“Sierra?” He stares at me, boring a hole into the top of my head. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demands.
That’s a good question—maybe one I should’ve prepared an answer for before I left the villa. But I honestly don’t have an answer for him. When I woke up this morning, it was to the sound of Tank leaving. I watched him through thinly parted eyes as he slowly crept off of the bed, careful to distribute his weight so I wouldn’t wake. Then, he was gone without even closing the door completely.
As I lay there, my brain spun. I was here in Mexico with Tank, but not to be his sex doll and companion. I was supposed to be here to help him figure out what had happened to Carmen. He had already gone to a meeting with someone with knowledge earlier, but he failed to tell me what had come of that. Didn’t I have a right to know what was going on?
So I snuck out. My body ached deliciously from last night’s lovemaking. I slipped out of bed and quickly found the clothes Tank’s man had left for me outside my door. To my surprise, when I was ready to sneak out, there was no one around. I had thought this place would be guarded like a fortress. Considering Tank and the Apaches had one of the largest drug networks in all of Texas, it only made sense to me that there would be at least a man or two at post. But there was no one there to stop me.
In the faint light of the rising sun, I watched as Tank slowly drove through the back alleys, his bike leaving tire trails for me to follow. It led me to this fort in the middle of town. There were a few guards here and there watching the streets, but no one seemed to pay me any mind when I slipped in the side with a group of other women carrying straw baskets and metal pots of food. Just another servant girl going to work, I suppose.
I managed to make it just in time to hear Tank’s speech to his men. They looked at him like vultures as he talked about war and Aztec attacks. It all reminded me why I promised myself that I would never, ever get involved with a motorcycle club man. The bloodthirst, the lust for anything violent was way too much to handle. And I had somehow found myself in the arms of the warlord himself.
I was almost thankful when that guard spotted me hiding behind a post near a far wall. I wasn’t able to brush away the tears coming from my eyes—tears that were not out of sorrow or regret from the night before, but out of anger over what was about to happen. Tank was using my and Carmen’s names to bring hell and destruction to the people I knew and loved.
“Sierra!” he screams at me again, quickly raising his arms to show the men that he knows who I am. None of them drop their guns, which were pointed straight at my head. “Answer me! What the fuck are you doing here?”
I sigh and lift my hands up. I can’t speak, at least not in front of these men. What could I say that wouldn’t land me with a bullet in my head anyway? I know how club hierarchy works, and women are at the very bottom. They’re the old ladies, the sluts, the pass around’s. Once in a great while, you might hear of a woman who earns a real spot, but she usually has to degrade herself first. Me being here was certainly not going to win me over Apaches.
And then, my worst nightmare comes true. “Tank!” a voice calls out from behind him. “You know this bitch? She’s an Aztec. I seen her hang around that girl in the hospital. And she’s with Abe.” The man steps out in front of the rest of the group and sprints towards me. I only cower towards the ground, as he grabs me by my waist and forces me into the center of the plaza. I fall to my knees and look up, just as I hear the click of a bullet being pushed into the barrel.
“Stand down, Rafa!” Tank drops his weapon, but he refuses to look me in my eyes. “Yeah,” he says, a little more quietly, “yeah, I know her, and she’s not with Abe. She’s the girl’s roommate, and I brought her here to help me catch the real attacker in case he was hiding out with Guzman.”
“How do you know she ain’t some spy? She doesn’t look like no Aztec girl. She’s actual good looking.” A small group of men standing by Tank snickers. At least he’s making jokes as he points the loaded gun at the side of my head. Tank, however, isn’t laughing. All his anger is directed squarely at me.
“Put down your fucking gun. If I say she’s with me, she’s with me.” He walks over to Rafael and grabs the pistol out of his hand. It’s bold and terrifying. I can’t imagine being that in control of the situation in a room full of loaded guns and hot tempers. He obviously knows his place.
Rafael lifts his hands in concession and walks slowly back to the group of Tank’s men. They all stand down and return to the huddle they were just in. But I can tell that they are all waiting to hear and see what happens to the girl who snuck in. Tank senses it, too—so he barks an order about the drugs and meeting up with some dealer outside the border. When he finishes, the men scurry in every direction. Some mount their bikes and the rest sit in the back of a large, white van with cardboard boxes mislabeled in Spanish.
As Tank watches them go, one at a time, I see his hands flex and stretch. They make strong, large fists with white knuckles and red fingertips. Suddenly, I remember that I am still kneeling on the ground. I attempt to stand, but he places a strong hand on my shoulder and pushes me back to the ground. “Stay down,” he whispers, still angry with me. “Don’t you even move a fucking muscle.”
A man in a large white hat appears from the top of staircases at the side of the fort. He sounds jovial in a way only an evil, deranged man could. It’s as if his voice just knows how to twist words around to make them sound worse than they are. “I see we have an intruder in our midst,” he says cruelly. “Do you want my men to handle it?”
Tank doesn’t flinch. In fact, he moves two steps to the side. My heart races rapidly. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen!
“She’s nothing. Just some bitch that got mixed up. I’m sending her back to my villa now to wait for me. I’ll punish her when I get back.” He turns towards me, fire in his eyes. His hand clutches again. I can’t imagine what punishment he has in store for me, and after last night, I know that he’s capable of just about anything.
The man in the white hat smiles at him approvingly, as he snaps his fingers towards the door he just walked out of. “I’ll send one of my men to escort her out,” he says. A young kid of maybe thirteen or fourteen appears. He looks just about as terrified as I feel. “Romeo,” the white hat barks, “make sure this woman gets back to the villa immediately. Do not let her go anywhere but her room. Do you understand me?”
