Michele

The alley between the two buildings is narrow as I scope out the space for the next project. Since leaving Tennessee and heading north like instructed, I have kept a low profile in Chicago. The connections Lee Bates set me up with have been helpful, but I always look over my shoulder waiting for the next favor to be called in.

The deal with getting me out of town with enough of a cushion to start over was one that he was clear about – I was in danger from my husband’s associates. Bates swore the only way to keep my mother and myself alive and in the clear was to do what Paul and Jackson did for these people.

That meant I became the exporter, trafficker, or distributor of sorts for their products. Where I am sure Paul and Jackson knew what they were delivering, I don’t. I refuse to ask questions because I am in deep enough without adding more to the mix.

I still don’t know what kind of mess Jackson was caught up in exactly. The whole time I knew him, he was a hard-working country boy that spent every extra minute he had with me. How he landed himself on the other side of the law, I won’t ever understand. According to Bates, though, my brother found out, confronted him, and paid the ultimate price for protecting me.

The people who contact me now, though, they seem to have known Paul. Antonio Almanza is my main contact and he references Paul like they worked together so I don’t believe what Bates said about my brother confronting Jackson. I think some people want to see the worst in someone and for him Jackson is and always will be the bad guy. I haven’t heard from Bates in years so I don’t know what he’s up to anymore.

I know that once upon a time, he believed my husband was all things evil and my brother was innocent.

In the courtroom, the district attorney painted a picture of Jackson and Paul being partners. Lee said they had to do it in order to present all of the evidence in the car since the car was technically in Paul’s name. He swore to me that Paul wasn’t involved.

Now, though, I know better. He had to be.

Paul was involved with the Almanza cartel.

To what extent exactly, that I don’t know. I still can’t sort out how Jackson fits in either.

What I do know is Lee Bates set me up with a contact to Antonio Almanza, right hand man to Javi Almanza and from there my life was turned upside down.

Lee said I needed to willingly contact Almanza and offer to cover the debt my brother and husband had in order to keep my mother safe. At first I thought it was some bad movie that I somehow found myself trapped in.

Except, I knew Jackson was locked up so there was no hero to come save me. In order to keep my mother safe, this is what I had to do.

With all the guilt, the history, and everything in Tennessee, it was all too much. With Bates’ connections in Chicago, I was able to set up my small gallery and my life as Peony Michele, owner of Peony Paints. Almanza thought it would be the perfect cover and get me out of Tennessee where my life was falling apart.

I had no choice. I had to go.

For the most part, the men who I owe my protection to leave me alone. Every few months, I’m asked to paint a canvas. On the back side, I am to attach a package and the recipient of the artwork will know what it’s about. I don’t ask questions and I don’t get paid for those jobs. My security is provided along with filtering my actual client payments back to me in cash when necessary.

The connections Javi Almanza has provided keep the IRS off my ass and I have managed years of living under the radar. In fact, to the world Michele Elizabeth Forbes died from a drug overdose, and Michele Presley wife to Jackson barely ever existed.

I am simply the owner of Peony Paints, Michele. I pay in cash, never use my last name, and only call home when I think it’s safe. I don’t use the internet except for my website. As much as I want to search Jackson Presley and find out what my husband has been doing with his life, I don’t.

My only information comes from my mother.

The last time I talked to her about him, Jackson was released from prison after eight years instead of the ten years of his sentence, citing good behavior. She also told me not long after his release, the state of Tennessee appeals court overturned his conviction and his record is clean. That said, it’s been years and Jackson hasn’t found me. He hasn’t sought me out, so he must believe I am dead. Which I am, the woman I was to him is long gone. I also make it a point not to ask if there is any word around town about him.

I don’t need to know. It will only make it hurt more in the long run.

I jump when a shadow comes out from behind a dumpster. The man in front of me isn’t tall. His dark hair is cut close to his head all the way around. He has plump lips that spread into a large smile as he registers my fear. As the man approaches, he is rolling back the sleeves of a coral colored button up shirt that is tucked into a deep, charcoal gray pair of dress pants, finished off with black pointed toe shoes.

