The shrill opera-like scream shrieked through the house. The moment Soledad appeared at the door to bring her a provocative dress for Hector’s arrival home, Mary Jane had attacked. She threw the smoke bomb at her face. The chemicals combusted, splashing against her skin. Soledad’s cry delayed her reaction time. Mary Jane needed to get out now. A slight inhale of the chemical would be enough to make her lungs cave.

She covered her face with her shirt and moved around the side of the door. She leaped over Soledad as the bitch went crumbling to the floor.

Every fiber in Mary Jane’s being was on fire the instant Soledad entered the room. Mary Jane had seen Wulf heading back into the forest. At least the vision had seemed so real. Now, she hurried down the hall, wielding the butcher knife as Soledad rolled on the floor with respiratory failure and chemical burns bubbling the skin of her neck and face. Mary Jane’s lungs burned when she sucked in a breath, and she hadn’t even taken a breath since tossing the bottle at Soledad’s face.

“Lalina!” Canelo called as he headed down the stairs. Mary Jane took her last step and sprinted toward the front door. Shadows of large men moved behind the frosted glass and wrought iron wood double-door.

Hector was home.

She skidded on the hardwood floor and started to turn, but a clicking sound stopped her dead in her tracks. The cock of a shotgun’s safety.

“Not another move!”

Before her, Canelo stood at the end of the hallway. His eyes wide with concern for her.

Hands ascending slowly, Mary Jane dropped the knife. Her only other form of defense went clanking to the floor.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

Mary Jane completed a slow about-face. The expansive room grew crowded as seven Mexican men in shiny suits ranging from black to gray glared at her. All except for man in charge who wore a posh white suit with a black rose in the lapel.

“And you are?” The boss, with his salt and pepper slicked back hair, stared at Mary Jane.

She managed a gulp, eyes widening at just how menacing he appeared.

“Hector, she’s a gift.” Soledad’s cracked voice traveled down the stairs. They all looked up to where she leaned over the balcony, holding a wet rag to her face. The men’s expressions contorted. She was no longer a captivating beauty, but just as ugly as her heart. One of those dark soulless eyes was sealed shut. Soledad’s face and hand had blotched red spots as she held onto the railing of the stairway above.

“What the fuck happened to you?” asked one of the goons in Spanish.

“Lalina did it!” Soledad used both hands as she came down the stairs. Her breathing rasped with each step. She stepped in front of Mary Jane. With force, she slapped her.

Mary Jane went sprawling to the floor. She bit her lip and growled, “Fuck!”

Staying on the floor for a death that was sure to come seemed the most obvious of choices. Giving up without showing fear to these heartless bastards was better than begging.

Hector hiked up his pants and knelt. “Who might you be?” he inquired again, this time in English.

“Mary Jane.”

“Pretty little thing,” he said, wiping the blood from her lip with his thumb. “Mighty nice gift, but I prefer my gifts to not harbor malicious intent.”

“She’ll be the best gift you’ve ever received.” Soledad’s lips trembled into a grin, causing her cheeks to crack and deepening the lines of her chemical burns. “She’s the Puerto Rican’s daughter.”

“She? She’s Lalina?” Hector’s eyes locked onto Mary Jane as if she were the rarest jewel while he helped her up.

“No, she’s not,” Canelo spoke up.

“Yes, she is!” Soledad exclaimed, staring at Mary Jane.

Every eye shifted back and forth between the two in consideration.

“She does look just like Escobar’s youngest,” one observed.

“But she’s not.” Canelo shook his head. “I have a friend that works at the resort in Generosa. Lalina stayed there at the same time this woman did and—”

Soledad shouted, “Shut the fu—”

“Quiet!” Hector ordered, the force of his voice made her shoulders quiver, her body freeze. “Speak!” he commanded Canelo.

