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I hated Hades. I hated everything about him. Yes, he was my father, and yes, deep down, I’d wished for some type of love from him. Still, the callousness with which he informed me of my mother's death and my brother's existence, painted him as the unredeemable monster he was.
I went along with his plan. I had to. It was the only way out of this that I could see. It didn't mean the idea of it didn't make me feel sick.
With each passing day since Hades left, my nerves became more and more shot. I was pouring coffee, knowing my coffee intake was becoming somewhat of an addictionary level, when I noticed the tremble in my hands. Hades told me he would let it slip where I was and that some dramatic rescue would probably happen. I knew it was coming soon, and I had to act surprised. I wasn't even sure how I could do that? My acting skills were exemplary, considering my upbringing with my evil Uncle Enrico and the men he needed me to "entertain" but, I was nervous.
The truth was, I liked the idea of having a brother. I never had any real family; Enrico and Grandpa surely weren't that. My entire life had consisted of me being a prisoner, either in Enrico's home or my villa, which I moved into after Enrico's house partially blew up. I had guards around the perimeter, but I had my own space. I wasn't so naive to think this would last. When Dearest Daddy showed up, as shocked as I was to see him in my space, a huge part of me wasn't shocked at all... until he opened his mouth and told me about my mom. Worse than that was his plan to use me to get to my brother. I had to go through with it, though. If there was a chance at freedom, I had to take it. Otherwise, I feared I wouldn't last much longer in this thing called life that I'd been living; if you could even call it that.
The tremble in my hands became more prominent as I heard a small thump outside the door. I set my coffee down, unsure of what was to come. Hades had explained that this would probably be some extreme rescue. I didn't know what to expect or if I could pull it off. I heard another noise, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was go-time.
I moved near the knives on the kitchen counter and waited for whatever was about to happen. I had to act surprised, but defensive. I wasn't supposed to know if they would be good guys or bad.
I expected the door to crash open, but it didn't. There was a small click, and the door crept open.
It felt as if the air had changed, becoming more weighted. I found it hard to breathe. I was face to face with a behemoth of a man. He was tall, and I was tall, so he was really tall. He wore black cargo pants and a black fitted T-shirt that showcased his muscular frame. Large guns were strapped to his back. He held his hands up and slowly approached me, the way one would approach a wounded animal. I knew he was here to rescue me, but I had to play my part. I steeled my eyes on his and put my hand on the knife block. "Don't come any closer."
"Good, you speak English," he said on a sigh. "I'm not here to hurt you. You have a family that's been searching for you; a brother, sister-in-law, and a nephew. They're in the States. I'm here to take you to them. To take you out of this prison."
I searched his dark eyes. Beads of sweat ran down his face, and a small red trickle of blood dripped from his tattoo-covered forearm. His eyes seemed trusting. I already hated the fact that I'd be playing him.
"I don't know you. I don't know what you say is true. All I know is that I have a piece of shit sperm donor in America, and that's it." My voice was firm. "I have blood, and he's not searching for me. He knows exactly where I've been all my life. He's nothing," I spat out the last part. My Colombian accent made the word nothing sound like a dirty word. To me it was a dirty word because that's how Hades made me feel; dirty and like nothing.
"You have another family. Family you don't know. A brother. Different dads." He was speaking softly, trying to get me to take him at his word. "Take your hands off the knives. I won't hurt you."
I eyed him up and down, wary of what I should do.
He stared at me for several beats then sighed, "Look, I just disarmed eight men outside by myself. Sorry to break it to you, Princess, but if I wanted to take you out, I'd be able to do it before you could blink. Now, I need you to pack a bag. We have to go... unless you want to wait for the second round of men to come through the door."
"You think I should just take you for your word and leave with you?"
"Yes, that's precisely what I think. And if you don't make a decision here soon, we might be facing a firestorm."
"They won't shoot me." I straightened my shoulders.
"You sure about that? It seems to me they're not really in it for your best interest."
"And you are?"
He wouldn't take his eyes from mine. We were in a fierce stare down, filled with questions and promises. I felt like he was asking, can you trust me? I'll have your back. He nodded his head, and that was the only indication he gave in response to his silent questions that I apparently must've somehow answered. The seriousness of his gaze made me want to do whatever he asked. Even if I didn't have a heads up that he was coming for me, I would've gone with him regardless of Hades.
I didn't wait any longer. I moved away from the knives and caught a glance of him, silently approving of my movements. I moved to my closet, grabbed a large Prada handbag, and began stuffing jewelry into it. Clothes, I could replace, but the jewels were worth a ton, and I had a feeling that whatever was in store for me next, I'd need money.
