Braulio has an array of mansions to hide in, and my prior attempts to pin him down have resulted in nothing but frustration and heartache. But now…
Maybe it’s fate—a cruel joke on God’s part to reinforce just how much he’s forsaken me. I pick a house at random, but this time the lights are on, illuminating the entire dwelling and the hillside it resides upon. I can’t get close enough to it to make out anyone of substance—Braulio doesn’t share Jaguar’s blatant confidence in his safety. He’s as fearful as a mouse in a trap, and he should be.
Even though I can’t see him, I can feel Francisco nearby. God, I hope he can feel me and knows I will never let him go—not without a fight.
The itching drive to scale the outer wall of the complex and break inside rises up in me so fiercely it takes all of my restraint to quash it. In a trembling voice, I tell the driver to move on, and we arrive back at Pedro’s apartment just after midnight.
It’s a nice place. Too nice for his tastes, and I can tell he doesn’t spend much time here if he even owns it directly. In any case, it’s a fitting backdrop for the woman I’ve pretended to be. A pristine, lifeless façade who gives her body to the first man who offers her a way out.
Exhausted, I shower in a beautiful walk-in large enough for four people, but the walls still feel as though they’re closing in. Once I exit, wrapped in a towel, I don’t sleep in the large bed.
I pace, raking my fingers through my wet hair as Pedro’s dress dries in the bathroom.
I try calling him again, but he doesn’t answer.
By the time dawn rolls around, I have to face the truth alone without my friend’s comfort. I failed. Whatever I did wasn’t enough to grab Jaguar’s interest. I’ll have to start from ground zero and track Francisco the hard way. First, I’ll find where Braulio is and demand he tell me his whereabouts himself.
Maybe you’ll sleep with him too, a cruel part of me whispers. You seem to like spreading it around after all this time.
The realization stings. Diego was the last man to ever touch me, and for the life of me… I can’t even remember what it felt like. I can recall the pain, yes—to the degree that it feels as fresh and raw as the day he first slammed his fist into my skull for “back talk.” But not what he felt like. Not if I’d truly felt any pleasure. I can’t remember if I ever came with him inside me, moaning like a whore.
I can’t remember when it ever felt good.
I can’t remember ever craving him internally. Not wanting but craving. Like an itch has taken root inside my skin, but one I can’t ever reach. Only blunt force can. Pressure and unrelenting touch.
I hate that I can’t get that monster out of my head. At least I’ll end this debacle with a souvenir—I finally have an even bigger mistake to forget than Diego. This time, however, I had a lucky escape.
But avoiding Jaguar seems to be where my good fortune has run out. By the time daylight pierces the horizon, I know it’s over. Braulio is out of the country, and I’ve failed Franco yet again.
Despite him avoiding my calls, I owe Pedro enough that I wait until the end of his deadline. Noon. Or, at least, I wait until eleven. Just as I head for the door, my phone rings, and I retreat into the bathroom, if only so no one in the hallway can hear me screaming.
“About time you answer me, Pedro. You twisted bastard—”
“I did what you asked me to do. I didn’t guarantee any returns. Besides, you got a nice night outside of your shitty apartment out of it. And more. My little Pita placing big bets. I didn’t expect you to win it back for me,” he says, sounding smug.
“Win what?” I ask, only to remember the cage fight.
“You won big last night, honey. I took out my cut, but the rest is already in your account. Over a hundred grand, baby. Now say ‘thank you, Pedro.’”
“Fuck you, Pedro.” I slump against the counter and watch my expression turn to despair over the mirror’s surface. It’s more money than I could dream of owning and I’m too devastated to care. “What am I going to do? I… I can’t lose him. I can’t.”
“I know,” Pedro says softly. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I know for a fact that Braulio’s private plane left from a remote airport last night. He’s gone, Pita. You know I’ll do whatever I can, but for now, I want you to take a break. There’s nothing else you can do about it, so breathe. Enjoy the place for another day. Try out the jacuzzi bathtub. I’ll call you when I’m done with my next appointment. Ciao, bella.”
He hangs up, and I don’t know how much time passes before I finally gather the nerve to head into the hall. I’m wearing the dress from last night, still, damp after my attempt at handwashing it in the sink. Apparently, I didn’t do a good enough job because I can still smell him all over me. Jaguar. God, his scent is poisonous, infecting every pore. The air itself…
In fact, it’s too real, and I think I know even before I round the corner what I’ll find, there in the living room. A Jaguar in the flesh.
