Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I learn quickly.
Vega likes that.
“You have discipline,” he says one evening after I deliver a message to a man who turns pale before he even opens the envelope. “Discipline matters more than strength. Strength fades. Discipline becomes character.”
I want to feel proud.
Part of me does.
But another part of me—the part that still hears Mamá telling me all men are God’s children, even the broken ones—knows something is wrong.
I know what Vega does.
Not everything, of course. Not yet. But enough. Men disappear. Women cry behind closed doors. Money moves through hands. Drugs, guns, bribes, threats. Favors that aren’t really favors. Debts that can never be repaid because men like Vega prefer it that way.
At first, my duties are small.
Deliver this.
Watch him.
Stand outside that door.
Repeat exactly what you hear.
Tell no one.
Don’t ask questions.
But small duties become larger ones.
The line keeps moving.
After a year of this I’m restless. But what are my options?
Go back to the brothel? To Señora V? To the women who would take me in again but never stop looking at me with questions in their eyes?
Still, I think about it.
And I still believe some adults are safer than others. So I talk to Adriana. She’s the one who introduced me to this world. Maybe she can help.
I find her in her office late one afternoon.
Adriana sits behind a wide desk, reading a file. Her hair is pinned up, exposing the long line of her neck. She wears a black dress that fits her like a second skin. I can’t help but notice. I’m sixteen with a perpetual hard-on.
“Cruz,” she says. “You asked to see me?”
“I did.”
She gestures to the chair across from her. “Sit.”
I sit.
She looks at me. I mean really looks. “Are you unhappy here?”
I blink. “I haven’t said anything.”
She purses her lips. “You didn’t need to.”
“It’s just… I have questions,” I say.
“Most boys do.”
I frown. “I’m not a boy.”
“No,” she says. “You’re becoming something else.”
Heat moves up my neck.
She leans back. “What are your questions?”
I draw in a breath. “I don’t think I’m suited for this work.”
She tilts her head slightly. “What work?”
“The business. This business.”
She clasps her hands over her desk. “There are many parts of the business.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Perhaps. Tell me anyway.”
I shift in the chair. “Some of what Señor Vega asks me to do…”
She waits.
“Some of it seems wrong,” I say finally.
Her brows lift slightly. “Wrong.”
“Yes.”
“Morally?” She sounds amused.
My face warms. “Yes.”
“How interesting.”
“It’s not interesting.”
“No?”
“No.”
She rises from behind the desk.
Slowly.
My body goes alert, though I don’t know why.
She moves around the desk to face me. “I thought you were grateful,” she says.
“I am.”
“Señor Vega has given you a home.”
“I know.”
“Education.”
“Yes.”
“Protection.”
“Yes.”
She narrows her eyes. “Money.”
“I know.”
She crosses her arms. “Yet here you are, speaking of morality.”
“I don’t want to be ungrateful,” I say.
“Then don’t be.”
The words sting.
I look down at my hands. “I think maybe I should leave.”
She steps closer until she’s right in front of me, leaning back against the desk. Her knee brushes mine.
I stop breathing.
“Leave?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“And go where?”
I have no answer.
“To the brothel?” she asks. “Back to the women who raised you?”
“They’re my family.”
She sneers. “They’re prostitutes.”
Anger flashes through me. “Don’t talk about them that way.”
“But that’s what they are.”
I push to my feet. She’s right in front of me. We’re too close. Much too close.
“You wanted to speak to me,” she says. “So speak.”
I swallow. “I want a different life.”
She looks at my mouth. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Honest.”
She smiles then. “Oh, Cruz.” She shakes her head. “You think honesty is anything special?”
I say nothing.
She lifts a hand and touches my cheek.
Just like she did the first day.
I should step away.
I don’t.
“You are not the boy you were a year ago,” she says.
“I know.”
“He’s gone forever.” She slides her fingers along my jaw.
I feel the touch everywhere. I mean everywhere.
“You’re stronger now,” she whispers. “Useful.” She brushes her thumb over my lower lip.
No woman has ever touched me like this except Adriana.
No woman has wanted me this way.
Or does she want me? I don’t even know.
“You’re confused,” she says.
“I’m not.”
“You are. You think guilt means you should run.” She slides her hand down my chest.
I catch her wrist. “Adriana.”
Her eyes darken. She steps closer, pressing my hand between her wrist and her body. “You want to leave?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Then leave.”
The words shock me. “What?”
“Walk out.” She tilts her head toward the door. “If that’s what you want.”
I look at the door. It’s ten steps away. Maybe twelve. I could leave.
Then she slides her other hand to the back of my neck. “But before you do, tell me something.” Her face is inches from mine. “Have you ever been touched by a woman because she wanted to touch you?”
My mouth goes dry.
I should lie. Sixteen and a virgin? It’s embarrassing.
“No.”
“Then let me give you something honest before you go.”
Then her lips are on mine.