Hiding

by N. M. Catalano

  A chance at happiness.

  She’s in danger. They could kill her, just like Isabelle. They would do it. To destroy me, after they hurt her.

  My first instinct is to push her away. Pack my shit and get the fuck out of here as fast and as far as I can without stopping.

  The second thought is much more forceful. This one grabs me by the throat and squeezes me so hard and so tight, I can’t breathe, it immobilizes me.

  I have to protect her. Nothing else matters except keeping her safe.

  “I understand,” my response is almost robotic. “I’ll talk to you soon, Carlos. Please keep me posted with any updates, no matter how small. I want to know everything.”

  “I will. Same for you.”

  “Will do. Give my love to Hilda, your mom. And tell the boys to call me…if they want.”

  I would hate me if I were any of them.

  “Bye, Homes.”

  Carlos hangs up and I’m left wondering how my life just exploded in such a cataclysmic spiral towards destruction.

  Maria

  CHAPTER 10

  A permanent smile is transfixed on my face. I’m still riding that high, that holy-shit!-I-didn’t-know-sex-could-be-that-infreakincredible high that makes you feel all is well with the world. I want to laugh out loud, I want to hug everyone I see, I want to shout, ‘I’m so damn happy to be alive!’.

  Until my old friends, caution and paranoia, make their presence known.

  Rico’s tattoo. His mark showing his loyalty and his life belong to a gang.

  It’s enough to pop the hot air balloon I’m sailing in.

  When I saw it, it crippled me. Plunged me right back into the terror I’d drowned in that day when Rafi died and I’d spent seventeen hours in my own private hell on the bus traveling with nothing but my own recurring nightmare for company.

  He’d said belonged. Past tense. He said he hasn’t been a member for years. Almost twenty years to be precise. At first, I didn’t believe him.

  Catapulting from terror, I’d flipped to rage.

  He’d been ready. He caught me and wouldn’t let me go until I listened to him.

  I knew I was right. It seeped from every cell of his body.

  And what an incredibly magnificent body it is. My own body trembles, reacting immediately to how he’d taken me, took control of me, captivated me, and led me on the most erotic journey I never thought possible.

  I’d only been with one man before. Rafi, my boyfriend, my first, the man who I always thought I was going to marry. And probably would have if he hadn’t been murdered.

  Guilt wars with my lustful drunken euphoria, merging with the turmoil of confusion.

  I’ve spent the past six months mourning him, broken, lost, and angry. Until finally what was left of me was an empty shell, bitter and pissed off at life.

  That’s how Rico had found me. A woman who was furious with the world, resentful of everyone who had lives they could live to the fullest, people who could do what they want, when they want, who weren’t choking on bitterness, like me, slowly dying day by day.

  With Rico, the chains of my prison fell off, releasing me from its torturous grip, and I felt free. The fact I was hiding no longer mattered, it ceased to exist.

  The only thing that was real, the only thing that I wanted, really, really wanted I found in his arms, in his kiss, from his touch, and from that place he’d taken me to.

  I felt safe. I felt wanted. I felt protected.

  I felt I could trust him. And he would take care of me.

  I never, NEVER, thought I would ever feel that again. I’d grown so accustomed to not trusting anyone, thinking I’d be a lone soldier for the rest of my life. When I saw his tattoo, I’d lunged at him, ready to tear him apart. I’d been primed to attack for the past six months, I was more than ready.

  Attack him is exactly what I did. I was so sure he was sent to kill me. I’d be damned if I wasn’t going down without a fight.

  We battled. Fueled by lust and raging emotions. It was fierce and explosive.

  It was the most incredible experience of my life.

  What was left in the aftermath of our battle was us, raw, open, exposed, two people on the cusp of something completely unfamiliar to both of us.

  His confession was the final thing that stripped my resistance. His vulnerability opened my heart to him and allowed me to believe him, trust him, and let him in.

  It was scary.

  It was exhilarating.

  It was freeing.

  I hope I’m strong enough to do the same.

  The bell on the front door of the restaurant chimes forcing me from my thoughts.

  Instantly, a sliver of caution ripples through me before I even turn around. I can feel eyes burning a hole in my back, locking me in place, my body refusing to move. I know if I do, things are about to change.

  Not in a good way.

  The terror I’ve become all too intimate with is back with a vengeance.

  I breathe deeply and force myself to relax.

  It’s just a customer, don’t be so paranoid.

  “We’d like a table,” an unfamiliar male voice grates over me.

  It’s heavy, with a hint of a Spanish accent. With only those four words, the man sounds like a cocky, arrogant prick.

  My body tenses and I grit my teeth. The cold talons of fear sink deeper into my flesh. On slow moving feet, I turn around.

  I want to run. Fast and far. And I would if it wouldn’t make a scene.

  FUCK, FUCK, FUCK.

  Thugs, street pigs, fucking gang bangers. The worst is the guy in front of his group of scumbags.

  The scum have crawled to the surface from the pits of hell.

  “A table for five.” It’s short and clipped, like he’s expecting me to jump at his command.

