Page 51 of Trapped

Kiko will likely resign and claim his daughter’s death was the cost of the war on drugs in Mexico. I’d seen it time and time again. It is easier for these politicians to claim they are targets of the big bad kingpin. If the world only knew they are more corrupt than most of us. We don’t pretend to be anything more than what we are.

I take a hit from the blunt and watch as Thalia murmurs in her sleep. After I woke up, I took a shower and put on some briefs. I feel conflicted about everything going on as I watch her from the corner of the room. Despite the information we had found, I am nowhere closer to finding my siblings. All signs point me back to Houston.

Can I trust her to be honest with me? I don’t like having to ask other people for information about my wife. It irritates me more that she refuses to trust me despite the secrets I’ve divulged. Thalia’s long legs stretch out over the bed, and her hands go over her head. She groans, and her eyes flutter. When she opens them again, her sleepy gaze fixates on me.

“Are you watching me like a creep?”

“Buenos días,” I say and hold out the joint for her.

She slowly lifts herself from the bed and walks toward me. She takes the joint between her index finger and thumb and places it to her mouth, inhaling and taking in the room around her. It’s not much compared to my preferred home in Tamaulipas. I plan on giving this one to my mother after I find my siblings. A new start for them.

“Another one of your houses?” she asks, and I nod.

“I like the rancho better. The walls are too light,” she says, handing the joint back to me.

I pull her down onto my lap, and she cuddles up next to me. Her fingers play with the chain around my neck. They glide down slowly from the chain and down my chest. Her fingertips glide lower, and she stops to trace the outline of my abs. Electricity from the touch shoots to my dick.

“Calm down, killer,” I say, offering her a smug smile. It wins me her famous scowl and eye roll.

“And you call me a devil?” she says, standing up.

I get up and find some clothes to put on. My hair is still wet and tangled. I grab a brush from the vanity and run it through the tangles.

“Here, let me brush it out.” Thalia’s voice is soft, and when I turn to face her, she’s sitting on her knees on the bed behind me. I find my place in front of her and hand her the brush and tie.

“Just put it in a low bun,” I say.

She brushes the strands down, the delicate bristles grazing across my back. My body relaxes at her touch as a tingling sensation spreads from my scalp to my neck.

“You’re good at this,” I say, the sensation spreading through my entire body.

“I have to brush Lucia’s hair before school every day.” Her long nails brush against my neck as she gathers all my hair into the hair tie.

“Who is Lucia?” I ask, despite the knowledge I’ve learned.

I want Thalia to tell me about her family. She’s said little about her family or her life in Houston in the weeks we’ve been together. Other than a small anecdote about her brother, or her repeatedly telling me how much she misses them, Thalia keeps that part of her life hidden from me. I stand up from the bed and face her. Waiting for her response.

Her fingers play with the brush nervously, and she stares down at the ground.

“Lucia is the little girl I live with,” she whispers.

“The one Los Bandoleros sent you that picture of?” When the question falls from my lips, Thalia’s posture straightens, and her eyes dart up to mine. The look in her eyes causes my stomach to harden. Her hands are shaky, but in her eyes is a challenge.

“How do you know about that?” she asks.

“I know everything, Thalia. I know about the threats being sent to you. The ones with the creepy dolls and cryptic messages. What I don’t understand is why?” She shoots to her feet and walks to her suitcase.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“If you know everything, then why am I here?”

“I want you to tell me, Thalia. I’m giving you the opportunity to tell me first.” My eyes soften in an attempt to let her know what I’m thinking.Just tell me the truth.

But she doesn’t. She continues to sort through her things and avoids me altogether. I grab my phone and walk toward the door.

“What’s going to happen after we rescue your siblings?” she asks.

“What do you want to happen?” Again, I meet her silence. Everything with her is a fight. She is trapped in her own web of secrets.

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