I see the tattoo of a dagger on the inside of his forearm with ‘la familia Almanza’ in script around the dagger. Immediately, my pulse quickens. Sweat covers my body as my core temperature raises the more the fear builds.

“Hola, Michele eres Hermosa. Tis a shame to see such a beauty be marked.”

I shake my head back and forth. “I don’t know you.”

“Ahhh, but you will,” he saunters to me. There is a swagger, a presence about this man that for his short stature screams intimidation. His forearms bulge and his biceps seem to stretch the unforgiving fabric of his shirt.

“I was called for a mural on this wall.” I fight to keep my voice from cracking and lose.

The man stands in front of me. Reaching up, he brushes the back side of his knuckles against my cheek to which I flinch.

“You are right to be afraid, belleza.” He sighs. “I am Antonio Almanza. Primo to Javi with whom you have a debt. I am your handler.”

I feel my lip tremble. “I’ve done everything he’s asked, everything you’ve asked.” I try to explain as I fight back the fear. Never once have either of them invaded my space like this. In fact, it’s all been done via parcel services never face to face.

“Yes, but we require more.”

I open my mouth but immediately close it. I’m alone. The only person who knows I’m even alive is my mother who is in her sixties. She doesn’t need to be tied up in this mess.

“What is it?”

“First, you will do this mural because mi primo tells me your work is as beautiful as the artist.”

I swallow back the lump building in my throat. Picking my head up, I meet the man’s dark stare. I may be down, but I will not show weakness.

“You say first. So what is second?”

“We’ve decided to upgrade your studio. You’ll be brought into the fold with a place set up for you to work and live.” He waves his hand to the building in front of me which offers a bottom floor store front, with two-level apartment taking up the top two floors of the building. “We will provide you a car, pay your bills. We just need a place we can use to meet on occasion. At which time you will provide food for the men in attendance and then close your eyes and ears to your surroundings.”

“I don’t need my bills paid,” I counter not wanting to be in any deeper.

“Needs, wants, none of it matters. You are in debt to the Almanza family. This is what we will be setting up once you finish this mural.”

Not knowing what to say to stop this from happening, I spit out the first thing that comes to mind, “People will ask questions.”

That is when my world is turned upside down yet again. His hands come up and grip my neck tilting my face just before his plump lips press to mine. I gasp leaving him the opening to dive in.

The only man I have ever kissed was Jackson. This feels wrong. It’s a foreign invasion and by his grip, I’m out of my league to stop the onslaught as he continues to kiss me. Breaking away, I promptly wipe my lips wanting his touch off me.

He doesn’t take it as an insult but more of a challenge when he smiles at me. “You tell them; you’ve got yourself a new man.”

I shake my head. “I’m not some cartel bitch.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Without touching me, he steps closer to which I step back until my back hits the unmoving wall behind me. He nods his head.

“Do not make this something ugly. If you act like a bitch, you’ll be treated as such. You play nice and your life could be one of ease.”

I feel tears pooling in my eyes but I refuse to let them fall.

“No estes triste. Don’t be sad. In our culture we take care of our women. I promise, Michele to take care of your body and your home.” He winks and I want to retch.

“And what if I decline.”

His face hardens, “remember who you made your deal with. You sought out our familia not the other way around. There are consequences to betrayal. Michele, there is little you will have to do but a future will be secured for you. Don’t make this difficult.”

With another press of his lips to mine, he backs away. “This could be fun if you would just let it be what it will be.”

As quickly as he showed up, he walks away disappearing around the side of the building leaving me standing there staring at a brick wall I have to make a life around.

“I’m not some cartel bitch,” I whisper to myself. Looking to the sky, I wonder how I will ever get myself out of this one.

I’m a painter. A simple artist.

Who am I kidding, I’m a cartel bitch whether I want to be or not.

Hopeless is a feeling I’m all too familiar with.