We laughed, drunk on love, on the future, and we made love several times that morning. He wouldn’t stop. He was insatiable. I couldn’t stop either. I was just so taken with him that I wanted him to keep taking me. Forever.
The wedding happened a week later. Needless to say, there wasn’t much planning. When most narcos get married, it turns into a nationwide celebration. Mayors and Sinaloan officials are supposed to show up, as well as the narco families whom Javier had good relations with. They are supposed to be huge feasts, real traditional parties. I should know — I had just that with Salvador.
But maybe because of my past, Javier opted for something quiet. In fact, it was just me, him, a minister, and Este as the witness. In a small, thick-walled church out in the middle of the hills. At least it had a beautiful view of the valley and Culiacán in the distance. A view of everything that would belong to me.
And yet I was nervous. Tapping my foot, picking at my simple white dress that was as delicate as a nightgown. I was nervous, because to me, this was it. Javier was it. If anything went wrong, if it all went south, there wouldn’t be anyone else. I wanted him forever or I wanted nothing.
I had reason to be nervous, it turned out. Because now, as I sat alone at the kitchen table pouring myself another glass of wine, the evening breeze sweeping through the screened window and bringing with it the smell of rain and relief, I realized I had nothing.
The other night, when he finally succumbed to me, I knew I wouldn’t get another chance again. I don’t know how I knew it, but I did. I saw it in his face after we were done. I didn’t care about the pain. I didn’t care about the scarring or the blood. I didn’t care if he hit me (which he didn’t, and wouldn’t, it wasn’t his style). I knew that made me sound like a pathetic, lovesick woman, but it was the truth.
I just wanted something of him. His attention. Even if it meant his wrath. I wanted it. The feel of his body, his touch, his desire. And I got it. I knew he wanted to make people hurt, so I gave him the chance to hurt me. The conflict showed in his eyes, the slight hesitations he made. He was so afraid of really hurting me, but I wasn’t, because I knew he wouldn’t. He was more afraid of himself than I was of him.
But with whatever I got, it was even worse when it was taken away. Now I was aching for more and saddled with this uncomfortable feeling that there never would be. That it was over between us. And there would be nothing left for me.
Juanito strolled into the kitchen to get something from the fridge. Dinner had been served by our cook, Alberto, but I had eaten alone. Esteban ate elsewhere. I’m not sure the last time Javier had dinner with me, and Juanito seemed to fend for himself.
“Hungry again?” I asked him as he pulled a plate of leftovers out.
He looked sheepish. “I didn’t eat earlier.”
I’d never seen him have dinner with us. I wanted to ask Javier how he was being treated — lately his young face looked years older, gaunt and ashen, and his eyes were dull. But I didn’t dare approach Javier with this stuff now. Before Alana, yes. But not after. Funny, I had started to think of life as Before AD and After AD (Alana’s Death). Besides, Juanito was probably getting high on his own supply. Many of the narcos did, though the worst Javier did was drink. Even now, it was only booze that Javier occasionally dipped into.
That, and murder.
Juanito was in charge of our finances after Javier was through with them, just going over the boring stuff like an accountant. There’s a price to dealing with large sums of money when you’re trading in a billion dollar industry: you pay the pisa to plazas, dock handling charges, shipping costs, trucks, labor, equipment, security. Juanito was learning where the money went after it came to us. I knew that Javier had plans for him when he was ready, but I didn’t know what they were. For now, he just did whatever Javier passed down to Esteban.
I patted the seat next to me. “Sit down.” He stared at me, hesitant. I flashed him a smile, which I knew was relaxed and easy, maybe even sloppy, thanks to the wine. I’d already had three glasses.
“Okay,” he said. He seemed jumpy. He sat down beside me, and it was then that I noticed he had rope burns around his wrists. I stared at them for a moment, trying to figure out what they could be from. He caught me looking and gave me a sheepish look. But he didn’t explain.
“I don’t think I’ve talked to you much lately,” I said, trying to put him at ease. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” he said flatly. He smiled and nodded, as if to convince himself. “Very good. Excited about the move.”
“The move?” I asked, then remembered what Este had said about bringing us to a ranch somewhere when the federale was captured. I’d wanted to talk about it more with Javier but, well, that didn’t happen.
“Oh,” Juanito said slowly, reading my face. “I meant our move. You’re staying here. Right?”
I frowned. “I don’t see why I would.”