Page 22 of Trapped

Don’t you dare fucking cry, Thalia.

“Don’t fucking threaten me, Olivia. You may legally have one up on me, but you forget whose daughter I am. I will slaughter anyone who stands in my way.”

I spent years with a father who was the coldest man alive. He never showed me love or affection, but he taught me how to hold back emotions. He taught me to knock down anything that stood in the way, at any cost. Blood or not.

I can hear the whispers above me, from the basement where Patricio is keeping me. We had kept the secret from my father, but somewhere, our confidentiality had been compromised.

“Where’s the baby?!” Ivan yells.

“We already took care of it,” Patricio says. I get up and look down into the bassinet Patricio brought. Her tiny eyes look up at me. I pick her up and hold her close to my chest. I won’t let him take her from me. Tears form in my eyes. I send silent prayers to Silas. The arguing above gets louder. I rock her, desperate for her to remain calm until he leaves. Until we are safe.

I can’t lose her. I can’t let Ivan take her from me. I never had my mother’s love. I was a burden my mother had to carry, but this baby is my saving grace. She is the very reason I held it all together during those months of mourning for Silas. She is the light at the end of the tunnel. Hope when it all felt lost.

She falls back asleep, and I remain calm until the voices lower. When the basement doors open, I meet Olivia’s swollen red eyes.

“He’s gone,” she whispers. I can see the fear in her features. Her hand rests on her full-term stomach. In that moment, I see an escape. I see the only person who will help me find a way.

“Please don’t let them take my baby.”

This particular memory had been what led me to seek out Mr. Frigborg. He is the only curandero I trust. He has worked with my family for years. I stare down at the card placed before me. It’s the Empress card, flipped in reverse, of a pregnant woman in a pomegranate patterned dress sits upon her throne. I am familiar with the card as the archetype of motherhood. Mr. Frigborg stares at me, then back down to the spread, before flipping another card. The Lovers in reverse.

I came into the botanica today with a desperate need for a spiritual cleansing. I always find comfort in the rich smell of sage. After cleansing me, Mr. Frigborg suggested we read over the energy surrounding me. I need something to fight against the spiritual attacks on my soul. My panic attacks are increasing, and my nightmares are starting to feel real. Even with Los Bandoleros making no further attempt to kill me, I still feel like I am being attacked from all angles. I am constantly looking over my shoulder. Olivia and I haven’t spoken outside of conversations about or through the kids. My friends feel distant, and I feel utterly alone in the world—lonelier than I have ever been.

“There is someone from your past coming back,” Mr. Frigborg says, and I look at the spread of cards placed in front of me.

It has been a month, and I still haven’t seen or heard from my Prince Uncharming. At a recent meeting with Los Peregrinos, I searched everywhere for a familiar hand tattoo and came up empty in my attempts. Apparently, the man who saved me was named Ghost. It was fitting, given the circumstances. I am usually ghosting men, not the other way around.

“Not all that you perceived lost is gone, mija. Follow your heart, though. The cost of your lies will be the beginning of the end.” I look down at the last card he pulls and wince. The Tower card. A confirmation of my fears. Hell is hot on my heels.

In the month to follow, the hotel had gone from fall décor to the magical world of Christmas. I am a spooky bitch through and through, but I love the way the hotel lights up around Christmas time. Ariella is basically half elf, and her holiday cheer is driving me up the wall. Homegirl had Christmas music blasting the day after Halloween. Like a fucking psychopath.She brought in a fake tree and set it up in the corner, where she decorated it with pink and silver balls. It was offsetting my goth décor, but I couldn’t be a Grinch, so I let her do it.

Tonight is the company Christmas party, a night we take to honor the hardworking staff at Calavera Hotel. We go all out to let them know how much we appreciate them. It’s the one night of the year that I wear something other than black.

I take one last glance at myself in the largest coffin-shaped mirror in my bedroom. The red dress I settled on hits mid-thigh and outlines my curves. I had my tits done a few years ago, but this ass is all pan dulce. I love it. I run my hands over the velvet fabric. I still haven’t gotten over Prince Uncharming. His rough hands haunt my nightmares and fuel my sinful touches at night. I’ve come to the conclusion I’ll never see him again, but that hasn’t stopped me from craving him. Or is it just the experience? Either way, I am obsessed with the memory. I place a black choker around my neck and pause at the feel. Images of his barbaric thrusts fill my mind again.

He is every dark desire I hide from the world. I didn’t even tell my closest friends about my dark desires. Not even Alma, who spends her leisure time reading cochinadas. Sure, they know I am promiscuous, but they don’t need to know about my newfound clown kink. If it is a kink. I am still trying to figure out why it excites me so much. Maybe it’s the humiliation? I had searched that kink up, too. Turns out, I’m one of thousands of men and women whose brain connects pain with pleasure. It is the only explanation for why I had come as hard as I ever had on my knees in an unsanitary bathroom.

His brutal force pushed me down a high cliff, and I am still free-falling from it. There was sanctuary there in that place where I could be used by someone rather than needed. The men I date respect, or more like fear, my family. They see me as the golden ticket to my family’s wealth. They would never unleash that kind of brutality on me for the simple fear of losing the golden ticket. They would never stare down the barrel of my gun the way he had.

“Wow.” I hear the small voice behind me and turn to see Lucia. She’s in a plaid dress, and her hair is curled and styled half up.

“Lucia. Your hair looks so cute.” She tilts her head to the side and shrugs her shoulder.

“Ariella did it.” Of course she did. Lucia can’t resist taking the stab at my ego. I used to be her favorite person, but like everyone else in this family, I am stumbling over meeting her expectations.

“Well, she did a very good job! Peppa Pig ain’t got shit on you, girl!” She laughs, and I take her hand. Olivia and Luca meet us in the living room, and we all quietly head to the party.

For once, I won’t be late, and that’s only because I have to prove to Olivia I can be responsible. Nothing fuels me more than someone doubting my competence. The same family that thinks I’m too reckless to raise a child had no problem handing me anassault rifle at twelve years old. I will prove to them that I can do this.

I’m not that little girl anymore. I am far from being that typical suburban mom, but I know where my heart is. I knew it the moment I saw my newborn baby. I knew it even the moment I agreed to this arrangement. I knew I would eventually tell her I was her mother.

Ariella meets us in the foyer, and Lucia lets go of my hand and chases Guapo into the event room.

“Really?” I say, looking at Guapo. She’s dressed him in a grinch costume for dogs.

“Don’t be a hater!” Ariella says.

“I got you something,” I say, and Ariella’s eyes light up when I pull out the gift and extend it toward her.

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