Page 5 of Trapped

I laugh internally when I look down at the picture of kefirinside Alma’s favorite iced coffee mug. Alma and Mireya are my best friends. We haven’t had much time to hang out like we used to, with Mireya being pregnant and Alma busy with her new position as the head of housekeeping at Calavera Hotels. Mireya is soon to be my new sister-in-law, and it was her upcoming pregnancy and engagement to my brother that had forced Alma into finding a new roommate. A roommate who was obsessed with gut health.

Mireya: Still not as gross as Thalia eating jalapeños and ice cream. (vomit emoji)

Thalia: Bitch, please, I saw you dip dill pickle chips into chocolate pudding the other day.

Alma: Guácala. (vomit emoji times three.)

Mireya: I’m carrying your nephew. He made me do it.

Alma: I hate you, Mireya, for leaving me with this weirdo. Yesterday, she showed me how much red dye 40 was in all my favorite foods. I am ruined for eating anything delicious now.

Thalia: You know what doesn’t have red dye 40? (egg plant emoji, eggplant emoji, tongue emoji)

Alma: Why do you always got to be so nasty?

Thalia: You hoes love me.

Mireya: We do.

Alma: Yes, bitch, you know we do! What’s the plan for your birthday?

My birthday is coming up, and I have no shame in admitting I look forward to the yearly celebration. Since I was born, Patricio has thrown extravagant parties for me on his large estate. There is always good food, live entertainment, and lots of tequila.

I look forward to October so much because I hate September. September is a sad month for me. It was the month I got married, and usually the month I spiral out of control with my drinking and random hookups. I read once that our bodies recognize anniversary trauma because the brain stores painful memories. Fuck my brain for tormenting me.

I’ve lived through enough Septembers to just expect the worst. I let it hit me and take me under like a large wave. I don’t even try to run from it. I am ready for it to take me out, so I just crash into it full force. This year feels different, though. I haven’t even circled September sixteenthwith a bright red sharpie on my calendar. I have been so focused on these threats that September sixteenth had come and gone. Am I starting to forget him? Is his memory fading? The thought curdles my insides.

October first is around the corner. My birthday always helps me revamp myself and kick my ass into forward motion. It is also the day I would receive the bouquet of white lilies. The mysterious flowers no one ever admits to getting for me, but they cheer me up all the same. Every year, I receive them, and every year, I remind myself that everything is going to be okay.

My birthday is the kick-start of my favorite time of year for Calavera Hotels. I love the chaos of the hotel when the two-week-long festivities of Halloween and Dia de Los Muertosconsume all our energy. The hotel is packed with guests; some making reservations years in advance so they can see the show. We always have top-notch entertainers and local celebrities who would join in on the celebration. My uncle and event coordinator, Enrique, always outdoes himself, but this year, he’s also hosting Doña Clara’s eldest daughter, Beatriz’s, wedding. The stress of it all is starting to show.

Enrique and I have a love-hate relationship. I am the only Consuelo who doesn’t take his shit. He is bossy and dramatic, but I am bossier and more dramatic. Our passive aggressive banter makes others uncomfortable, but it is how we operate. All my tios are different, and my relationship with each of them is unique. Patricio is like a father to me, and that means he overlooks some of my behaviors. Olivia feels responsible for my safety, and my other aunt, Ariella’s mother, had mentored me from afar on holding my position, as a female in the cartel world. But Enrique calls me out on my shit. I need that as much as I need love. Pigs would fly before I admit that out loud to him, though.

“The two of you need to hold your temper,” Patricio says, pulling me from my thoughts. I had zoned out during the trip and forgotten we had business to address at the Gonzalez mansion. Remy Gonzalez was the new head of the Houston Cartel Connect. His father, who had held the previous title of Kingpin, had recently passed away, and Remy was already making changes to how we operate.

“I still don’t think we can trust Los Peregrinos,” Adrian says.

Remy had made an alliance with Los Peregrinos, a motorcycle gang outside of Arizona that was expanding their chapter in Houston. This decision was out of our control, and it would be distasteful to question Remy’s authority this early in his new position. Los Peregrinos had done nothing directly to us, but Adrian is concerned about Cassiel, our half brother, whowas involved with the Motorcycle group. Remy reassured us he would not be present at today’s meeting.

“How else are we going to get the guns through Arizona and up into the Pacific Northwest?” Patricio asks.

Adrian huffs, and I roll my eyes.Here we go again.The way Enrique and I bump heads is the same way Adrian and Patricio do. Just like me, Adrian knows everything, and questioning him only draws out his control issues. Or, as I like to call them, our daddy issues.

Whether I agree with Adrian was beyond the point. We have no other options. We need the motorcycle gang, and all its chapters spread out over the West Coast, if we are going to be successful in trafficking guns up through Canada. Not to mention their rival motorcycle gang, Los Bandoleros, initiated a war with us after we took over their gun trade with the Russians. We need this alliance. We need the extra protection.

The car stops and we step out of the limo. Adrian, Patricio, and I represent the Consuelo family. Other family representatives make their way into the large mansion. Conejo, Patricio’s right-hand man and one of the most respected hitmen in this business, meets us at the entrance.

“Los Peregrinos are already inside,” he says as he greets us.

“They call the leader Leather Face. He has a large scar that runs from his right temple to the corner of his lip. Don’t stare,” he continues, and the three of them look at me. I roll my eyes in response and take the lead to the front door.

When we enter the meeting room, the men stand to greet us. I greet the familiar faces first before I greet the strangers in the room. Conejo underplayed the scar on Leather Face. I do my best not to stare, but it is thick and covers half of his face. His green eyes hold mine as he firmly shakes my hand. I drop it and extend it to the man next to him.

“La Viuda,” the man whispers and kisses my hand.The black widow.

It is the name I am known by here. In the cartel world. The name I had earned upon my return to Houston. It is a name used to pity me after my father slaughtered the Macias family, my husband included. I let the name carry me through my heartbreak. My grief morphed into my need for blood. I take out every name I am given and leave my mark with every kill. My signature mark: cutting off all my victims’ genitals and leaving them displayed in the most grotesque ways at the crime scene. It is how I create respect in this male dominated world.

I continue to greet everyone and sit beside Patricio. I learn the man who kissed my hand is named Jasper. Los Peregrinos are doing some reconstruction with their members and working to build a new clubhouse to house the guns. Jasper speaks like a true leader, and I am convinced that if we play our cards right, the alliance will benefit both sides should we expand our business past gun trade.

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