Tug (Irreparable 3)

Eduardo turns his head slightly. “No.”

“When somebody fucks with my family.”

“Of course. I would never do that.” Eduardo’s Adam’s apple bulges as he swallows his fear. The two men are toe to toe, the energy between them hostile and tense.

“Do you know what hurts more than being deported and being forced to leave your little girl?”

Montez shakes his head, his eyes glowing frightfully as he tries to hold his ground.

“Finding her twenty years later and learning some animal stole her virginity, let his friends gang-rape her, and laughed while she was beaten by a group of street bitches. Finding out someone you trust put your little girl through that makes me extremely angry. Angry enough to forgive a two-hundred-thousand-dollar debt.”

Eduardo puts his hands up in front of him. “I didn’t …”

“Shut up!” Torrente shouts, and spits in Eduardo’s face.

The irony in Eduardo cowering is satisfying. The terror of all the women he’s ever made fear him is being delivered tenfold.

“Is Javier your son?”

Eduardo shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“But you knew Maria had a kid. And you knew you raped her many times. Didn’t you wonder?”

“No. I didn’t rape her.”

“Are you calling her a liar again?”

Eduardo backs up. “The kid could be anyone’s. This whore slept with all my boys.”

“What did you call my daughter, Mr. Montez?”

“Your daughter … I … didn’t know.”

“No, but your ignorance isn’t relevant.” Torrente snaps his fingers at Marco. “Get him out of my sight.”

“I made you a lot of money — please!” Watching Eduardo beg is deeply rewarding.

Torrente tips his head toward the outside door. Two large men, dressed head to toe in black, unmarked swat team fatigues appear next to Marco. They grip Eduardo by the arm and shoulder, and drag him across the tile to the door. His high priced sneakers digging into the floor can’t save him. He’s not nearly strong enough to escape, although he tries with everything in him, thrashing and kicking.

“No, damn it! I made you a rich man. You can’t do this. I’ll do anything. Anything you want. I’ll make you pay for this. Do you hear me? You’re going to regret this.”

His threats, and his desperate begging for his life has no effect on Torrente, who watches him be removed with an ice-cold distance that makes me shiver. He’s a dead man walking, and while it’s wrong, I don’t feel a speck of remorse. I’ve made arrangements with Mr. Torrente for a private meeting with Montez before we leave, and I’m anxious for it to happen. I have my own fury to unleash.

Maria stares at her father with something close to hatred. He moves slowly across the floor and stands in front of her. Their gazes clash like fire and ice. He reaches up and strokes her cheek with the back of his fingers.

She smacks his hand away. “I don’t believe you’re my father.”

A look of pain creeps over his features, and then he smiles. “I can prove it. Come with me.”

Her eyes dart to me, and I squeeze her hand. “It’s okay,” I say reassuringly. We follow Mr. Torrente into the foyer. He points at the painting of the woman with her newborn baby that I admired on my first visit here. Maria covers her quivering lips with her fingers and steps close to the painting. I stay at her side watching her.

Moments pass and the sadness in her glassy eyes as she studies the painting squeezes my lungs. They feel like they’re about collapse, and it’s hard to breathe. I can’t do anything to stop the pain she’s feeling. When the helplessness is nearly too much to bear, a slow smile spreads across her face, and I exhale.

“It’s my mama.”

I nod.

“She was so beautiful,” Torrente says, his voice catching. He clears his throat and adds, “I loved her so much, as I did you.”