Page 46 of Trapped

“No one can hurt you, bruja. In the real world or in your dreams, because I will kill anyone who tries to take you from me.” He speaks in a mumble, but I make out every word before he falls back asleep. I nuzzle my head into his chest. I breathe in his gunpowder and sandalwood scent like it’s a calming essential oil. When I shut my eyes again, I don’t see Ivan. I see midnight black eyes and the promise of protection.

Silas didn’t take off first thing in the morning like he had been doing the last few days. It is that awkward week between Christmas and New Years, and while I had kept myself entertained with Ale and the horses, Silas woke up and decided today will be the day he teaches me to drive. I stand by the old Chevy truck and stare at it. The green paint is chipping, and the tires are covered in mud. I look down at my new Louboutin boots and sigh.

“I like the boots,” Silas says from behind me.

He’s wearing a black shirt and another pair of 501s that sit tight on his ass. The man looks sexy in anything he puts on. He could wear anything and pull it off—cowboy hats, business suits, and especially a leather vest with a clown mask.

Like me, Silas has a range of looks. I like to think we are both fashionable people, but I’m starting to think we just share the same mental illness.

“It’s a new look I’m trying,” I say. I had ditched the chic dresses and opted for shorts, a crop top, and the boots Ale gotme for Christmas.

“Paisa Goth… I like it.” His smile is flirtatious, and a few butterflies escape from the pits of hell in my stomach.Damn them.

He opens the passenger door for me and I slide into the bench seat. I stay close to the door, keeping my distance from Silas. We don’t drive far from the ranch when we stop on an abandoned dirt road. If Silas wanted to hide my body, I am sure this is the place he’d bring me. It is nothing but bare land for miles. Silas stops the engine and hops out. He motions for me to take my place behind the wheel.

Trying to pay attention to his brief driving lecture is hard when his entire presence is a distraction. I can’t hear the words when I keep staring at his mouth. His full lips.Get it together, Thalia.I continue to nod my head like I understand him. I’m lost in the way his hand hovers over mine. Something about the clutch, first gear, and the break. He might as well be speaking a foreign language. Jesus Christ, why does he smell so good? Somehow, I manage to start the damn truck, but don’t ask me how.

“Thalia! Push down on the brake,” he shouts, and I push down, trying to remember what he told me. It takes me an hour to focus on what I’m doing. A few times, after stopping, I forgot to set the brake, and the truck started rolling backward. But I finally figured out the gears.

“I did it!” I scream in excitement.

“You did it,” he says, with an ear to ear smile plastered to his face. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile that wide. It’s a domino effect, and we both stand there, smiling at each other.

Silas is convinced I am ready to drive into the closest city, Tampico. Since I’ve spent most of my time on the ranch, Silas has to give me directions. That’s when our wide smiles turn into a swirl of profanities, considering Silas uses dumb ass words, like south and west, to navigate. When we finally make it toTampico, Silas takes me to La Plaza de Armas. There are a ton of vendors spread out, and it’s packed with people.

Silas makes a few calls, and it’s not long before men in armed attire surround us. His bodyguards stay distanced, but are spread throughout the plaza. People stare, but they don’t say anything. I forget that, while I am a part of the cartel, it’s much different from being the leader of a cartel. Silas holds my hand as he orders food and finds a table for us by the live music.

“What is this?” I ask, looking down at the sandwich he ordered for me.

It looks like the tortas I would order when my uncle took me to Mexico. Where my family is from, in Jalisco, tortas ahogadas are the staple, but this is no torta ahogada. It is not drowning in salsa or stuffed with my favorite pickled red onions.

“They’re tortas de la barda. Try it.” I look down at the white bread stuffed with a variation of meats and some type of green sauce. Silas laughs at my expression.

“The green sauce is pork skins in chile verde,” he says.

That sounds even less appealing. I close my eyes and take a small bite. The flavors blend together in a strange but harmonious way. I smile at him and take another bite. Silas opens a beer and sets it in front of me.

“To conquering Bertha,” he says.

“To not killing us on the way here,” I reply. We clink the bottom of the bottles together before we take a drink. He licks his lips, chasing the taste of the beer.

“I like when you smile like that,” he says.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like you’re happy.”

I swallow the knot starting to form in my throat.You can do this, Thalia. You can be vulnerable.I can’t do another night without him touching me. So, I let the truth escape me.

“I am happy.”

He nods and takes another sip. We stay in the plaza, listening to the sounds of the city, and Silas asks me questions about what I do at the hotel. I tell him about the silly dream to open spooky-themed AirBnBs and explain how I plan to decorate them. He adds his own ideas to mine, and we continue to dream up imaginary houses. Somewhere in the distance, the banda begins to play. Silas pulls me to my feet.

“What are you doing?” I laugh.

“Dancing with my wife.”

My heart bursts in my chest as he pulls me into him. He spins and twirls me to the vibrant beats. When he exaggerates a move, I can’t help but laugh. I don’t think I stop laughing, and it feels good. I forget for a minute that life is happening around me.

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