Page 13 of Trapped

“I wanted to discuss some of your assets left behind from your late husband. Are you aware you have over twelve thousandacres in Tamaulipas?” He hands me a piece of paper.Here we go.

A knot forms in my chest when I see the land he is talking about. It belongs to the Macias family, and I had inherited a small portion of it when Silas was pronounced dead. This is the property my father wanted me to hand over to him. In my defiance, I held off on claiming anything Silas had left behind. It was my first step in reclaiming the power my father had taken from me. I stare at the blueprint on the paper. Fellipe clears his throat.

“I have a client willing to pay you triple the price for the land.”

I continue to skim over the paper, but all the letters are a blur to me. Maybe this is a sign.

“What are your client’s plans for the land?” I ask.

“At the moment, they wish to restore the home and fertilize the land with crops and animals. They want to help feed the local homeless population.”

I’ve never even seen the property, so I’m not sure what it looks like. I’ve waited a few years to see if Josefina would turn up to claim the land, but she never did. The property is like a thorn in my side. I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want or need it, but I also can’t let it go.

A few years ago, I purchased a plane ticket but canceled the trip last minute. The land is not mine. I have no right to it, but I also know there is one person out there who does have the right to it, and it will one day be her decision whether or not she wants it.

“To be honest, Mr. Gallardo, I haven’t seen the property for myself, so I would rather make a trip out to see it first before I make a big decision like this.”

“Of course. I just know the offer is there.” I nod and lean forward. His eyes drop to my cleavage briefly before finding my narrowed eyes.

“How did your client find out about the property?”

“I didn’t ask, but I would be willing to find out. We could discuss it over dinner?” He stands up and offers another firm handshake before placing a business card on my desk. I lean back in my chair, starting the rocking motion. The more I feel like these threats are closing in on me, the more unsettled I become. I am tired of being strong. I want to rest. I want someone to take care of me for a change. A light knock comes to the door.

“Come in.” A smile grows when I see my friend step in.

“Who was that?” Alma says. She stares at the door, then wiggles her eyebrows at me.

“Some hot shot investor, trying to wine and dine me.” I flip Fellipe’s business card in my fingers. Her expression turns grave as she looks down at the small box in her hands.

“Here. I didn’t want to say anything, but this was sent for you today,” she mutters. I grab the small box, examining it. It is a small, black coffin-shaped box tied shut with a red ribbon. Alma closes her eyes as I remove the ribbon and open the box. Inside, I find a dismembered finger along with a small rolled up note.

The next man who puts his hands on you will lose more than a finger. I don’t make threats, diablita, I make promises.

I watch as César Velarde struggles to make sense of his surroundings before hopping back onto my bike. Dust picks up, and he fades with it in my rearview mirror. Not my problem anymore. I’m not a religious man, but I know, somewhere, it is biblically encouraged to kill any man who touches your wife. Even death may not be enough for me to feel satisfied. They need to be tortured. Left in the middle of nowhere, with a missing finger and pumped with Xylazine.

Thalia will not be going on any more dates. I’ll make sure of that. Guilt is not an emotion I feel. Along with sympathy or compassion. Life has dealt me a hand that makes me keen to my own carnal urges. Urges that are led by lust and override any rational emotion. With that animalistic urge comes territorialism. Since the day I saw Thalia again, I knew she didn’t belong anywhere else but by my side. She is mine. I can’t walk away. Not this time. Not ever. Even the devil herself has a weakness, and I am willing to wage wars just to bring her to her knees.

I pull out my phone and check the live feed in her office. Her roasting of César’s sexual potency seemed worse than anything I had done to him. I listen in on the conversation as a violent green cloud takes form in my mind. Even if the sex wasn’t good, it was sex all the same. A part of her that he got to enjoy, even if she didn’t. Unamused with her descriptive recounting to her cousin, I shut the phone off. While she’s talking with the youngest of the Reyes siblings, I am on my way to meet with the older two. I’ve known Adan and Axel Reyes since we were kids. Their father is my father’s second in command and my godfather.

I start my bike and ride until I reach the construction site. I stop at the front entrance, where other members of Los Peregrinos are waiting with Axel and Adan. Axel is in a suit, and it’s the only way I can tell him apart from Adan, who opts for a black hoodie and sneakers.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Cassiel says. He’s sitting on his bike, smoking a cigarette, while the other men are talking behind him.

“You’re one to talk, motherfucker,” I grumble before making my way to the construction site, where Axel and Adan are talking to Chucho Morales. When I enter the site, my men step in line behind me. Next to Chucho stands his son. I recognize the motherfucker from Thalia’s inner crew. He’s the same asshole who brought her home the night of her birthday party. I spare him, since he has no suspicious nickname in her phone.

“Ghost, this is Chucho and Osiel Morales,” Axel says, careful to use my street name. Ghost is the name I go by in this world. It keeps my identity out of the wrong mouths and my business operating without exposure to myleisure activities. Morales Construction was our best option when it came to finding a construction company that would turn a blind eye to said leisure activities.

“Ghost, right?” Osiel says, and I nod. I take his offered hand and shake it.

“That’s Leather Face out front, and this is Jasper, Nero, and Louie.” I point to each of my crew members as I introduce them to the two men.

None of the Arizona members had been thrilled about moving, but they are loyal to Cassiel and me. When we opted to take over Houston and move in on the Bandoleros territory, they were the first to volunteer. They were willing to wait for the new clubhouse to be built, and Axel found them jobs until we could recruit more members and traffic more guns.

Once Chucho is done going over the blueprint for the new clubhouse and the timeline of the construction, I walk back to my bike where the psycho fuck, Axel, waits for me.

“I never thought I’d see the day you would be back in Houston,” Axel says as he circles the back of my bike, a slow grin stretching his lips.

“¿Que quieres güey?” I don’t have the patience for Axel’s mind-fucks today. I have to lead a cartel with this man the same way our fathers before us had worked together—one of us in the States, while the other oversees Tamaulipas.

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