The boy nods and walks towards me. I size him up just in case I need to plan an escape. He’s roughly my weight and height, and his scrawny arms aren’t that intimidating. But I can see the gun in his back pocket as he walks. He certainly has that over me.
When I don’t move, Tank strides over to me and hoists me up from under the hook of my arm, as if I am some child throwing a tantrum. He doesn’t say a word to me though. He just thrusts me towards the kid and turns to talk to the man in the white hat. As I follow the kid out the gate, I look back at him, hoping I’m missing something. But he doesn’t even give me a sideways glance.
Was this the true Tank? Was I getting a glimpse of the man at work?
My stomach lurches as the large metal gate closes behinds us. I turn towards the boy and study him a bit more. Now that we are out and away from his boss, he looks different to me. His shoulders relax. His body softens. He is staring almost directly into the sun that is now high in the sky. Something tells me that he doesn’t get many chances to go outdoors like this.
I try to smile at him as I say innocently, “I don’t know how to get back, señor.”
“My papa works there. I know the way.” He begins to walk quickly towards the alleys I previously traveled down to get her. There’s actually a little spring in his footsteps as I am putting everything together. I hesitate before he turns around to exclaim, “Follow me!”
I catch up to him and force him to slow down. I try to make some small talk with him, asking him about the vendors we pass or the shops that are opening slowly. But he doesn’t know much, so instead I get to the point. “I need to get away. Can you tell me where I can get a car?”
“No, no, no, miss. I am supposed to bring you to the villa. Guzman would be angry if I didn’t. He will punish me and my family.” He looks at me, terrified as his hand reaches back for the pocket where his gun is still sloshing around in his oversized pants.
I stop in my place and reach out to touch his shoulder. “I don’t want to do that. How about you get me back to the villa but tell me where I can get a car. I’ll pay. I have money.”
The boy looks around silently. The walls of this town have spies I bet, and they are all in the pocket of his boss Guzman. I almost feel guilty putting this young kid at risk, but I have to do something. He starts to walk again towards the villa, and I feel all the hope drain out of me quickly. But just as we turn the corner, he says, “In twenty minutes, my papa goes to the market. No one guards the villa. There’s a car in the garage that belongs to that man you were with. Keys in the ignition. Go quickly.”
I look at him in both surprise and awe. I know what he is risking, and I have no way to thank him. I swallow hard and nod, as we walk to the entrance of the villa. As I walk inside, he calls after me, “Twenty minutos!”
The boy is right. After almost exactly twenty minutes, I hear the slam of a heavy door echo throughout the silent bedroom. I give it five extra minutes—just in case this is some sick test. But there’s nothing. No sound of footsteps, no voices, no people working in other rooms of the villa. I peak my head outside the window where I can just catch sight of the front. It, too, is unguarded, just as he promised.
I set down a note on the table that I scribbled for Tank while I waited. It’s just a quick explanation—not that he deserved it. After what he did to me, I would rather just leave him completely high and dry and tell Abe all that I heard. But I also know that if I didn’t end this on somewhat friendly terms, I could be added to the list of hits Tank probably had circulating. And if he was involved in Carmen’s beating after all, I certainly didn’t want to end up like her.
With the note in place and my clothes tucked in a sack I found in the kitchen, I run out towards the attached garage. Like promised, there is a black, sleek car waiting for me. It’s a luxury car, a brand that I can’t even begin to pronounce. Its black tinted windows and thicker outer shell make it clear to me that this was made to protect. It was made for the man who started wars, sold drugs, and hired hits. This is a Tank car.
I open the door, throwing my purse in the backseat, and grab the keys. The car almost silently purrs as it starts. I fumble around till I find the garage door trigger. Sun comes blaring in the entrance as I back out slowly. The last thing I want is to get unwanted attention. Though in this car, that’s all I can do. It’s nothing like the vintage VW Beetles and old Cadillacs littering the street of the town.
Once I’m out and back on the highway, I allow myself to turn on some music and drink a luke-warm water bottle sitting on the dashboard. For now, I’m free. The radio plays an old rock song, one that I know all too well. I roll down the window a bit as I sing along, blasting the lyrics as loudly as I can. After all, who is going to stop me?
Towns and cities fade into the background of the highway as I get away from civilization. It’s about four hours from the border, if I am remembering it correctly. And that gives me just enough time to figure out how I am going to cross without Tank’s help or my IDs.
But before I can come up with a solution, the answer comes to me…in the form of a motorcycle speeding down the highway in my direction. I roll the window back up and pray that it’s just a coincidence. The Harley slows behind me before pulling alongside my car. Every bit of me tenses up as I try to say any and all the prayers I know.
The driver lifts his helmet before pulling right alongside the car. I stare straight at the road, avoiding the glare of my stalker. If this is my death, I’d rather not see the person who is about to kill me. There’s a loud bang as he rattles the window with his fist. I see the outline of the bike swerve a bit towards the other side uneasily. There’s a sound of a crash as gravel goes flying over the top of my car.
I know I should go on and let it go, but I can’t. Something is telling me to go back, to see who or what that was. I look behind me before stopping the car with a jolt and then turning it quickly around. I see the rider stand slowly as he wipes the dirt from his jacket. His face is clear except for one streak of blood running from his temple. And as I pull alongside him, my heart beating firmly in my chest, I stare into the familiar fiery blue eyes.