Beautiful Broken Promises(10)

“That’s not my job. I pay people to do that shit for me!”

Just then his eyes lit up as he looked over my shoulder, and I quickly spun to the left. Not fast enough though because instantly I felt a piercing, cold pain slice into my shoulder blade. As the moron behind me pulled his knife out swiftly, the sharp, biting pain began to take over the entire right side of my body.

I stumbled against the partition and watched as the guy’s body was suddenly slammed into the wall. Mateo landed hard on top of Flores’ not-so-little minion and with one quick jab, it was lights out for the lackey. Flores began to laugh wickedly behind me, and I scrambled to grab a hold of his shirt before he could even think about escaping.

The moment I got a hand on him, the Mexican Federal Police, dressed in all-black riot gear, surrounded us. I clutched Flores but my right hand couldn’t grasp anymore—it felt like there were needles shooting up my arm. I reached with my left hand and held on to his throat with everything I had left in me.

“Where. Is. She?” I bit out.

“Se?or Flores,” one of the officers called through his face shield. He grabbed Flores by the arms and pinned them behind his back roughly. I saw a brief look of horror cross Flores’ face as he realized the complexity of his situation, but when he turned toward me again, his pure evil smirk was firmly back in place on his ugly mug.

There was a loud ringing in my ears and the thought crossed my mind that if I had been stabbed, I should probably be feeling more pain than I was right now. Classic symptom of shock. I pushed through because there was no telling if or when I would ever see Flores again. They would hide him away in a Mexican prison, or he would pay his way out and I might never find him.

I stood eye-to-eye with him and pulled the last hope I had out of my pocket. With my left hand shaking, I held the picture up to his face. The officer continued to wrestle Flores backward but I pressed on. I felt a coldness begin to creep over my skin, and I couldn’t seem to catch a long enough breath.

“Where is she?” I tried to shout over the high-pitch drumming in my temples. He satisfied me for a moment by actually glancing at the old, worn photograph in my quaking palm. His lips turned up and my stomach dropped to my feet.

The officer finally tugged Flores to an open doorway and right before he was jerked outside, Flores uttered, “Check the bottom of the Sea of Cortez.”

My vision darkened as if a camera shutter had snapped shut, and the last thing I heard was a string of curse words flying out of Mateo’s mouth.





- THREE -

After hitting the cold, concrete floor of the grimy warehouse, all I could remember were flashes of moments that happened afterward.

Mateo dragging me out to his car.

A bumpy drive that lasted an ungodly amount of time.

Pain. So much pain.

Stopping to re-wrap my shoulder.

Crossing the border without looking suspicious.

Hospitals.

Mateo trying to explain why I had a stab wound to the doctors.

My eyes were groggy and my head felt fuzzy. I tried to put all of the pieces together and remember how I got here, even if I didn’t know where here was exactly. The warm sun filtered in through the sheer curtains in what looked like a hotel room and I guessed it was late morning, but hell if I knew. I pushed to sit up and pain shot from my right shoulder blade up into my neck, radiating down through my toes.

“Agggh!”

Beads of sweat broke out across my forehead, and the intensity of the pain caused me to suck air in and out raggedly. I pushed up with my left hand so I could throw my legs over the side of the bed. I had to get up before my bladder screamed any louder. My right arm was in a sling that I didn’t remember putting on. The bedroom door swung open and Mateo walked in carrying a tray.

“Good morning, sunshine. They gave your ass so many drugs, I was wondering if they’d gone ahead and finished you off themselves,” he said with a little bit too much pep in his voice.

“I need more,” I rasped out. My throat felt like it had been rubbed raw with sandpaper. “Fuck... my throat.” I tried to swallow, but it felt as if I had swallowed a handful of gravel.

“Dude, I’ll bet it hurts. You were snoring so damn loud, it sounded like there was a chainsaw in the next room.” He placed a tray of water, orange juice, and fruit in front of me. “You can have more meds after you call Charlie. He’s been blowing up your phone.”

I finally shoved off the bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. My feet caught on the bottom of my pants, and I looked down to see pajamas I know I didn’t own.