Karina Halle - Dirty Angels

“What is the knife for?” she croaked.

“You’ll find out after,” I said. “It is for your husband. For your Salvador.” I stepped to the side and waved my arm at the camera. “And this is also for him.”

I eyed The Doctor who was standing behind her now, duct tape in hand. He quickly ripped off a piece and placed it over those lips while Este dimmed the lights in the room. I went behind the video camera and focused the light on her. She looked like a ghost, lit up against the darkness. So hauntingly dramatic.

I cleared my throat and hit record on the camera. “This is Luisa Reyes,” I said, making sure my words were clear enough for the recording. “Former beauty queen of the Baja State and property of Salvador Reyes. Salvador, we have your wife, and we have a long list of demands—demands which I know you can meet. I expect full cooperation in this matter or she dies in the next seven days. If she’s lucky. I’ll give you some time to think about what you’re willing to give up for her. Then we’ll be contacting you. Goodbye.”

At that, I switched off the camera light and hit stop. The room remained dim. It was romantic.

“I hope your husband checks his emails often,” I told her, picking up the knife. “It would be a shame to have to put this on YouTube.”

I walked over to her and then held up the knife, making sure she could see it well. “I think it’s only going to hurt the first time,” I said truthfully, hoping that would make her feel better about what was going to happen. It was the only courtesy I could offer.

While Franco held her still, I ordered Este to rip apart her blouse and push her down, exposing her back. That’s when she passed out, her chin down to her chest, her shoulders slumping.

In an instant, The Doctor had a syringe in his hand, filled with lidocaine, ready to be injected into her heart. “Shall I keep her awake?”

I quickly shook my head. “No. I’ll grant her this mercy.” After all, she never asked for this. I guess it wouldn’t hurt the first time after all.

Only the second.

With careful precision I carved the letter J into her shoulder blade. It bled, bright crimson on her creamy skin, but only a little—the cut was deep enough to leave a light scar but not so deep to cause damage.

I wasn’t a savage.

Luisa

When I woke up, I could have sworn for one moment I was back at my old house in San Jose del Cabo. Something about the way the light slanted in through the window and onto my face.

For that one little moment I was happy again.

It only took me a second though to realize that I couldn’t have been farther from home. The events from last night came flooding into my mind like rancid garbage. I’d finally done it. I’d finally escaped.

And I’d only gotten a few minutes away before I was captured.

By Javier Bernal.

I groaned quietly, afraid that I wasn’t alone, and opened my eyes wider, trying to take in what I could. To my surprise, I wasn’t locked up in some cage in the dingy basement. Instead I was lying under the thin covers of a soft bed in what looked like a bedroom. There was one bare window from which the light streamed through, and through a door I got a glimpse of a dark bathroom. The rest of the room was empty, the walls covered with faded, yellowing wallpaper.

Once I realized I was alone, I slowly sat up in the bed. I was wearing a man’s linen shirt that smelled like spicy tea. The smell hit me like a hammer and I suddenly wished I was naked. To be undressed was one thing, but the fact that I was dressed again was another, something far more intimate than I wanted to think about.

Suddenly the image of a blade flashed through my mind. I gasped, and in a panic, started feeling over every inch of my body, making sure everything was intact.

As far as I could tell, I was in one piece. But when I moved, the shirt stretched over my back and made my skin sting. I felt along my shoulder blade and winced. There was a curved cut there, just in that one spot. Why? What were they trying to do?

I stared down at my hands, turning them over, studying them. I needed to ground myself, to bring myself into this new reality. These were my hands and I was still Luisa Chavez. I was free from Salvador but imprisoned by another danger.

And yet, as I sat there on that bed in that small room with the sunlit walls, in some house in some location I’d probably never learn, I didn’t feel any fear. I had no idea what they were going to do to me. Perhaps I should have been more afraid. I was just … sad. Sad that my life had to go this way, sad that I could never catch a break. Sad that I’d probably never see my parents again.

I swallowed painfully. I knew Javier would kill me. That was what he did, just as it was what Sal did. There was no difference between the men in that regard. I knew that Sal would never do what Javier was going to ask of him; I wasn’t important enough to negotiate for. He’d just find another woman to rape, another woman to hit, to kick, to beat on a daily basis.

The last seven weeks had been pure, unadulterated hell. Now I was in another hell, but this time around I couldn’t find the energy to dance with fear.

But, perhaps I could find the energy to escape once again. I looked around the room, searching for cameras. Salvador had cameras in every room of our house, and I had no doubt that Javier or one of his men were watching my every move. Still, I couldn’t see them, though that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

I carefully got out of bed, feeling sore all over, and checked out the bathroom. It was plain, just a toilet and sink and one roll of toilet paper. I walked over to the window. There wasn’t anything except forest for miles. It looked a lot like the woods surrounding Salvador’s, which made me wonder if we were still in the Sierra Madre Occidental. Thought it was blindingly sunny, there were dark grey clouds hanging above distant green peaks.

There was a knock at the door and I quickly spun around. My instincts told me to cover myself up—the linen shirt barely covered my underwear—and to grab the nearest weapon. There was nothing I could do for either of those. I was practically indecent and completely defenseless.

The knock came again, followed by the sound of the door being unlocked. Why didn’t they just come inside the room, why put up the faux-polite pretenses? If they were doing it to confuse me, it was working.

I waited, my breath in my mouth, and watched the doorknob. When nothing happened, I swallowed my courage and walked toward the door. With my hand on the knob I waited a beat before flinging the door open.

Standing on the other side was a man holding a tray of food and a pot of coffee. I recognized him from last night, I think his name was Esteban. The one who didn’t hit me in the face, though possibly the one who carved something into my back.

He smiled at me, a lopsided grin that made him look innocent even though he was anything but. His hair had a bit of a curl to it, brown with lighter streaks, which reminded me of some of the surfer hippies we had in Los Cabos. He was even dressed like them—board shorts and a wife-beater tank top that showed off his muscles. The only thing that reminded me of his line of business was the scarring on the side of his face. However, it didn’t make him ugly, just dangerous. It kept me on my toes.

I eyed the tray in his hand with suspicion. “What is this?”

“Your breakfast,” he said, nodding down at it. “Tortilla, eggs, salsa, fresh mango juice. Coffee.”

“All laced with drugs to knock me out,” I said, not trusting him for a second.

His smile straightened out, looking playfully amused. “You’re free to do whatever you want with the food. Eat it, don’t eat, we really don’t care. We just want to make sure we’re a good host.”