“I’m good, Adrian.”
I repeat this to myself as I am used to saying it. I move the backpack over and place it by my feet. Then I remove the Glock from my back waistband and put it on my leg facing the door.
All my training when I was younger comes back on instinct. The summers I spent with my family in Mexico were among my cousins, who were all taught survival tactics through playful scenarios. My dad was against us shooting guns when they wanted to start at such a young age. Prior to Evie’s assault, we didn’t continue with self-defense classes either.
Ultimately, keeping us away from the cartel life didn’t help my mom. They all died in that fire. They left a life they wanted no part of and kept Evie and me away because they feared what it would do to us—put us in possible danger.
It didn’t work out for any of us in the end, but maybe that is my fault. I’m the one who put us in danger. Is there really anyone else to blame? Could there be? Shaking my head at the thought of it being anyone else’s fault but mine, I wipe the sweat off my brow with my sleeve. I gather up my long, blond hair and put it up in a high ponytail, finally getting it out of my face. I was never allowed to put my hair up with Julian. This act, albeit small, feels like a big FU in regaining my independence.
All these random thoughts go through my mind. I must have been singing one of my favorite songs, “From the Pinnacle to the Pit” by Ghost. Talk about fucking inspiration right there.
That’s when I notice my cousin’s eyes assessing me.
I stop singing and quickly feel awkward at the exchange. I look briefly at Adrian and glance around, avoiding a conversation now; however, he doesn’t comment on what he sees, and I am thankful for the silence. When it becomes too much to bear, I feel the need to fill it. I rub my sweaty hand up and down my pant legs, rocking my gun back and forth.
“I am just glad that it is over,” I say and peek over at Adrian when he doesn’t respond.
He tilts his head as if trying to decipher if I am joking about our situation.
I hold his stare. “What is it?”
He shakes his head. “Oh, my sweet cousin. “This”—he lifts his hand with a dramatic flair—“is just the beginning.”
CHAPTER 8
Emma
The lull of the rough terrain takes my mind off my cousin’s words. I can’t believe I didn’t realize it. Julian will never stop trying to get me back. This is my life now. I just hope Uncle Andrés has a plan. I can’t be retaken by him. I’d rather die.
In what seems like an eternity, the sound of brush swiping along the van’s sides is no longer heard, nor is the feeling of being thrown about in the truck along the bumpy path. The van moves around a curve, and the road smoothes underneath the tires. We stop momentarily to hear an electric gate opening automatically as we proceed down a lengthy driveway. I might not be able to see where we are going, but I have been around rural Texas enough to know what the landscape looks like without having to see it.
The surrounding ranches have been owned by the same families for generations. Some were offered land grants when Texas was being settled and was still a part of Mexico. Although we are in a different country now, I don’t feel far from home. Maybe it’s because I’m not.
There is no light leading the way. This is a private road that only people familiar with it know how to navigate. After drivinganother few minutes or so, we start to slow down. I hear the driver and another person speaking in Spanish. I wish I could look out, but the van boasts no view from back here.
I hear the sound of boots on the ground as the doors to the van open. I am staring at a man dressed in tactical gear. He surveys the back of the van and nods at Adrian. He closes the van door and taps it twice. The van continues through the iron gates, where we once again stop.
This time, when the door opens, I am helped out of the van by more armed men. I stand and immediately catalog my surroundings. The fountain in the middle of the circular drive is out of place. The easy fall of the water cascading down into the clear pool provides a displaced sense of tranquility.
Adrian jumps out of the van with our backpacks and throws one at me, returning my thoughts to the gravity of my situation. “Come on, cousin. Let's get you settled in.”
I follow Adrian's steps to a spectacular Spanish colonial that boasts a beautiful balcony off the second floor with two considerably large additions. The stucco exterior and the clay-tiled roof have an earthy look that suits the desert-like climate of Mexico. The stucco exterior with cinder block framing provides a cooling element that helps insulate the house from the sun’s relentless rays. It truly is breathtaking.
We open the grand doors and take in the expanse of Saltillo tiles encompassing the entire home, sealed in a traditional, high-polished finish. So much careful attention was paid to every nook and cranny in this home, and it is apparent, even at first glance, the care someone took to make this a home. I should know because it isn’t my first time in this house. Tia Cecilia died from cancer several years ago, but her memory still lingers in the home through her decor. Portraits on the walls tell a story of our family throughout the years—some I have missed out on because of my parents’ choices.
I grab the necklace around my neck, a gift for my twelfth birthday, remembering my first love again—a wave in a circle with my birthstone, an emerald. As I touch it, I reflect on the boy who promised me a future. We were both young and still filled with the innocence of adolescence. The wave reminds me that I can change the course and fight any challenges in my life. My birthstone evokes themes of rebirth and renewal. Like the changing tides, the emerald is a reminder that as the flowers bloom in the spring, they are reborn again, new and perfect. He also stared into my eyes, the color of emeralds, and said the color was fitting. Goose bumps scatter around my neck and arms at the thoughts elicited about Eduardo, despite it being so many years ago.
Rubbing my arms back and forth, I shudder at the feeling of loss. Except this year, Evie won’t be reborn. We won’t celebrate a birthday together. Instead, this year reminds me of what was taken from me.
My twin.
My parents.
There isn’t a day that I don’t feel Evie with me. I thought that if she died, I would feel her absence, but it’s as if she is still alive. She is protecting me, watching me.
I look up at the staircase that leads up to the bedrooms. I can hear children’s voices—whispers of secrets between Evie and me as we slide down the banisters chased by Eduardo.
I always think about Eduardo, my first crush, and wonder what he is doing now. Is he still working for his family on the west coast of Mexico? When crime was at an all-time high within the cartel families, my mom decided to keep us away from her family out of an abundance of caution. But that wasn’t the only reason. That was the last time I saw Eduardo. I guess he is in Houston now—a “business owner” of sorts.