A moment later, the bottom of my bag was filled with emeralds, diamonds, rubies, and other gems. They were my showpieces meant to make my uncle's clients think I was something coveted, that I was something special. The jewels that filled my bag were more than monetary; their cost was invaluable. It was a cost I feared I could never get back. It was the cost of my dignity.
I tore my nightgown over my head and heard the man suck in a breath. I'd forgotten that my modesty was also something I let go of a long time ago. It was nothing for me to be mostly nude in front of a man. I ignored his shock, grabbed a black lace bra because sexy was all I was allowed and slipped it on covering my breasts. I pulled a black tank top on next, knowing how hot the Colombian sun could be. I grabbed a pair of black leggings from my drawer and could no longer feel his eyes on me. Next, I donned a pair of socks and a pair of pink and gray Nikes that I was permitted to have for running on the treadmill. I threw a few pairs of panties in my bag, a couple of tanks, and a fresh pair of leggings. All these clothes were small and could be balled up to fit in my bag with no problem.
I moved out of my closet, past the man who was watching me and simultaneously watching the door, then walked as quickly as I could to the bathroom. I threw a toothbrush, a hairbrush, a tiny makeup bag that had the disposable phone that Hades gave me, and a few tampons on top just to keep anyone from wanting to snoop, into the bag.
"Let's go," I said, walking out. The man looked me over. His gaze was quick and assessing. I felt as if he was examining me to make sure that I was prepared for anything.
He didn't stare at me the way I was used to men looking at me. Usually, a man's attention on me meant they wanted something. I didn't get that sense from him, and it was a bit unnerving. I don't think I had ever been looked at like I was just a person and not an object. He took a long black gun from a holster and ordered, "Stay close." My nerves immediately skyrocketed. I’d said my grandfather's men wouldn't hurt me, but the truth was they hurt me all the time. I just wasn't sure if they would kill me.
I followed him out of my villa and to a stairwell that eventually led outside. My villa was on stilts keeping the jungle below at bay. He moved with stealth. If I’d had the time, I would've marveled at the swift way his massive size moved almost gracefully. We passed by Marco, one of the watchdogs that was assigned to guard me. He was with me longer than any other guard, and because of that, he'd taken the most liberties with me. He was on the ground, a small puddle of blood pooled beneath him. He wasn't moving, but I never wanted to wonder if he was alive and could come after me. I'd had enough blows dealt by Marco that I did not doubt that he would hurt me if he survived. I hated him.
'Wait," I said, stopping in front of Marco and pausing the man in his tracks. "Is he dead?"
"Should be."
"Make sure of it," I commanded as if I had a right to command anything. Commando didn't hesitate, he aimed his gun and fired a shot at the man's head. The weapon was quieter than I expected. My eyes traveled the length of the gun and noticed a silencer on it.
He gave me a quick glance to see if I was affected by the fact that he put a bullet in Marco's head. I wasn't. I'd seen worse. "I'm good," I assured him.
He grabbed my hand, and we began to move down the stairs and over bodies. My hand felt secure in his, and it was the strangest feeling I'd ever felt. Never in my life had I felt security, let alone placed my hand in someone else's, and trusted that they'd bring me to safety. Giving that trust for the first time changed me somehow. It was the oddest, most remarkable feeling for me to trust someone. If we had time, I'd have analyzed it right then and there, but we didn't. We had to move and fast.
Outside, the thick jungle was everywhere. The air was thick from the humidity. It mingled with the dust that swirled up from the road. Even though there was a bend in the street, I knew that a car approached. He yanked me into the brush. "Stay down."
I watched as he pulled a small black device from his pocket and waited. It was eerily silent around us. Even the dense jungle surrounding us seemed to know that the air was thick with violence. Seconds ticked by, and I found myself watching the Commando who came for me. He was apparently trained in combat, hence why my brain kept referring to him as Commando, and it made me wonder who my brother was, that he was capable of sending a man like this to retrieve me.
"Cover your ears," he whispered.
I did as I was told and still flinched, hearing the loud boom. The ground shook beneath me. Black billowing smoke shot straight into the air. Smoke briefly filled my lungs, but before I had a chance to register it, he was pulling me up from the ground and grabbing my hand again.
We moved past a burning SUV. A man who must have been ejected from the vehicle was still alive on the ground. His leg was mangled. My savior didn't hesitate—just shot him and kept dragging me along. We moved about a thousand yards when he stopped next to denser brush and pulled a camouflage netting off of a motorcycle.
"Crotch rockets aren't usually my thing, but it was the best I could find. Get on." He ordered as he threw a leg over the neon painted bike while simultaneously discarding some of the guns strapped to his back.
