He takes my chin with his thumb and forefinger, lifting my face as I breathe through my nose. “What do you want with me?” I ask.

“You’re the only thing he cares about enough to come after.”

“And when he doesn’t come?”

“He will.”

“Then what?”

He taps a gentle fingertip on my jaw, seemingly lost in thought. He squints up at the tangerine sun and then back at me. “Carlos Riviera is avenging his father’s death. Justice is very important to us.”

“Justice.” My tone is mocking, strong with false confidence. “That's a bullshit excuse for murder.”

He laughs. “You’re adorable. Since the moment I saw you I thought so. I’m not at all surprised about his affection for you.” To the man behind me, he says, “Show her to her room.”

“Should I call Carlos?” he asks.

“Not yet. I need time alone with her.”

“¿Y señor Carter?”

Fowler’s eyes return to mine when he says, “Carter is a traitor to Hero, which makes him a friend to Riviera. Carlos promised him protection out of the country.” He pauses, and I can almost hear Carter smiling. “However, betrayal after years of servitude tells me he’s not such a great friend to have. He knows too much. Kill him.”

A crow’s mocking cry is the only sound in the seconds of ear-piercing silence that follow. When Fowler pivots and walks away, I’m urged forward by a rough pair of hands. Screaming fills the dry afternoon air—not my own. Not this time. This time it’s Carter, and his screams are those of someone confronting death. I know because I’ve heard them before.

I look directly up at the smoke-shrouded sun. The nearby fire has turned the sky an unnatural neon orange color. My eyes burn, and ash rains softly around us. The smoke makes everything ugly, but I don’t care. I soak it all in, wondering if it’s the last time.

My room is only a room, a cell with a door instead of a gate. This cell, at least, is above ground with a barred window. I am once again without my things; even things that never belonged to me are taken away.

The boy from outside is smug as he shoves me deeper into the aridness. Before I can react, someone is grabbing my sweater to push me on the ground. The door opens and closes behind me, footsteps scrape, hands grab at my arms, turning me onto my back. Somebody is screaming, an elbow jabs into my side, a body covers mine, hands bind my wrists to the cold concrete. I realize I’m the one screaming as I count one, two, three leering faces above me.

“Revancha,” says the one with his hands under my top, clawing at my bra.

The man holding my right hand spits onto my cheek. “Puta.”

Even with Calvin’s confession, I can’t comprehend why they think this is revenge on Hero. I drive my knee into the balls of the man on top of me, and he curses. His fist sends my cheek into the concrete, but he pulls my face back up with a tight grip around my jaw. He forces his lips against mine, choking me with an infusion of hard alcohol and cigarettes.

The room explodes with a sudden gunshot and echoes with startled shouts. Guy is shirtless and standing in the doorway, his gun aimed at the ground as everyone stares at him. He fires another shot and all at once I’m released and alone on the floor.

“Fuera.” Guy’s tone is commanding but calm. The men look at each other, muttering in Spanish on their way out of the room.

I’m panting hard as Guy tucks the gun into his waistband so just the butt sticks out. “Sorry about them,” he says, walking toward me. “Nothing is off limits in the name of revenge.” My eyes flicker between his face and his outstretched hand. His arm drops to his side when I get to my feet on my own. “I can’t quite figure out what draws me to you,” he says. “Perhaps it’s your innocence.”

“I’m not innocent,” I insist. “Not anymore.”

“You are though. There’s a desperate hope in you that hasn’t yet been crushed.”

“You’re wrong. I have nothing left, least of all hope. You have no idea what I’ve been through already.”

His eyebrows draw together slowly as his mouth puckers. He comes closer, and I retreat until we’re in one corner of the room. I have to look up to meet his eyes. Unlike the intense pull of Calvin’s green, they’re the calming color of the sky, the Heavens. I jerk away when he raises his hand and touches my screaming lip. “They hurt you,” he says, showing me dots of my blood on his fingertip. “But he hurt you more.”

I exhale the breath I’d been holding.

“Do you hate him?”

“No.”

His head draws back. “No?”

“What happens when Carlos gets here?”

His eyes scan over my face. Finally, he says, “What a terrible host. You must be hungry. Squat and keep your hands where I can see them.”

“What?” I ask. “Why?”

“Those mutts will come sniffing around again. If you want me to keep them away, you better do as I say.”

His tone is chillingly even, as if his speech is rehearsed. I think he can smell my fear, but I can’t help gulping. My knees buckle, and I crouch with my palms on my thighs.

“Good. I’ll be back with some food.”

He leaves me there in a room both musky and silent. Locked up and put into a strange position in the corner seems fitting for a pawn with no past and no future. My endless state of forced ignorance and innocence is exhausting, and I’m left wishing Calvin had never saved me from my fall.

44

Calvin

I’ve been standing in the room watching Norman for almost a minute. He looks up from his work suddenly and slides his reading glasses down his nose. He studies me, probably trying to figure out if I’ve been drinking. Suddenly I’m the boy again who needs looking after. “Is she gone?” I ask.

“Yes,” Norman says. “She left this morning. Any news on the Cartel?”

I peel my shoulder from the doorjamb and check my watch as I cross the room to the desk. “No unusual activity. I was on Carlos Riviera most of the afternoon, but his crew didn’t move. When I left they were still there.”

“Master Parish,” he pleads when I pick up the phone. “Let it go. She’s not your responsibility anymore.”

I hesitate only a moment before dialing. I stick the receiver between my ear and shoulder as I remove Cataline’s itinerary from my back pocket and unfold it. Norman’s sigh is loud, but I hear all his sighs lately, no matter the volume. When I connect with an agent, I say, “I need to confirm that a passenger made it on your flight. Jennifer Dean.”

I wait as she places me on hold, feeling Norman’s eyes on me. “I’ll let it go,” I say, glancing up at him, “once I know she’s safe and settled in her new life.”

“Sir,” the woman on the line says, “can you verify the name again?”

Adrenaline floods my system immediately. “Jennifer Dean.”

“I’m sorry, sir. We have no record of her boarding the flight.”

Everything in my body constricts so tightly I think my arteries might snap. “Check again, and also try the name Cataline Ford.” Anxiety-fringed anger builds inside me. My breathing is labored, and my fists are curled, one around the phone and one into itself.

“Sir, nobody by either name got on the plane. It doesn’t appear that she ever showed—”

I launch the phone against the wall as Norman jumps from his seat. “Fuck,” I shout, plunging my hands in my hair. “She didn’t get on the flight. Where’s Carter?”

“To my knowledge, he hasn’t returned.”

“He should be back by now.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he says, but after all these years, I can sense the concern in his voice. “Earlier she asked why she had to comply at all. Maybe she decided against our wishes.”

“Wishes? They weren’t wishes, Norman. They were orders.” I pound my code into the keypad and scan my fingerprint so the wall rises. “There’s no way Carter would allow it, not without my explicit permission. Something’s wrong.”