Page 62 of Velvet Deception

Señora Vasquez winced as she knelt and rolled me over to face her. Her bony fingers were icy, so frigid and thin to the touch. Like talons, she used them to clutch my arm and maneuver me to face her.

She’d put up with legions of kids, her own and those in the neighborhood, and no one could get away with not respondingto her voice. Not even me. Regardless of my frozen state of numbness, traumatized in the worst way possible.

“Sofia?” Lines spanned like crevices on her old, wrinkly face. She peered down at me, not with concern, not with confusion, but the expectation for an answer.

“They… they took him.” It was a shock that I could even get that much out.

She nodded, sage and serious as she lowered my hand. My arm was stiff, locked into the position of holding my other wounded limb close to my chest. So overwhelmed by the pain in my heart and in my head, I had tuned out the piercing aches from where Sebastian had struck me after I kneed him in the balls.

“I told him they were watching. The Cartel is always watching. All of us.” She shook her head as she lowered my wounded arm. Following her motions, I shot upright and sat to cradle it again. I couldn’t extend it without gasping in pain.

“Broken,” she guessed.

No shit.Even that little bit of sarcasm I bit my tongue on didn’t come out. No wit. No jokes. Nothing.

I had nothing else in me but pain.

“I told him those men were watching. I’ve seen them showing up at the market more and more.”

I nodded as she urged me to sit up.

“They’re always there in the background, hawking over us all and looking for anything to exploit.”

She nudged a broken pot aside.

“But more and more,” she repeated, “ever since your new man was hanging around this place, they’ve been watching nonstop.”

I hadn’t noticed. I lowered my guard and trusted too much.Iused to go to the market.Iused to do the shopping and use those little excursions as ways to scope and keep track of my surroundings.

With Diego idle and available while I was at work, he’d taken over that role. He’d been going to the market.

I knew he was careful. He had an innate sense of stealth, of awareness and always observing what happened around him without making it obvious he was doing a patrol or surveillance. At first, he’d gone out to the market incognito. And still, he maintained a need to hide his face.

Yet, he attracted them closer to sniff around here.

“I can’t help with this,” she said in her scratchy, wise voice. A gentle tap of her fingertip emphasized what had to be a break in my arm. If not a full break, then a significant fracture.

“But I can help you up.” She groaned and grimaced, getting off her knees and rising to her feet. With one hand on the wall to brace herself, she lowered her free one for me to take. “I saidup, Sofia.”

I sniffled, shaking my head. I saw no point in it. What difference did it make whether I sat on the floor or stood? What would change about the fact that Ramon had been taken if I was in the living room or the kitchen? The Cartel would still have my son and I would still have no hope to get him back.

“Up!” She ordered. Thrusting her hand in her face, she used the same tactic that Diego often did.

No coddling. No babying. Stern, authoritative orders to jar me into compliance. Otherwise, I would remain weak and locked in my mind while the ugly, horrendous emotions flogged me.

“Sofia. Getup. Now.” Once more, she pushed her hand into my face.

“There’s no point,” I said as I obeyed. Lifting my uninjured arm, I placed my hand in hers. She was so slight, so thin and frail, I almost tugged her down and sent her toppling atop me. She didn’t fall. She didn’t waver. Keeping her hand on the wall to brace herself, she aided me to stand.

My legs shook, but with her help and a firm glare on me, she walked me into the kitchen and let me lower to a chair.

Once I was in place, I zoned out, staring at the floor. I couldn’t do anything else. I just couldn’t. Shrinking into myself, the despair and grief choked me until I could barely draw in a full breath.

In the peripheral, she went to the fridge to open the freezer door. Clicks and cracks of ice cubes smacking together followed. Then still without another word, she spun to me with a bag of ice.

“There’s no point,” I told her again as she placed the bag on my arm. My arm didn’t matter. My pain wasn’t an issue.

The only thing that held significance in my life was the fact that Ramon was gone. They’d taken my son and I’d rather be dead. I didn’t want to exist in this world without my son. Not when he was still so young and had so much to live for. Not when he was yanked out of my arms so cruelly and taken to be held captive by thugs and mean bastards who played with torture.

---