I stared. I’d never been on a bike before. The truth was that this journey outside of my villa was shaping up to be a lot of firsts.
He handed me a helmet. "Do you know how to put this on?"
I was still staring. Maybe I was dumbfounded by the last twenty minutes. I didn't know. I didn't answer him. He gently moved my hair back away from my face. The care he took in doing so, surprised me. He placed the helmet on my head and tightened the strap under my chin. He grabbed a pair of sunglasses, and covered his eyes, then grabbed another pair from a small compartment on the bike. He moved his sunglasses down on his nose. His dark eyes stared deeply into mine while he put a pair of glasses on me.
The intensity with which he stared at me both unnerved me and drew me in. Even covered in blood, sweat, and ash from the explosion, he was beautiful.
"You and your brother have the same eyes."
I didn't blink. I was utterly transfixed. His eyes were a dark brown, so dark that, at first glance, I would have thought they were black. I barely noticed what he said about my brother's eyes because I was so transfixed on his.
"Get on," he ordered, breaking the spell.
I listened, throwing a leg over the seat. He grabbed my knee, lifted my leg, and angled my foot to the footpeg. Once I knew what I was supposed to do, I put my other foot where it belonged.
"Hold on."
I didn't see anywhere for my hands to go and was surprised when he grabbed my hand and put it around his waist. Like before, I followed his lead and wrapped my other hand around his waist. He took off quickly, and I realized how much tighter I needed to hang on.
The bike was fast. I was plastered to his back as he zipped through the rough terrain. It occurred to me that I didn't even know his name yet, but I was stuck to him, quite literally. Trees moved past us in a blur, the warm wind from our momentum hit my skin. We drove through the outskirts of town with a precision that made me think he knew his way around, which was funny because I'd lived here my entire life, and there was no way I felt like I'd ever know my way around. Every street was filled with people, and more buildings smashed together, virtually stacked on top of one another.
We weaved down another road, and eventually slowed then turned down a small alleyway. The motorcycle idled, and a man wearing tan linen pants and a black button-down shirt motioned with his hand, "Aquí, aquí," which I knew meant here. A large burlap covering was moved, and the bike glided into the small space. We were lodged against a building, the burlap closing us in. A moment later, a door opened, filtering light through the small area. "Aquí." the man said again.
I followed my motorcycle savior's lead and got off of the bike then quickly took my helmet and sunglasses off. He grabbed my hand, and we followed the Colombian man inside. It was still strange to me that the Commando took my hand;even stranger that I allowed it, not even flinching at the contact.
We were in a modest home. A woman stood at the kitchen sink, washing dishes, ignoring us. She hummed a song and gently swayed her hips. We continued to follow the man down the hallway until he brought us to a room in the back of the house. He opened the door to a small bedroom and closed the three of us inside.
"Pablo, this wasn't the plan."
The man I now knew as Pablo, threw his hands up in surrender, "Ace, Ace, I know. It's my plane. I went to start it and it no work. My brother good mechanic, si. This is my home. You will be safe here. My wife, she is in the other room. I will get my plane fixed. You will see it. No problemo, si."
So, Ace was his name. It suited him.
Ace growled, "This is not what I'm paying you for."
"It will all work out. You'll see. You want some aqua? Cerveza?"
"What I want is to be on a plane on my way back to the States."
"You rest. My brother works hard. It will run."
Sensing Ace's frustration, I told Pablo in Spanish to get us some water. Relieved by his dismissal, Pablo rushed from the room. As if we both forgot my hand was in his, he immediately dropped it.
I felt bereft without it, and that made me uneasy. I looked around the sparse room, attempting to take my mind off why that was. A double bed with a sheet and a small nightstand was the only furniture in the room. The walls were off-white, but maybe it wasn't off-white, perhaps it was years of filth built up on the walls. Nonetheless, my guards were not right outside, and for the first time, even though I had that stupid phone in my purse, I felt the smallest amount of freedom.
Ace watched me. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn't look at him. I heard him as he spoke into his cell phone.
"I got her," pause. "She seems ok," and then another pause, "We had an issue. Pablo says the plane is out of commission, but it should be up and running soon. I don't like it. Hold on," Ace called my name, and I took my eyes from the dingy paint and met his, "Your brother wants to talk to you."
My pulse throbbed steadily in my veins. This was real. I had a brother who wanted to talk to me. I had a brother who sent someone to come for me. I had a brother.
I knew it was a fact when Hades told me, but he was on the phone, and the reality of that struck me as Ace handed me the phone.
"Hello."