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, that smirk playing across his lips. Today he’s opted for a black, button-up shirt with the buttons mostly undone, revealing more tattoos that span his chest. With difficulty, I resist examining them fully and instead turn my focus to his face and those probing, fathomless eyes.
“Little Lupe,” he greets in a guttural tone. “If you know me as well as you claim, you would know better than to lie to me.”
My blood runs cold. Apparently, he isn’t here to reassure my fears that I’ve lost his interest—this isn’t a friendly visit. “About what?” I ask when I find my nerve again.
He laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. “Well, for starters… You can’t be Lupita Sanchez, because she is dead.”
Oh. It’s funny how you can forget so many trivial things while living off the grid. Birthdays of old acquaintances. Holidays. Tax laws.
The fact that you’ve been legally dead for ten years.
I’m too shocked to recover, and he cocks his head in triumph.
“You really didn’t think I’d look into your little story? After all, you dared me to.” He advances a step, and I can’t help it.
I jump back, and my gaze darts to the only exit.
“Don’t play the shy role now,” he scolds, clucking his tongue. Just like that, he’s paces closer, eating up the space between us with calculated, predatory strides. “You were so eager to please me last night—”
“And then you turned me down, if I recall,” I counter, raising my chin. The venom in my tone seems to surprise us both. He raises an eyebrow and, internally, I’m berating myself. Do I really want to piss off the unofficial king of this entire region?
Maybe. Especially if he stands between Franco and me. I’ve already wasted too much ground playing this stupid game. It will take days to track where the plane went. Even longer to find Braulio’s latest hideout.
I don’t have time for delays, not even when presented by a psychotic narco with a power complex.
“You turned me down, Jaguar,” I point out coldly. “Braulio is gone, and our deal is forfeit. You got a ‘quickie’ out of it, though. Unfortunately, I don’t think we have anything left to discuss.”
“Oh, but we do.” He gestures toward a leather couch positioned near a view of the city. “Have a seat.”
I don’t move. My heart is pounding, my palms slick with sweat. All in all, this should be a familiar feeling—déjà vu. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around Diego, but I remember what it was like. A bit like living with a hissing viper poised to strike. There was a reason why he called me his butterfly—I had to be agile always.
Facing Jaguar inspires a different kind of thrill, but I know the fun and games won’t last long. Sooner or later, he’ll turn on me, and I suspect feline fangs hurt far worse than a snake’s.
“I know for a fact that Braulio is gone,” I reiterate, crossing my arms to disguise how my hands shake. “With him, went my only bargaining chip. Frankly, I think we’re both wasting our time.”
“Are we?” He claims the couch for himself, his legs spread wide, hands on his knees. “You certainly didn’t find it a waste of time to fuck me instead of tailing Braulio yourself. Don’t pretend this is about a fucking plane.”
“You’re right,” I snap. “It’s about Franc—my son.”
“That’s another thing.” He holds up a finger as if to keep track of my supposed lies. “According to all public records, Lupita Sanchez never had a son. There is another woman by the name of Sanchez who does, however. A son named Francisco Roberto Rivera. That woman is not named Lupe—though I honestly prefer it. In any case, it’s nice to make your acquaintance, Tiena. I will admit, I prefer you as a brunette than a blond.”
I don’t know what to do. What to say. Technically, he’s right. I fit all the plausible criteria to be only one woman—barring the fact that she’s far more likely to be dead than I am. Still, using her identity puts one more layer between Jaguar and me. Suddenly space from him seems like a very smart course of action to take—besides, coming clean now could provoke him further.
So, I decide to thread the needle as carefully as I can.
“You know the risk I was taking by meeting you alone,” I say. It isn’t quite a lie.
“And you know that I prefer honesty.” His upper lip quirks. Is he shocked by how easily I cop to the ruse? He shouldn’t be. At least someone is fighting for Franco. In a twisted irony, I am his mother, if not in name, then in spirit.
“You have some balls promising that you’ll belong to me alone. I’m sure you also realize that I know you’ve been around far more men than you’ve led on,” he says, but there’s an odd dip in his inflection. What he’s saying should be true, but for some reason, he doesn’t believe it. “Braulio was just the latest in your string of rich, powerful men, chica.”
I could deny it, but something I can’t name won’t let me. “You felt me for yourself. Did I feel like a woman who’s had a stream of men before you?”
