Page 7 of Trapped

I grab my gun from the glove compartment and shove it into a holster on my upper thigh. I’m wearing a black flowy skirt with crosses embroidered on the hemline, all black tights, and a tight black blouse. Every outfit of mine has two things in common—one, they are always black, and two, they are always paired with Louboutins. The ones I have on today I call my work shoes. They aren’t as high as my other heels, but still make me feel complete.

As we get closer, my eyes wander to one of the men with a blacked-out helmet on. He’s wearing an orange and black flannel under his vest. He is the largest out of all of them in size and height. He is solid muscle, and even though his face isn’t visible, I can feel the weight of his stare. I get out of the van, and Osiel and Ricky throw Hewey to the ground in front of me.

“Viuda,” Jasper says, his hands clasped in front of him. I nod in greeting. Jasper and Leather Face are the only ones not wearing a helmet to hide their face.

“Here is your bargaining chip.” Ricky shoves Hewey forward, and I grab him by his hair. I pull him up straight while he remains on his knees in front of Jasper. Jasper smiles down at his victim. It’s sinister, and even a bit sexy.

Hewey sweated profusely during our trip over, which was a mix of fear and his addiction.

“Well done, Viuda. I didn’t expect anything less from you.” Jasper cuts the gag muffling Hewey’s cry, and I kick him forward with my heel.

“He’s all yours.”

I go to shake Jasper’s hand when I hear Hewey’s insults fly from his mouth. He throws his curses at me. Every name in the book, but it’s one insult that catches me off guard.Bruja. My jaw tightens as I turn back to him.

“What did you say to me?” I shove my heel into his neck, pinning him to the ground.

“Kill me, bitch, but don’t think for one second I won’t be back to drag you down to hell with me.” His words are barely recognizable through the limited oxygen to his airways. I pull out Miriam, my .45, from the holster. I cock her and aim her toward his face. Osiel rushes toward me.

“Thali… put down the gun.” My hands shake, the word still triggering my rage. All this fucking rage in me. I want to let it loose.Bruja.Only Silas could call me that. Osiel inches closer, pushing the gun down.

“Thali. They wanted him alive. Don’t risk it,” he whispers in my ear, and I bring myself back to reality. I feel the tension from the looks narrowed in on me. The man in the orange flannel tilts his head. I drop the gun and release Hewey.

“My apologies,” I say to Jasper, who is watching me intently. I take a step back and straighten myself. The last thing I need is to show weakness. My uncle taught me losing yourself, even to anger, is a show of weakness. Osiel holds on to my arm to help me keep my balance. I jump into him when a shot rings out. I look down to see the blood pouring from Hewey. Then I look up to see the shooter still holding his weapon in front of him. The man with the orange and black flannel, staring right at me.

There is something about a little black dress that makes me feel like the world is at my fingertips. Like hell itself would tremble before me. After my short-lived mental breakdown at the compound, I came back and took a long shower. I took time to exfoliate with my favorite pomegranate scrub, shave my legs, and even a little self-pleasure to get rid of the excess tension in my body.

I run the black lipstick over my lips, then press them together and release with a satisfying pop. Just like that, weak Thalia is gone. In her place stands the boss bitch.La Viuda.I stare at my outfit choice in satisfaction—a short black dress to match my black lips, my black nails, and my black soul.

It’s not that I hate color, it’s just that black makes sense every single day. The brightest of stars are shown on the black backdrop of the night sky. It is flattering on all body types, and I love the way it accentuates my curves. Wearing all black also makes getting dressed a lot easier for me. I could only imagine how exhausting it would be to have to figure out what color towear each day.

When I arrive at Patricio’s estate, I walk in with my head held high. No one says anything about me showing up late to my own party. However, this time, it wasn’t my intention to show up this late. I was fighting with a six-year-old to get dressed. Lucia always wants to match me, so I had bought her a shimmery black dress, which she had refused to put on.

“I want to wear pink!” she cried. Her last-minute outfit swap was inspired by her recent obsession with everything Ariella, who she was now rushing to find.

Patricio had the entire backyard decorated for my special day. The large terrace on his patio is covered with stringed lights. The décor is simple and elegant. I am pulled in by the sounds of the mariachi playing and everyone laughing. There are several tables spread out, with my favorite taco truck set up on the grass behind them.

“Mija, Feliz Cumpleaños.” I turn at the birthday wish coming from my grandfather coming toward me from the entrance.

“Abuelo,” I say, and he pulls me into a tight hug.

“Patricio went all out again for you this year.” He nods his head, looking around. “I wish your abuela was here.” He frowns, but I smile. The memory of my abuela is one of my most cherished possessions. Knowing her and everything she taught me was one of the greatest gifts in life. Even though her absence makes my abuelo sad, I am happy to have known her.

I loop my arm through his and make my grand entrance. I make the most of the night, eating, drinking, and dancing with my friends. The music stops abruptly after a few hours, and Patricio takes the mic.

“Before we get started, I wanted to thank you all for coming out tonight to celebrate my niece, Thalia Consuelo.” Everyone has left me on the dance floor, so I make my way toward the front. I watch as a large, tiered cake is wheeled out, and Patriciofills two glasses with Dom Perignon. Servers open the bottles set out at each table and pour each guest a glass. Patricio holds up his drink, initiating his toast.

“To my niece,” he begins, and the room falls silent as he turns to face me. “Thalia, I am so proud of you. For years, I have watched you grow into the beautiful and confident woman you are today. We all love you, mija.”

“Viva La Viuda!” a drunk Ricky screams from the background, and the cheers and whistles begin. Patricio laughs before he continues.

“May this next year meet you with blessings, and may your enemies only ever meet the barrel of your gun. ¡Salud!” We all drink in unison before the banda takes over playing Las Mañanitas. I blow out my candles and wish for the same thing I wish for every year:happiness.

After that, I’m whisked away to dance, and the night continues on. When I finally get back to the table, Adrian lifts his glass to me.

“Nothing but the best for his favorite psycho niece,” Adrian teases.

I move my hand under my chin and tilt my head to the side—a move I may have learned from Lucia during her diva moments.

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