There was a moment of breathing, and then I heard, "Alejandra." Relief flooded through the line. "It's so good to hear your voice, God, sorry. I'm Gunner Reed. I'm not sure what you know yet, but we have the same mother, and sadly, I have to tell you she recently passed. It was right before she died that I learned you existed. I'm sorry. If I knew sooner...," He paused as if he was trying to collect his thoughts. I could tell his feelings were heavy about everything he was telling me. "We've been doing everything we could to track you down, and as soon as Ace got a lock on you, he was there. He's the best there is at what he does." It sounded like he wanted me to know why it was Ace and not him that was there. "Are you... shit, are you okay?"
I gulped, he had a genuine concern for me. In some ways, he seemed nervous. There was a pause, and I realized he was waiting for me to answer. "I am fine. Thank you."
"Ace is the best at what he does. Don't worry. He'll get you out of there safely. I trust him with my life. He's a good man."
"Are you a good man?" I couldn't help it, I had to ask. Despite his nervousness, and the subtle ways in just this quick conversation it sounded like he was genuine, I'd been lied to and used my entire life, and I was scared.
"Alejandra," he sighed, "I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner. If I had known..." His voice trailed off as guilt laced his words. "Be safe, all right? I look forward to meeting you." He disconnected. I wished our conversation didn't end the way it did. I wished I didn't sound cold. I wished I was able to tell him I was grateful to talk with him as well.
I should've told him how nice it was to hear his voice and how much I looked forward to meeting him too. I wanted to tell him that he didn't need to carry guilt, and the fact that he sent someone to "rescue" me was more than anyone had ever done for me. There were things I wanted to say, but didn't. Words, too thick, caught in my throat lodged behind the sick feeling of betrayal I already carried.
I handed Ace the phone, and again he grabbed my attention. I didn't know what it was about his dark eyes and the way they seemed to sear into me, but I was unable to look away every time he caught them.
A quick knock thwarted our stare down. Pablo was there handing us bottled waters. "Luciana, my wife has empanadas ready. I bring you some, si?"
I nodded, "Gracias." I wasn't exactly hungry, but it felt like the right thing to do. We were in his home. We should accept his hospitality, right?
Pablo left again, and it was just the two of us.
"I don't like this. I got a bad feeling," Ace brushed his hand through his short hair. "I like things thought out, no deviations. This isn't what's supposed to happen. We should've been on a plane by now." He started hitting buttons on his phone, and I had no idea what he was doing, but I watched him intently. It looked as though he was checking on something. After several minutes he asked, "What do you know about your grandfather?"
He might've seen me pause and then pale. I wasn't sure, because he began to deliver a briefing, and I say briefing because that's exactly what it felt like.
"Not sure if you know all of the players, and I'm not sure how caught up you are. I don't know how much time we have before we have to move, but I want to give you as much information as I can. So here you go. Gunner, Shane, and I are in a motorcycle club. There's a bunch of other guys, but you'll meet them when the time is right. We're the Bleeding Scars MC. We're not above board, but we got a code we follow.
Enrico Santos is dead, killed by your biological dad, Hades. Hades is the President of Hades Runners—another MC. We know that Hades and Enrico were half-brothers, they shared the same mother, sort of like you and Gunner. We're bringing you back to the States. Still, your grandfather, Juan Santos—Enrico's dad—apparently hates Hades, and part of the reason you've been caught up in their shitshow is because of this hatred. My sources relayed a story of how your grandma birthed Enrico. You should know she hated your grandpa. He's a sick kind of evil."
I sucked in a breath. He didn't have to tell me about the evil that was my grandfather. He was the kind of man who'd make me lick his shoes, for the sole purpose that he could. He was power-hungry, and I'd witnessed him kill more than one man. Even Enrico was afraid of him. I'd also learned over the years that Enrico was as twisted as he was because of his dad. You don't learn to be a monster by accident,that has to be ingrained into you, and Enrico's lessons were vast.
"The story is that your grandmother fell in love with an American who was working undercover to take down Santos. She found out what he was doing, and instead of turning him in, she ran away with him. They had a baby together. It drove your grandpa mad. He searched for his wife, and when he finally found her, he killed her, then he searched for the child. By the time he finally found him, Hades was an adult."
I'd never heard this story before, and as much as I hated hearing it, because I knew how it ended, I was also drawn to the story as if it were feeding a starving child.
"Hades was already in the ranks of the Hades Runners who were called the Road Runners at the time. When Santos found him, he found out that he was going to father you. So, rumor has it that Santos told him he either would destroy his club, or he'd get to keep you. He chose the club."
I closed my eyes for a moment. The ugly truth of everything was laid out before me. I guess there was some solace in finally knowing that my grandfather took me as revenge, and my father chose his club over me.
I was as disposable as ever, and still, my father continued to use me.