Page 4 of Bound By A Promise

I knew that voice.

Tears filled my eyes as I reached for Miguel. “Mama.”

We both stayed immobile waiting for another sound. Only silence followed.

My stomach twisted as tears slid down my cheeks. “Is she…?” I couldn’t say the word. My mother couldn’t be dead. “You need to go to her.”

“Not until you’re safe.”

“Please.”

“Ven,”he said again, telling me to come.

I was torn between wanting to find my mother and fearing for my life. The pops of fireworks echoed from beyond the glass doors leading to our pool deck. Specks of light flashed in the darkness. In my heart I knew the noises and flashes weren’t coming from the fireworks of an early celebration. The sounds I heard and the pops of light I saw were gunshots.

Gunshots right outside the glass doors.

For a split second, I thought about Rei Roríguez, the son of the cartel’s leader, Jorge. Rei had been living in our pool house for a while. If he were here, he’d help. I then remembered that he wasn’t here but out on the Bella,el Patron’syacht.

The next few moments occurred in slow motion or maybe it was my lack of sufficient breathing. I couldn’t fill my lungs as my breaths came fast and shallow. Crouching low, Miguel led me toward the safety of our secret room. As he entered the combination of numbers into the keypad, the glass doors behind us shattered.

A monstrous explosion of glass and sound.

I covered my face from the flying shards.

Miguel pushed me down, landing on top of me as my home erupted in gunshots.

I looked up as Miguel’s fingers pressed the numbers. The keypad didn’t light.

“Where’s the generator?” Miguel cursed. His head turned in every direction. “Come.”

Crawling along the floor, he led me back into the lower level, toward the sauna. The all-wood room was smaller than those found in a spa. After opening the door, he used the flashlight on his phone to scan the room. “Go and hide under the benches,” he ordered.

Sitting up on my knees, I froze, taking in the empty room. My pulse beat in double time at the dark, secluded space. “What about Mama?”

“I’ll find her. Stay down and don’t make a sound.” He reached for my shoulders. “If someone enters, stay as quiet as possible.”

Holding back the bile percolating in my stomach, I did as Miguel said and again lowered myself to my stomach, crawling to the darkest corner and scooting beneath the lowest bench. I pulled my knees up to my chest and under the dark hoodie. Lying with my back against the wall, I tucked my arms inside my sweatshirt and stared through the darkness in the direction of the door.

Through the inky darkness, I heard the door close.

Seconds later the popping of gunfire erupted beyond my bubble. Even from the depths of the lower level, my body trembled with the rapid succession of bullets.

Reaching for my phone, I realized I’d left it plugged in back in my bedroom. I had no way to communicate, to call for help, or to even know the time of night. I also didn’t have a way to distinguish how much time passed.

When the barrage of bullets finally stopped, I lay perfectly still, afraid to breathe as I stared wide-eyed toward the door.

What would I do if it opened?

I wouldn’t allow myself to entertain the notion that the Russians had won this battle. That was a slippery slope of possibilities. If they had, what happened to my family? My parents? My brother? What would happen to me? Would they kill me or worse? I didn’t want to think about the possibilities that fell under the descriptive “worse.” However, as a nineteen-year-old woman who’d lived her entire life within the Roríguez cartel, I knew the heinous crimes that occurred in the name of war.

My thoughts went to Emerald Club, a private club in Kansas City operated by the KC Mafia. My sister was married to the KC capo. When I visited her last summer, she took me inside the club. It wasn’t during business hours, but I took in all that I could see. My family ran a similar private club in San Diego, Wanderland. While I’ve never been inside, I was aware of the array of businesses or services the club offered, just like at Emerald Club.

I’d listened to stories when the men thought they were unheard. My uncle Nicolas bragged about whores they’d acquired during a siege, whether Russian, Taiwanese, or Latinas from a rival cartel. Just because I was a virgin didn’t mean I didn’t know about sex. The thought turned my already-upset stomach. I’d rather be shot than made to work at a similar establishment for the Russian bratva. The chime of beeps from outside the sauna drew my attention away from my horrible thoughts to the door. I drew my knees closer to my chest, as if making myself smaller could save me from Russians if they were to enter.

Someone was trying to complete the combination in the secret room.

That meant the electricity was back on.