  I don’t say anything as I step to the hostess station and grab five menus. Turning, I lead them to an empty booth far away from anyone else.

  The other customers don’t need to be privy to whatever these lowlifes have to say.

  I place the menus on the table and walk away as quickly as I can. I head straight for the kitchen. When I get through the doors, I look around frantically for my aunt Julie.

  SHIT! She’s not here, she had a doctor’s appointment this morning.

  There are no other waitresses on duty yet.

  I want to ask them to leave, but I know if I do, it’ll only antagonize them. Guys like that get off on conflict, it’s their drug, their high, and they’ll keep pushing until every ounce is sucked out, and they’ve won.

  I have no choice. I have to take care of them.

  “Oh God,” I groan.

  I can’t hide.

  Relax, just because they’re Latin doesn’t mean anything. They only came in to get something to eat. This is a restaurant in the middle of some tiny city. There’s no possibility a gang member from New York is going to show up down here and walk into your restaurant. Be reasonable.

  I try to talk some sense into myself.

  Straightening, I square my shoulders.

  “I just have to take their damn orders, not sit with them,” I mumble.

  I force myself to go back to their table. It’s late in the afternoon, most of the regulars have already come and gone. Thank God!

  “Are you ready to order?” I ask, keeping my eyes downcast to the pad I’m holding.

  I don’t want to look at them, I don’t want to see their faces.

  If I see them, I’ll remember them, and the images will haunt me, resurrecting the demons that had followed me from New York. The demons will have faces.

  Their faces.

  No faces, no names. If I do, it’ll make them real.

  And here.

  “Only if you’re on the menu,” the lead dog sneers.

  The other pigs chuckle some snide comments.

  Instinctually, my eyes fly to his face, ready to tear him a new asshole.

  Big mistake!

  Evil. Pure evil.
That’s what he is, the embodiment of all that is vile. His eyes are black and cold, a cesspool churning with hate and anger. The teardrop at one corner crinkles with his sick sadistic smirk. Ice runs through my veins and makes me tremble.

  Any retort I was about to bark at him vanishes immediately and drips back down my throat like acid.

  This man would sooner slit my neck than humor me with a reply.

  “Did you see that look, boys? She’s a fighter,” he glints his eyes at me, daring me to say something. “Just like I like them. Hot. And wild.”

  His smirk raises the hair on the back of my neck and makes me want to vomit.

  Yeah, I’m a fighter. I’d like to stab you in the throat so you can’t say another disgusting word.

  My eyes shoot back to the now mangled pad clutched tightly in my hand.

  “I can suggest the shrimp special,” I force the words through clenched teeth.

  “We’ll take it, all of us,” he leans back against the seat and stretches his legs. His feet reach out from under the table and one of them presses against mine.

  I step away from the contact, resisting the urge to stomp on his big foot.

  Don’t put your filth on me, you pig!

  “And drinks?” I mutter.

  “What is it they like to drink down here?” He looks to the other men. “Iced tea, that’s it.”

  I begin to turn away, but he catches my wrist.

  Don’t touch me!

  It takes every ounce of my willpower not to yank my hand free and punch him in his smug face.

  “What’s a girl from New York doing in this hick town?” He hasn’t loosened the tight grip on my arm.

  Panic surges inside me. I fight the automatic need to fight, to run, to ram the fork on the table in his eye.

  It’s my accent, don’t freak!

  “Please let me go,” I tug my arm lightly, trying not to do anything to set him off.

  Any trace of civility vanishes from his face. The demon that is him is staring back at me.

  I can feel my face go pale as all the blood rushes quickly from it.

  This man is evil.

  “I asked you a question,” his voice is a steely whisper and sends shivers down my spine like nails dragging down a chalkboard.

  “I’m working. And if you’d like to eat, then let me go so I can get your order in.” I keep my tone calm and quiet, belying the terror raging inside me.

  He laughs and releases me.

  “We are hungry, right boys?”

  “Starving.”

  “Damn right.”

  They all answer, right on cue, like little fucking puppets.

  My legs can hardly hold me on the way back to the kitchen. I’m so damn scared. I place the order, then return to the table with a pitcher of tea, and leave it. I’m so grateful none of them give me a second look, barely even noticing me as they talk.

  I don’t want to go back until I absolutely have to.

  I’m dreading it.

  When their food is ready, I place their dishes in front of them as quickly as I can, not making eye contact, and definitely not speaking.

  The man grabs me again.

  NONONO!

  “What is it?” I ask tightly.

  He grins at me and tilts his head to the side.

  “I’ve heard some good things about this place. I can see why,” his eyes rake up and down my body.

  Repulsion and contempt flare within me. His touch makes me feel filthy.

  “It seems you’re giving the other places a lot of competition.” His words are simple enough. It’s the look in his eyes that scares the hell out of me.

  “Thank you,” I stare at him.

  He lets me go and turns to his food.

  Fuck this.

  I pull out his check and put it on the table.

  I don’t go back to the table, they don’t motion for me. I don’t look at them, they don’t look at me. I ignore them until they’re standing at the register.

