Cecilia
Myeyeswereopen, but I was somewhere else.
I was at that place in my head where no one could touch me, the place my Papá carved out of me like a river cut through a mountain range. He knew it would take more than just blood rights and learning the politics of the syndicate to turn me into Reína del Cártel. A king had to be forged in heat and be as hard as steel. As a woman, he knew I had to be twice as resilient, I had to be indestructible to survive those who would stand in my way.
“Your enemy will do whatever it takes to get information from you Mija,” my Papá paced in front of me, and I was fourteen again dripping in sweat, body aching, covered in my own piss as I hung by my bound wrists. A few of my fingers burned from their nails being removed the previous day and my toes were barely grazing the floor, exhaustion coursing through me, my hunger no longer present as we reached day three in the dungeon. “You must compartmentalize if you are to rise above them all,” he said calmly, gesturing Cézar over.
“And if they kill me for my silence?” I asked through labored breaths.
“Then you will die with the honor of knowing you were not weak, and the Flóres Cártel will be stronger for it.” His eyes were full of pride as I nodded at him in understanding.
Through all of the beatings, the waterboarding, and psychological torture he put me through, not even a scream escaped my lips, let alone the word ‘stop’. We’d been doing this for a couple of years now, Papá said his father started when he was fifteen and he wanted me to be better than him, stronger than him. Personally, I just thought he was making up for the fact I was a woman, I would always need twice as much to be half as strong.
One weekend every two months, since my eleventh birthday he brought me to one of the Cártel dungeons in Tijuana to mold me into the Queen he thought I should be. It was the beginning of summer vacation though, and this summer I was to be by his side for the entirety of it. By the time I would get home for the school year to start, my nails would have grown back, my scars would be less visible, and I would be ten times stronger than the girl I was when we started. There was always a part of me that wondered if this would have been my life so early on had we not been forced into hiding all those years ago, when Ignácio burned our home down. But I think this was always Papá’s plan from the minute the doctor announced he was having a girl.
Cézar uncrossed his arms from the corner of the cell and pushed off the wall with a foot as he grabbed the iron cattle brand off the flickering heat of the torch that was ignited. The five-petal crest was glowing red hot and his eyes met mine with an apology etched into them that was unspoken, I didn’t need it anyway. Even without the chains or the handcuffs I would willingly stand here and accept my fate.
It was more than an honor.
I braced for the pain I knew was coming as he tore the bottom of my shirt off and lifted it up to expose my rib. “Respira Princesa,” he said, and I swallowed a deep breath, but nothing could prepare me for the agonizing pain that tore through my body.
I could almost taste the hot iron of the brand melting my flesh as I bit my cheeks to force down the scream that was threatening to slip out of me. The smell of torched skin filled the air and warm urine dripped down to my toes, but I couldn’t feel much aside from the throb below my breast.
I flickered in and out of consciousness, head hanging down as saliva and blood pooled out of my mouth, but I could hear bits and pieces of Cézar’s quiet approval telling me I had done well. Right before I lost control of reality, I heard my Papá say, “Welcome to the Cártel Mija.” I heard the clinking of the gold coin thrown at my feet, but I was lost to the darkness before I could appreciate my well-earned trophy.
The door of the coffin opened, and I was blinded by the sudden brightness of the external world. It was hard to say how long I had been in here, but judging by the pressure in my bladder I’d guess it had definitely been a while. I didn’t bother to stand or move so he grabbed me like a rag doll and threw my limp body over his shoulder again, all of the fight, completely drained from me as he crossed through the large lobby that separated the kennels from the bathroom.
He gave me a few minutes to myself and opened the door when he heard the flush of the toilet before picking me up again.
I could almost feel the scorch of the brand on my ribcage searing through my clothes from the heat of his touch against my cold body. “Are you ready to talk?” Ronan asked as he dropped me onto my bed, but I felt further from it than ever before.
I felt hollowed out and frozen in the past. I could fight the effects of that closet for a few hours at a time, but I was out of practice, and I couldn’t last as long as I did when I was young. It stole a piece of me to be locked away in there, and the fact he did it intentionally stung deeper than the scars I bore.
I had no strength to fight him after spending all day in that dark chamber, so I didn’t answer. I lay on my side and faced away from him, curling my body into a small shape. I closed my eyes as exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks and I was too weak to resist the call of slumber, though in the back of my mind I knew it wasn’t safe.