Page 117 of For Cowgirls and Kings
“Do share how you plan to stop your brother from killing me then.”
“I’m going to tell you a story,” he states instead, his expression full of pain. I remain silent, the sound of chewing crackers filling my head while I wait for him to continue. He shakes his head, and then he twists to look at the bed in the corner like I’ve watched him do many times before.
“We had a little brother, Jose. He was much younger in fact, just turned eighteen at the beginning of July last year. He was reckless, and ruthless, as you can imagine. He looked up to Marco as a father figure, as much as I tried to help him. But Marco had his claws too deep, and I never was enough of a risk taker to suit him anyway.” He pauses, his eyes flicking to mine. “I’ve never thought of Marco as anything but an evil man—I’m not stupid, I know what my brother is. But he’s also the reason we all had food in our bellies and a roof over our heads for many years. My father abandoned us when I was a little boy, and my mother had been battling cancer even before he left. Marco was not only our older brother, but our provider.”
I pull my knees to my chest and wait. I can’t imagine Marco as anything besides evil, even as Rafael works to describe him.
“My mother took a turn for the worse about a year and a half ago, and we could no longer afford to keep her in the hospital. So we moved her here—” He nods toward the bed. “We took care of her. Marco got medicine, never above board as you can imagine, but we didn’t care. It wasn’t about that—it was about keeping her alive. She was a great mom, it wasn’t her fault that her body betrayed her so young, and for so long.”
I fight off a shiver as he continues to describe his mother’s illness, and how his brothers worked to protect her. There’s love thick as clay in his voice, and for a moment I forget mycircumstances and my hatred for my captors. They’re just boys heart broken over their dying mom. And then the memory of everything they’ve done flashes through my mind, like a TV show, and bile crawls up my throat once more.
How can they have love that runs so deep, and yet violate me so completely?
Without thinking, I open my mouth, hissing, “what would your mother think of what you’ve done to me?”
Rafael stops mid-sentence, his face contorting into a look of pure rage as his lips rip apart in a snarl. “She’d be ashamed. She’d never forgive us. Is that what you want to hear? I picture her rage and disappointment everyday, but I don’t know what to do. Marco makes the rules, and we follow them.”
I cross my arms, but say nothing else.
Rafael sighs, continuing his story once more,“So when Marco couldn’t get any more pain medicine from our normal guy, he started stealing. And then he started ripping off casinos to pay for it, and her other supplies, making me and Javier work with him. We did it, of course. Anything to help Mama.” His voice wavers, Adam's apple bobbing, “Our last job went bad. I refused to go—Mama didn’t want us to anymore. She wanted to pass on, but Marco wouldn’t listen. So he took Jose for the first time.”
“And he got caught,” I say, putting the pieces together.
His eyes harden. “He was a lookout, not even actively stealing. But she caught him, and wanted to use him as a message to us. We’re no one—poor as they come with no real goals besides keeping our crumbling family from falling apart further. But she caught him, and had him killed not far from here.”
My breath feels strangled in my throat as I stare at him, the question I’m desperate to ask teetering on my tongue. Because once I ask, there’s no going back, no imagining her to be someone better.
But everything he’s said points in one direction.
“Was it Valentina Reyes?”
Instead of answering me, he leans forward, his voice dropping. “Could you ever forgive me?”
I lean back, caught off guard by his question. He stares at me expectantly, and I suck in a deep breath as I toss around his question.Could I ever forgive him?If I saw him after this—if I magically escaped—could I see anything but my captor? Could I imagine him as anything besides the man who “helped me” while those he loved tortured me?
In all honesty, I don’t blame him. After everything I’ve seen, I think Rafael is as much of a prisoner here as I am. But I don’t know if I could ever look at him and feel forgiveness, not really.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever have the chance,” I finally say with a shrug.
His eyes soften slightly, and he stands. “I don’t believe the innocent should pay for the crimes of the evil—I never have. Just like Jose, I don’t think you should pay for her crimes. But make no mistake, I will make her pay. No matter what I have to do.”
April 8th, 2025
The sound of crunching gravel outside sucks me out of another nightmare, and I jolt upright. The sheets cling to my sweat soaked skin, the white fabric almost translucent where it’s suctioned to me.
I look over at my phone on the nightstand and it reads 6:00 a.m.Who the fuck could be here at six in the morning?
Gus must be thinking the same thing because I hear heavy stomps descending the stairs, their pace rapid, a similar rhythm to my pounding heart. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I stand up and creep to the window.
Mateo’s tall frame steps out of his black pickup, the soft streaks of pink in the sky illuminating a kind of warm glow around his frame. He looks exhausted, and disheveled; there’s bags under his eyes that I can see from here, and his hair is greasy and mussed like he hasn’t washed it in a day or two.
I check my phone again.6:00 a.m?He had to have started driving here between two and three in the morning.But why?We haven’t spoken since he left the other morning, the space feeling more and more like a valley forming between us. I didn’t know what to say, and maybe he has nothing he can say.
So where does that leave us?I don’t know if I’m ready to give him up—I don’t know if I ever will be.
Without thinking about it, I race from the small guest room, hitting the kitchen right as both guys come in, their voices hushed.
“What’s going on?” I ask, the panic clawing at my stomach, filling my voice. Both heads snap to me, as if a couple of kids caught by their parents drinking or something. And then Gus cusses, looking away almost as quickly.
