Page 65 of Sins of the Orchid
He inhaled deeply and let out a heavy sigh. “Just forget it.”
Letting go of my own selfish inquisition, I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed gently. “He is probably trying to protect you. Just talk to him. Explain that you want to help and do your part. And tell him that I don't need a babysitter.”
“He won’t listen,” he grumbled.
“Have you tried?”
“No, but—”
A beeping sound from the television distracted both of us.
Breaking News.
The words flashed across the bottom half of the screen and a newsreader came on with the details of a shooting in the Bronx between the cartel and the Cosa Nostra. Nobody has been apprehended, no witnesses, and one dead body.
I tensed, forgetting about Adriano next to me.Please don’t let it be Santi,I prayed silently.
Then I remembered Luigi was with him.Or Luigi.
Jesus, I was quickly becoming the worst sister, friend, and daughter.
“Fuck,” Adriano cursed next to me, and my head whipped in his direction. He was staring at his phone.
“What?”
“Santi killed another high-ranking member,” he muttered, his eyes never leaving the phone.
“How do you know?” I questioned him in a whisper.
He showed me his phone, and my eyes skimmed over the pictures and the article with a timestamp from thirty minutes ago. News traveled fast in New York city.
“He’s going to get himself killed,” he muttered under his breath. Adriano and Santi loved each other, despite their differences. Adriano just didn’t want to be treated as the younger brother. But the Venezuelan Cartel was ruthless, leaving a trail of blood, bodies, and destruction everywhere they went.
My mothers screams pierced through the rainforest, driving creatures to respond in protest to the unnatural sounds. I was locked in a cage, like an animal, tears streaming down my face. The bars left an open view of the compound. I should plug my ears like Mom demanded and stare at the sky, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from my mother’s beaten form. Fire burning her flesh.
I wanted them to bring her back to me. I wanted to hug her, to tell her I was so sorry. Her hair, so much like mine, except blonde, glimmering under the moonlight. The first night, it shone like gold; tonight, her hair hung rusty, dirty, a dull color.
They held her down, as they pushed a hot iron against her skin. The metallic smell of blood and burned skin carried on the breeze. It took all I had not to gag.
Another piercing scream.
“Mom,” I screamed. “P-please, stop! Mooooom!” I fell to my knees, both my hands gripping the bars, my lungs burning with my screams.
They asked questions that made no sense. We didn’t have any answers. I couldn’t even understand their questions. These men knew more about our family than Mom and me.
The torture went on for days and nights.
They did it in front of me, making sure I could see her pain, hear her screams, and know it was all my fault. George was taken to the other side. We haven’t seen him since we arrived, but his screams were just as terrifying and agonizing. The screams shattered through me, imprinting into my soul and my brain.
My breathing was erratic, and my brain buzzed from exhaustion, or lack of oxygen from my screams. But I refused to pass out. I’d stay strong. For Mom. For George. I kept begging them to stop. I would have given them anything, everything. Just to bring her back to me.
Two blonde men, with cruel eyes and even crueler smiles, stood over my mother’s battered body, watching without any remorse. In fact, I was certain they enjoyed seeing her in pain.
Mom passed out from the pain, her frail body sliding onto the dirt. None of them even attempted to catch her. My throat choked, and my heart squeezed in my chest while dots swam in my vision, darkening.
“Can’t pass out,” I whispered to myself.
I breathed in, then slowly out. I had to wait for Mom. I had to take care of her.