  Mr. Evil Incarnate pays the check. They walk to the door, then he turns and leers at me. “I’ll see you soon.”

  This could be bad. I did NOT imagine that.

  That look, and the unsaid meaning, was not my paranoia.

  After the last customer leaves and the dining room is finally empty, I call Rico.

  He’s a cop, I can at least ask him if I should be worried about these guys coming in here. I’ll tell him I’m concerned they’ll affect business.

  “Hi kitten, I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Rico answers. His voice instantly soothes some of my tension.

  “Rico, some people were here…”

  How do I say this? He’ll think I’m crazy if I say a customer scared me.

  “What do you mean, ‘some people’?”

  I can hear his concern in his tight response.

  “I think they were Mexican, I’m not sure. But they didn’t look typical.” What can I tell him?

  After last night, and how I freaked out about his tattoo, he’s going to be suspicious. He’s going to know I’m hiding something. If I tell him I think these guys are gang, he’ll laugh at me.

  I can hear him take a deep breath. “Did they do something to you?”

  “No,” this is ridiculous. I can’t tell him I’m afraid of them. “It’s nothing, forget it. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Maria, stop. Something’s bothering you. I’ll be right there. Don’t you disappear on me.”

  “No, don’t, it’s fine.”

  “Don’t. Leave. I’m coming.”

  Before I can argue any further, he hangs up.

  Shit.

  I keep myself busy, but my nerves are strung tight. I jump with every sound, and my eyes dart to look out the front window with every voice that passes.

  I’m expecting any minute for the man to come back and drag me out. My mind is playing with me, giving me the worst visions imaginable of pain and torture. I suffer unbearable amounts of unreal agony over and over again.

  In my mind, I’ve been kidnapped, beaten, raped, burned, before merciful death takes me.

  Once one scenario plays out, another begins. Each one a different stage, but every single one is nothing but a torture chamber.

  By the time the door opens twenty minutes later, I’m an emotional mess.

  Rico’s expression is hard and filled with concern as he approaches me.

  Him just being here makes me feel better, safer, protected.

  In just a few long strides, his arms are around me. “Tell me everything.”

  I try to push him away. Don’t seem weak. “It was nothing,” I avoid his eyes, they can see everything I’m not saying, all the torment I’ve lived in my head.

  “It might be nothing, it might not. I’ll be the judge. Tell me what happened.”

  My body relaxes into his as his hand rubs my back. I don’t want to need this, but I do.

  So much.

  I close my eyes, allowing myself a moment to enjoy the comfort he’s giving me. His presence alone makes me feel better. “Really, it was nothing. They didn’t actually do anything. It was just how they looked.”

  “Then how did they look,” his tone is gentle and patient, but firm.

  I hesitate. Am I being paranoid? Have I been so afraid for so long that any man who looks like that scares me? Look at how I reacted to Rico when we first met.

  And I was right about that. He was what I thought he was.

  “They looked evil. Cold. Especially one of them. He grabbed me…”

  Rico’s body tenses against mine and his grip tightens.

  “He touched you?” Danger laces his words.

  “He just grabbed my wrist.” I push away from him and look into his face.

  I’ve never seen him like this, jaw clenched, lips tight, eyes hard and menacing.

  “He mentioned something about our restaurant giving the other places competition. That gave me the creeps,” I glance at the floor, breaking eye contact. “He also asked what w
as a girl from New York doing down here.”

  Repeating the words alone sound ridiculous. They don’t sound threatening by themselves.

  It was them, the men were what was dangerous. They were absolutely evil.

  A moment of silence passes between us.

  “Look at me, Maria,” his words are soft but commanding.

  Slowly I lift my gaze to his.

  “That bothers you. A lot. Tell me why.”

  I almost tell him. I want to tell him. I want to tell him everything.

  But I can’t.

  I turn around, I can’t face him, he can read everything I’m hiding.

  He was honest. He told you what happened. You owe him the same.

  “Don’t do this,” he wraps his hand around my arm and makes me face him again. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything.”

  I believe him. So much. But I’m still afraid.

  “Maria, please tell me.”

  I close my eyes.

  What do I do?

  “I came here six months ago. I had to run,” I peer up into his deep dark eyes and begin to let out my secrets. “My boyfriend had just been murdered by a Latin gang, they were looking for me. We saw something, but we didn’t think they knew.” My confession is barely a whisper but I know he hears everything I’m saying.

  “That’s why you freaked when you first met me, you thought I was one of them. And again last night.”

  I nod, “Yes.”

  “What did you see?”

  I remember that day like it was yesterday, but it somehow feels like a lifetime ago.

  “We saw a couple of gang members grab one of the guys from the neighborhood. They shoved him in a car. He disappeared after that. Rafi and I thought they must have killed him. I don’t know what happened between Rafi and Los Muertos after that…”

  Rico freezes and his eyes turn to slits.

  “Wait, did you say the gang was Los Muertos?”

  Rico’s expression is filled with shock. And something else.

  Something that bothers me.