She honed the hatred eating her alive from the inside, gripped the leather handle tighter, and repeated the process of impaling the shrubbery. What more could she do? The question had kept her up more hours in the last three weeks than should be humanly possible. At some point she expected sleep to claim her for more than twenty minutes at a time. Yet, it never did. It came in exhausted intervals, always interrupted by one of two recurring dreams.
“Your brother will not be pleased,” her father pushed.
Only one of the two dreams had a right to her thoughts. She should wake, pillow soaked through with tears, imagining her daughter huddled in a ball at the far corner of a dark glass room she could see into, but never enter. She should wake screaming her daughter’s name with her arm outstretched, trying to reach her.
Whack! She pummeled another ball.
“Carmen Félix-Ruez, stop right now, or I’ll call Manny and have him slice sweet Sophia’s cheek.”
Carmen hated the name, but even more she hated the power her father, brother, and their minions held over her head like a guillotine. They toyed with the line, letting it loose a few inches, then a foot before hauling it back to the top to repeat the process. He wouldn’t hurt Sophia because they needed her daughter alive as leverage to keep her here. Christ knew it was the only reason she’d returned, the only reason she’d stayed as long as she had.
Though she knew it would cost her, Carmen pivoted and backhanded the ball as hard as she could, using her anger for fuel.
Whack!
The yellow sphere’s impact left a red misshapen circle on her father’s cheek. His wide hand flew to the painful stain. “You stupid bitch! Men!”
She smiled. He wouldn't try to take her alone. He’d learned over the years that the weapon he’d painstakingly crafted had a will of her own. She’d enjoyed teaching him and his men with their every bloody cut and broken bone. For a long time she’d been obedient. It upset Sophia to see bruises on her hands and face from the fights. But they’d taken her baby from her. The incentive to play nice had vanished with her daughter.
The ache of loss doubled her, but she hid the pain, morphing into a crouched athletic stance. One. Two. Three. Four. They skidded around the corner. “I see you remember,” she whispered. “One on one just isn’t fair for your boys, now is it?” She spoke English. She always spoke English to her father, brother, and the goons. It pissed them off because most couldn’t speak or understand a lick of what she said. It also separated her from them. Their atrocities. Their greed. Their family business. Their sins. And her. Her greed. And her sins.
Freeing her daughter from the people who shared her blood and spilled that of others took precedence over everything else. The space in her brain wouldn’t allow concern for all the other people the AFO hurt, as long as it wasn’t her daughter. Failure threatened her singular task. So how was she supposed to save all of Mexico from her family, a group she couldn’t even stop from hurting her and Sophia? If that made her greedy, then greedy she was. Unapologetically so. Hence, her sins and the other dream that disrupted her sleep. Her wake too.
“You stupid little whore. Why can’t you just follow directions? Be good for a change?” Her father shook his finger. “Raf and Saul, get her and lock her in the room. For three days, this time.”
Go home and run the business, Carlos had said. Right. More like go home and be ordered around by idiots. She didn’t want any part of the business, but being a prisoner in the place she’d grown up was getting old. Her poor father didn’t seem to recognize his flimsy grip on power. The men rubbing their fists for a chance at her took orders from her brother, even when locked behind yards of metal and concrete. Her old man was destined for a bullet from his son’s barrel. He just didn’t know it yet.
Perhaps, like her
“Your brother will not be pleased,” her father pushed.
Only one of the two dreams had a right to her thoughts. She should wake, pillow soaked through with tears, imagining her daughter huddled in a ball at the far corner of a dark glass room she could see into, but never enter. She should wake screaming her daughter’s name with her arm outstretched, trying to reach her.
Whack! She pummeled another ball.
“Carmen Félix-Ruez, stop right now, or I’ll call Manny and have him slice sweet Sophia’s cheek.”
Carmen hated the name, but even more she hated the power her father, brother, and their minions held over her head like a guillotine. They toyed with the line, letting it loose a few inches, then a foot before hauling it back to the top to repeat the process. He wouldn’t hurt Sophia because they needed her daughter alive as leverage to keep her here. Christ knew it was the only reason she’d returned, the only reason she’d stayed as long as she had.
Though she knew it would cost her, Carmen pivoted and backhanded the ball as hard as she could, using her anger for fuel.
Whack!
The yellow sphere’s impact left a red misshapen circle on her father’s cheek. His wide hand flew to the painful stain. “You stupid bitch! Men!”
She smiled. He wouldn't try to take her alone. He’d learned over the years that the weapon he’d painstakingly crafted had a will of her own. She’d enjoyed teaching him and his men with their every bloody cut and broken bone. For a long time she’d been obedient. It upset Sophia to see bruises on her hands and face from the fights. But they’d taken her baby from her. The incentive to play nice had vanished with her daughter.
The ache of loss doubled her, but she hid the pain, morphing into a crouched athletic stance. One. Two. Three. Four. They skidded around the corner. “I see you remember,” she whispered. “One on one just isn’t fair for your boys, now is it?” She spoke English. She always spoke English to her father, brother, and the goons. It pissed them off because most couldn’t speak or understand a lick of what she said. It also separated her from them. Their atrocities. Their greed. Their family business. Their sins. And her. Her greed. And her sins.
Freeing her daughter from the people who shared her blood and spilled that of others took precedence over everything else. The space in her brain wouldn’t allow concern for all the other people the AFO hurt, as long as it wasn’t her daughter. Failure threatened her singular task. So how was she supposed to save all of Mexico from her family, a group she couldn’t even stop from hurting her and Sophia? If that made her greedy, then greedy she was. Unapologetically so. Hence, her sins and the other dream that disrupted her sleep. Her wake too.
“You stupid little whore. Why can’t you just follow directions? Be good for a change?” Her father shook his finger. “Raf and Saul, get her and lock her in the room. For three days, this time.”
Go home and run the business, Carlos had said. Right. More like go home and be ordered around by idiots. She didn’t want any part of the business, but being a prisoner in the place she’d grown up was getting old. Her poor father didn’t seem to recognize his flimsy grip on power. The men rubbing their fists for a chance at her took orders from her brother, even when locked behind yards of metal and concrete. Her old man was destined for a bullet from his son’s barrel. He just didn’t know it yet.
Perhaps, like her
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