parents or Hayes. I’ve tried them all, but none of them answer. None of them give me any answers or peace.
So, when my time is up, I slump back to my bed and spend most of the day thinking.
I think about how the hell I’m going to get out of here. How the hell am I going to fulfill my promise to Robert Felton if I’m in here? How the hell am I going to protect Kinsley? I can’t lose another person I love because I was stupid or too weak to save them. I won’t survive. If Kinsley dies, even working for the FBI won’t bring me any comfort or purpose in my life, not that they will take me back.
I just don’t want to keep living if she is dead. I’ve already thought about ways to end my life in here if she dies. There are so many ways. It would almost be too easy. There’s hanging. I could get into a brawl with one of the gangs. They would easily seek their revenge on me. I could overdose on drugs. I could slit my wrists with a razor. Or I could starve myself to death. I have so many choices.
I realize now what jail does to people. I’ve been here for only three days, and I’m already choosing death over living in here. Just three days without her. That’s all I can bear.
I shouldn’t be thinking about death. I should be thinking about how to get out of here and how to save her. But the truth is, even if I find a way out of here, even if the FBI lets me go today, there is a good chance she is already dead.
I grab my head as the painful thoughts overtake it, bringing such sharp pain that it is almost impossible to bear. I try to wait for the pain to disappear again, like it always does, but each time I think about her, it takes my brain longer and longer to push out the pain. I can’t keep living like this much longer.
She’s dead. I know it. She’s dead, and I will be, too, as soon as someone confirms it. I’ll be gone.
I just don’t know when or if I’ll ever find out the truth. I haven’t even been told how long I will be in here. I don’t know if I will have to face a trial or if the FBI are just going to use some national security law to keep me locked away. I know nothing, so I choose to do nothing but sleep.
I’ve tried talking with the FBI. I’ve tried reasoning with them. I’ve tried to explain that Kinsley isn’t guilty, that I’m not guilty, and that we have to save her because she isn’t safe. They won’t listen to anything. All they want to know is where she is so that they can bring her in, but they don’t understand that by moving in, it would let the criminals that work with Kinsley’s family know that FBI are there, and they would kill her before the FBI had a chance to save her.
“Here,” my roommate says, tossing some things onto my stomach.
I open my eyes, despite the pain I still feel in my head at the thought that Kinsley is most likely dead. If she went to Mexico, she’s dead. Even if her grandfather is there, it won’t matter.
I look at what the man threw me. A protein bar, a bag of Doritos, and a banana now lie on my stomach.
I sit up in my bed and look at my cellmate. I still haven’t asked his name, despite sharing a cell with him for three days now. I run my hands through my hair, not understanding why he is giving me any of his food.
“The breakfast here is shit. Just tasteless oatmeal.” He nods in my direction. “Eat. You’ll need your strength if you are going to survive in here.”
I unwrap the protein bar and take a bite. I know I can’t turn down the food that he paid for even if the food he is offering me isn’t much better then what the jail serves. Who knows what he did to get this food in the first place.
The first drop of the protein bar hits my stomach, and my body roars to life. I feel the ache in my stomach for the first time since I’ve gotten here, and I feel each bite of food ease the pain. It just makes me eat faster. I finish the bar and quickly move on to the banana. And, when I’m finished with the banana, I quickly move on to the Doritos, despite the fact that they have no real nutritional value. They might as well be little pieces of car
dboard. But when I place the first bite of the cheesy goodness, I forget about that. It tastes better than any vegetable or healthy piece of meat I’ve ever eaten.
“Thanks,” I say with a mouthful of Doritos.
The man nods but doesn’t say anything. He just sits in the chair across from my bed, waiting until I’m finished chewing. That’s when I realize that maybe I shouldn’t have taken the food. He might think I owe him something for consuming his food.
“I’m Santino Marlow,” the man says when I’m finished.
“Killian Byrne,” I say, extending my hand.
The man just stares at me like he has no idea what I’m doing. I pull my hand back. Fuck, I’m an idiot.
“I’ll pay you back for the food.”
He smirks at me. “No need. That was nothing to me.”
I nod.
I have no idea what this guy wants. He looks like a majority of the other men in here. Tattoos cover his muscular body. His head is shaved. He looks like he belongs in here. So unlike me. I stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.
“It’s not what you think,” he says.
“What?”
“The reason I’m in here. I’m not a druggie. I don’t sell drugs. I didn’t steal shit. I’m not in a gang.”
“Then, why are you here?” I ask, risking getting punched.
But hearing this guy’s story might just be the distraction I need to get me through today. At the very least, it would reduce the pain I feel right now.
“I’m in here because of a girl.”
My eyes widen.
“And I suspect it’s the same reason you are in here.”
I nod.
“The key to surviving without the girl you love is to talk about it. It will kill you if not. I tried to keep it buried inside. I thought, if anyone in here found out, they would think I was a pussy, and I’d get jumped. The opposite happened though. They understood because every guy in here has a girl at home. Everyone has a bitch they miss.”