Chapter 3

In the basement of the largest house in the Diablo del Norte area, a small Mexican town a little over an hour’s drive from Cactus Point, a young woman’s tear-soaked eyes darted between her husband and two small children, a four-year-old son and six-year-old daughter. Her husband was bound to a chair with ropes around his wrists and ankles. His chin rested on his chest. He had two swollen black eyes. The gag parting his lips and digging into his cheeks was soaked in the blood oozing from both his nose and mouth. It overflowed down his chin to stain his dirty, yellowing undershirt. The children stood not far from the woman—fear in the girl’s eyes, confusion in the boy’s.

A man towering over the children pressed them against the front of his legs with a single hand large and strong enough to hold both in place. The girl’s hair, black as her mother’s, was parted down the middle and tied into two long pigtails with red ribbons that matched her short summer dress. One of the dress’s spaghetti straps hung loosely off her bony, bare shoulder. Her big brown eyes stared at her mother from under her unevenly cut bangs. The boy wore navy shorts and a light blue polo shirt, his straight hair combed down in the 1960s style of the Beatles. In his case, it wasn’t a fashion statement. A barber was a luxury. His father simply placed a bowl over his head and cut around the edges.

A second man leaned against the wall with his knee bent and the sole of his foot flat against the wall. His hands hung at his sides, knuckles bloodied. The handle of a semi-automatic pistol stuck out of the waistband of his pants and a lit cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. One eye squinted from the floating cigarette smoke giving him a sneer that made him look that much scarier to the woman.

“Please don’t hurt them,” the woman pleaded with the man standing in front of her as she squeezed the skirt part of her white dress in her clenched fists, causing the frayed hem to ride up over her tightly pressed knees.

Marco Perez’s black eyes bored into the woman’s. His face was lined from too much sun and his thick, bushy mustache covered his upper lip. He pulled the strap back up onto the little girl’s shoulder with his free hand and then patted her head.

“It’s up to you, Mrs. Cano,” Marco said. “Do what we want and not only will your family be safe, but you’ll make some money. Your husband is a laborer. A shitty job. The money will come in handy.”

“We don’t need your money.”

“And I don’t have to give you any. I’m being generous. Nice. And believe me, you want me to be nice and not the alternative.”

“Have someone else do it. Why me?”

“Because you’re pretty and speak English and have family in Cactus Point.”

Marco cupped the little girl’s chin in his thick hand and tilted her head back so that her eyes met his. His hand squeezed her cheeks. The tips of his thumb and fingers reached her hairline.

Staring down at the frightened girl, he said, “And you have a lot to lose if you don’t.”

The man against the wall snickered. The woman turned to see his smirk. He cupped his crotch, thrust his hips, and winked.

“Don’t worry about Carlos,” Marco said. The woman’s head whipped back around. “He knows I’ll cut his balls off if he disobeys me. Mrs. Cano— Hmm, let’s not be so formal. Can I call you Bella?”

She glowered at him.

Marco shrugged. “Bella, as long as you cooperate, nothing bad will happen to your family.”

Marco released the children and strolled up to the woman’s husband. Now free, the girl snatched her brother’s wrist and dragged him to their mother. Bella grabbed both children by the front of their clothes and pulled them into her body, clutching them in her arms. With her eyes locked on Marco, she cupped the back of her children’s heads, smothering their faces in her bosom, shielding them from the monsters in the room.

Marco grabbed a lock of her husband’s hair, yanked his head up, and twisted it until their eyes met. He leaned over. Their noses almost touched. “And if I hear that you mistreated your wife because of this, I’ll skin you and then burn you alive.”

The husband’s swollen eyes found his wife’s for an instant. They darted away. His chin dropped back to his chest when Marco released his hair.

“So, Bella, what’s it going to be?” Marco said.

Bella’s eyes shifted back and forth between her husband and the head of the local drug cartel, settling on Marco. Tears flowed down both cheeks as her fingers tightened in her children’s hair.

“I’ll do it.”