He frowns, but I recognize that anger isn’t the source. He can hear the truth in my voice, and it doesn’t quite square with the woman I should be. Does it please some small part of me to have fooled him? Yes, but I’m not brazen enough to believe it will last. Sooner or later, he’ll turn the tables, and I can’t let this round of our game get that far.
“You had a tight pussy, I’ll give you that,” he says in a voice devoid of emotion. “But I don’t tolerate being lied to. You should be punished.”
I’ve heard those words before—several variations of them, in fact. I’ll hurt you. You’ll be sorry for that. I will kill you, Lupita. Do you hear me? Kill you.
But his voice… It didn’t contain the malice I’m used to hearing. I feel my belly flip, but not in a way that signals terror. As my gaze settles on those thick hands, a fleeting thought crosses my mind—how would it feel to have those digits inside me while he murmurs that phrase into my ear? Punished.
I shake my head to clear it, and my heart is racing ten times faster. Jaguar is no longer my sole focus. Only Francisco.
“If you learned who I am, then you know how desperately I needed you to stop that plane.”
“You mean this plane?” He reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and withdraws a crisp stack of small squares which he lays out on the coffee table. Photographs. In one, I recognize a familiar, precious face, and I lunge for it.
“Franco…” He looks so sad. So tired, but clean, at least. There are no fresh bruises from what I can tell. Not like that day just a couple months ago when he came home from school, and Tiena had the nerve to feign that nothing was wrong.
It’s just a mark, Pita. Why do you have your panties all in a bunch?
A mark. She actually said that despite acknowledging the hell we both grew up in. Bruises like that are never accidental.
Even in the dim lighting, I can tell that one on Franco’s face has yet to truly fade. God only knows what Braulio’s been doing to him since he cut me off—though this photo was taken at night, obscuring most of his body. The area around him looks like… A tarmac?
The series of pictures beside it paints a clearer view. Braulio did send Franco on a plane, but Jaguar had someone there for takeoff and the landing, it seems. They didn’t go as far as I feared. California. He’s still in the country.
And Jaguar’s photographer apparently took a snapshot of the exact safe house he’s being kept in.
One figure’s glaring disappearance, however, stands out.
“I don’t see Braulio.” I look up to find Jaguar watching me, his expression unreadable.
“That’s because he’s still in the city,” he finally says. I get the sense he was gauging my reaction carefully. Another test. Did I pass? I can’t tell. “It seems he had an urgent matter come up overnight that required his attention. He’ll be busy for a few days, at least.”
But, for the time being, Franco is safe in another state, far away from him. Yet, I get the sense this change of fate isn’t by coincidence. The truth bites into me slowly, and I feel my eyes widen.
“You upheld our bargain,” I croak.
“I always pay my debts,” he replies, folding his hands over his lap. “But being lied to? That was not a part of our deal. You offered me your soul, after all.”
“I offered you me,” I say. “You weren’t interested.”
He sits forward, and my breath catches. I have that quicksand feeling again. One wrong move, and I’ll go under.
“Now, when did I say that?” He looks me over, as if noting for the first time that I’m still wearing the dress from last night. My hair is a mess, my makeup gone, and eyes bloodshot. My saving grace, I suppose, is that I don’t look like a woman who plays the game. The real Tiena would be in another man’s bed by now, safely secured with whatever she desired. She was resourceful like that, more than I ever was.
“I prefer to do business over dinner,” he says finally, leaning back into the couch. “Be ready at seven. Make yourself presentable. If you even think about showing up late or playing the tricks your kind like to play, you will regret it.” He stands and heads for the door. In the next moment, he stops, his head inclined, his face turned away from me. “Oh, and one more thing… You were on the phone with someone when I came in. Who?”
Despite my naiveté, I recognize another test that goes beyond simple word games. Those were petty fun. This is life or death—a primed trap with metal teeth waiting to snap shut over a tender limb.
My first instinct is to lie. At the last moment, I rethink it. Pedro is the most important person in the world to me besides Franco. I won’t betray him.
But I promised Jaguar my loyalty.
“A friend,” I say carefully. “Someone who is no threat to you. He’s helped me get what I needed but nothing else.”
“What you needed…” He laughs. It’s a low, unsettling dance of sound, but though I strain my ears… I don’t find disappointment or anger lurking within it. Perhaps surprise?
I told him as much of the truth as possible without revealing all the cards I have at my disposal.
My gut tells me he would have done the same thing if he were in my place.
What a dangerous way to think.