And he was about to be taken from me forever.
Without thinking, I suddenly jumped up and out of the car, running toward him, my blanket trailing behind me. The sharp rocks and cacti pierced my bare feet but I couldn’t feel them.
“Javier!” I yelled but he didn’t stir and I could hear soldier’s running after me. Esteban was the first to catch up.
He put his hand on my shoulder, nails digging in and pulling me back. One of the other soldiers stepped in front of my vision briefly, yelling at me to forget it, turn around and head to the cars.
I stopped and watched and hoped that Javier would wake up and see me. The soldier backed off and I shrugged off Esteban’s hand.
Look at me, Javier, look at me, I thought. Please be all right.
But when he did come to, just as he was being put into the chopper, I realized my wish had been dangerous. Whatever confusion he felt was gone as his gaze sharpened and he saw me. He saw us.
We were free. He was captured.
His eyes broke my damn heart.
His eyes that told me that he knew what I had done and that he would never be the same. His eyes that told me I ruined him to the very ground.
As the chopper lifted up, I knew I was dead to him.
And I would most likely never see my husband alive again.
***
I didn’t remember much after the federales’ raid. Three days passed in a blur and I was high as a kite on some kind of pills that the federales kept giving me. Every moment that I was coherent, I collapsed into rage or a sobbing fit, unable to get it all out, everything that was killing me inside.
I couldn’t stop blaming myself. I couldn’t stop bleeding over Javier.
After a while, I welcomed the pills.
Though Evaristo had been tortured, damaged, the fact that he was alive seemed to soften the federales attitudes toward us. Then again, Esteban told them that Javier wanted to kill him and Esteban went out of his way to ensure that wouldn’t happen.
It was a lie that did my head in but in my drugged state, I couldn’t do much but sleep and cry.
Esteban and I had been taken back to an unmarked facility in Culiacan that seemed to be half medical facility, half intelligence offices. I spent my days in a small room, with a nurse and I only saw Esteban on occasion or sometimes Ruiz. On my last day, I saw Evaristo who had been recovering nicely and had backed-up Esteban’s story, that he was the reason he was alive.
“Why are you lying?” I asked him, slurring my words as I tried to sit up.
Evaristo put his hands on my shoulders, holding me steady. “Because it doesn’t make any difference to your husband now. And believe it or not, Esteban’s lie is saving your life. You’ll walk out of here soon a free woman.”
“The federales never would have killed me,” I told him.
He smiled but didn’t say anything more.
Finally I was allowed to leave with Esteban. We were set loose on the streets and though it didn’t take long for Esteban to quickly wrangle up a car for us, I couldn’t help but feel that we were being watched with every step we took. Esteban might have traded Javier for our freedom but what kind of freedom would it be. I needed to escape somewhere far away, to get out from the shadow of the federales and the cartels.
But I couldn’t even do that. Because I was a useless mess.
For the first time since I left Cabo and walked off with Salvador Reyes, I knew I was nothing more than a lost little girl, powerless at the hands of men.
An SUV pulled up on the busy street and for a moment I thought Esteban would just let me walk away. Maybe I could disappear into the crowds and start my life over again. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be real and it would be mine.
As if he knew what I was thinking, Esteban quickly grabbed my arm and then opened the back door to the SUV, roughly shoving me inside. The doors all immediately locked and I was surprised to see Juanito in the driver’s seat.
He didn’t seem ashamed in the slightest. In fact, he looked proud as he glanced at me in the rear-view mirror, his posture straight and chin high.
As we drove through the city and then toward the hills, I couldn’t figure out if Juanito was acting for me or Esteban. After all, though Javier was in prison and none of us would probably see him again, as long as he was alive he would still run his business. That’s just how it worked and why so many government agents from both Mexico and America would rather the kingpins be dead. Dead was dead but prison hardly hampered their career.
It wasn’t until we arrived at the compound, my home, that I knew the stone cold truth.
This was no longer my home. It was no longer my compound.
I was no longer queen.