Page 51 of For Cowgirls and Kings
I check her messages, more for something important, even though some dark part of me is just being nosy, and then open up her recent calls. Almost all of them are work related from what I can tell, and a couple between Stetson and Faith.
I talked to her only a couple days ago, but the call is so far down in her log, I feel a pang of anger. On instinct, I add my number to the top contact on her emergency numbers—for when I get her back—and then dial Stetson. It rings for several seconds before going to voicemail.
What if Dale’s there, and just forgot her phone?
My chest swells with hope, and I dial it again. And again. And again.
By the end of the fourth call, I can feel the small plastic splintering in my palm. Panic, like an ugly, vicious monster, rears its head once more, barreling into me with violent strength.
I dial again, only this time it clicks on. “Hey Dale, sorry, we were a little busy if you know what I mean.”
I pause, every remaining ounce of hope draining from melike a burst balloon. She’s gone. She’s fucking gone and I don’t know who or how or why.
With so much power my whole life, I’ve never had to feel hopeless. Well, except for when my dad got sick, but that was different. I had months to come to terms with that, to face that reality that there was nothing I could do. This isn’t that.
She’s gone, and I have to find her.
Sucking in a ragged breath, I lean my weight against her bedroom door frame, my legs weak with the weight of these realizations crushing down on me. “Stetson, it's Mateo.”
She pauses, clearly confused,“Mateo? What are you doing with Dale’s phone?”
“Fuck,” I hiss, and drop my chin to my chest.
“Mateo, what the fuck?” Her voice is full of growing panic, and as much as I want to, I have no words that will reassure her. So I tell her the truth, the only words that are on repeat in my brain.
“She’s gone, Stetson. Dale is gone.”
NINETEEN
ADALENE
February 17th, 2025
It’s been days—thelongest days of my life—since I was kidnapped from my house. In the darkest hours of the night, all I can think about is Queen Tut—did he stay inside? Did he run away?
Does anyone even know I’m gone?
I suck in a labored breath, my eyes aching as I struggle to open them. I’ve been a no show for work—surely they know something is wrong by now. Someone’s looking for me.Right?
The door creaks above me and I recoil, folding tighter into myself. Every part of my body hurts, and I’m no doubt littered in bruises and cuts, even though I haven’t had the heart to look. It won’t matter anyways.
I should feel lucky they haven’t made good on their threats to rape me yet. But I don’t have the heart for that either—I hurt everywhere. I feel violated, abused, degraded, and threatened in a way I can’t imagine getting much worse. They’ve broken my spirit, and I think that was the whole goal.
Well besides getting whoever they’re after.
Which I still can’t piece together. Nothing they’ve given me makes it obvious, and the more time I spend here, the more Iquestion if they even know what they’re doing. They aren’t organized, or even methodical. Like the plan was thrown together more out of need or necessity, than a well-thought out mission.
But who do I know, and what did they do to make three brothers hate them so vehemently that they would seek this kind of action?
Gus? Stetson? Mateo? Faith? Could it have to do with my family? Is it lust, greed, or revenge?
What they don’t seem to understand is that I'm nobody. I have friends that barely know me because I’ve been too afraid to let them in, a family I haven’t seen in ten years because I’m afraid to stand up to them, and a man that—what? That’s my friend when it suits him?
“Mornin’, princessa.” Marco’s voice fills the small basement, and I cringe. I haven’t decided what’s worse—Marco by himself or Marco with his brothers. Although Rafael hasn’t hurt me, he also makes no move to protect me. And I don’t know how much longer hiskindnesswill last. Typically the odds are safer with one than three, but when it’s the most evil of the ones… “Brought ya some breakfast.”
His hand grips my shoulder, pulling my head up, even as I fight to remain as folded away from him as I can. Long hair pools around me, matted and filthy, full of dried blood and…other things. I haven’t been allowed to leave the basement in at least three days for anything, and I want to sob simply from the shame of it.
It’s humiliating. And I know Marco loves humiliating me.
