Kimberly Lauren - Beautiful Broken Promises

“ Mierda ! This could be a raid. We gotta get out here,” Mateo shouted up to me. “I’m not spending the night en la cárcel while we wait for Charlie to bail our asses out. My car, ahora !” When Mateo was stressed, he began to speak Spanglish, switching back and forth between the two languages. He probably didn’t even know he did it.

But despite his warning and demand, I didn’t come all the way out to this nasty hellhole after not seeing or hearing anything from Flores for over a year to lose my chance again. I just couldn’t go another year. It had to end and it needed to be tonight.

I spotted Flores’ security detail huddled together at the back west corner of the wide-open space. They frowned at one another while tapping their earpieces frantically. If their frequency was catching interference, then it was highly likely that we were in the middle of a police raid.

Without a second thought, I launched my legs over the top rope of the ring and jumped to the floor.

“LANE, DON’T!” Mateo shouted in anger from behind me. So much for not using my real name.

I feverishly began ripping the wraps from my hand, knowing I would need the full use of my fingers. The first wrap was hard to get loose, but I continued to remove it while I pushed my way through the shoving bodies. Once my right hand was fully freed, I began working on the left, but the majority of my attention was focused on finding Flores. More loud pops and bangs continued to filter into the warehouse. Women were screaming and the crowd became more frenzied by the moment.

When I reached his entourage, his balding, ugly ass was nowhere to be found. I pushed right through the middle of them and jumped on my toes to peer over their heads. Nothing. My instincts told me to search the open space again, and just before he cleared the doorway, I spotted the tail end of his navy suit jacket dodging around the corner. Hell, if he wanted to separate himself from his own protection and take off solo, that only made my job easier.

With singular focus, I sprinted forward. People fell and stumbled around me, but there was no time for apologies. I wasn’t sorry anyway.

It didn’t take long for me to catch up with him. He was a smart son of a bitch and had been able to elude me for years, but now that I had the opportunity to get my hands on him, there was no denying that he was the weaker opponent. Especially since I still had the fight from earlier coursing through my veins.

I reached forward to grab the collar of his jacket. My right hand was free, but I had a long stream of the wrap from my left hand trailing down to the floor. I didn’t have time to mess with it before I dragged him backward and flung him onto the ground. He grunted, but other than that, I didn’t hear another peep from him.

“Where is she?” I growled, crouching down over his frail body and holding his throat in a tight clench.

“No hablo inglés,” he gasped. His tiny smirk lit a fire within me and I squeezed harder.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that, Flores.” I wanted him to understand that I knew exactly who he was, but there wasn’t time for this bullshit. “Where is she?” I roared.

“Who the fuck are you talking about, asshole?” he bit out in a raspy voice. His English was good and only carried a hint of his accent.

It hit me then that he had no idea who I was. I couldn’t help but throw my head back and laugh in extreme frustration. I could understand that he never recognized me in the ring, but up close and personal like this? He should have fucking known.

“Amateur! You’re a fucking amateur,” I yelled. “Don’t you know to keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye out for the people whose lives you destroy?”

“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.

“Señor 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.

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.