“Fernando, a valet at the resort where this girl also stayed, says a Jag blew up a few weeks ago. I just got off the phone with my friend. We can call Fernando back if you want. The police are keeping quiet. They’re afraid Escobar will…” Canelo paused, as if embarrassed about mentioning something. He shrugged and said, “You know, retaliate. The police haven’t said anything. The Jag wrecked in a canyon, inland and away from where the puta was vacationing. Two women were found dead. One of them had a license for Lalina. Escobar’s kid is dead.”

Hector seemed to be thinking as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Mary Jane recalled Soledad and Canelo arguing about Escobar. This enemy of his was becoming a thorn in his side.

“If Soledad’s right, then having Escobar’s baby girl would put the El Toro cartel at the top of the totem pole,” one of the other men mumbled. A few nodded in agreement.

“She’s his daughter,” Soledad said, obviously trying to justify any fuck-ups quickly.

“And if she’s not?” Hector’s right-hand man questioned.

“Beat her black and blue and barely recognizable. We can send him photos of his daughter’s death afterward. But with Escobar not aware of his daughter being dead, he’ll make deals. We just won’t be able to keep them, nor have we ever given a crap long enough in the past,” Soledad assured him.

Hector smiled, and in Spanish said, “Just knowing his daughter has been marked by Devil’s Blood is enough for me.”

“Yes,” Soledad said. “And with Canelo’s news. If the cops have Lalina’s body, we can go get it–”

Soledad’s body dropped swiftly and smoke fizzed from the hole in her forehead. The chrome Desert Eagle in Hector’s hand dropped back to his side. There were tiny blood spatters on the sleeve of his suit jacket. He removed it, saying, “Now that we’ve talked business, where is dinner?”

A maid skulking near the door spoke up. “Please, this way.”

The men headed toward the dining room. Hector took Mary Jane’s hand and retrieved her from the floor. Apparently, he didn’t know she understood the language. He smiled at her.

“You are our guest. Please sit.” Hector held out the camelhair-dining chair for her to sit. He retired at the head of the ten-seat table. “Canelo,” his eyes stopped on the man, “please take the head opposite me.” He pointed across from him.

Canelo’s face glowed. Each goon’s eyes latched onto Canelo as he claimed the coveted seat. Chandeliers twinkled above as well as the crystal glasses before them. This was a celebration and she was their fearful guest. Mary Jane kept quiet as she watched the look of satisfaction on his face. A maid placed tortilla soup on the gold charger before him. Well-seasoned bowls were then offered to the rest of them. Without words, everyone began to eat.

“My dear, dig in.” Hector patted Mary Jane’s hand.

She looked at him, still so unsure of what to do.

“The maids were just arriving as I did. The kitchen seems as if it hasn’t been used for days,” Hector said in between bites of food. He spoke in Spanish, apparently trying to keep his conversation private from her.

“We’ve been in search of Lalina since you left,” Canelo replied.

“I see. Soledad advised of your return a few days ago.”

“Ye-yes,” Canelo said.

“You’ve been in my home with my woman all this time. No other guards? No other maids?” he asked.

“Well, no. Because we had the girl here too.” Canelo placed his spoon back in his bowl without taking another sip. “We cannot trust everyone. I didn’t want it to get out that we had the upper hand with Escobar.”

“Makes sense. Who can be trusted these days, eh?” Hector placed the cloth napkin in his lap. “I’ve had security cameras installed.”

The color from Canelo’s face faded. Mary Jane glanced back and forth between the two. The intensity of silence made it hard for her to breathe.

“Hector…I-I can explain!”

“You’ve been in my bed,” Hector murmured.

Canelo slammed his hand on the table. “I didn’t want to sleep with her!”

“I said, you’ve been in my bed! Is it not apparent that I don’t give a fuck about Soledad? Wasn’t it evident a few minutes ago?” Hector stopped to take a sip of his wine. “There are some things we haven’t been eye-to-eye about, Canelo.”

“I’m-I’m sorry,” Canelo replied. His hands went to the Mother Mary medal around his neck, and he spilled an arsenal of repentance, begging for mercy.

“Shhh!” Hector commanded. The room became deathly quiet. “When I started my business, I economized on very small towns and readymade farms,” Hector began. “I saved you from a life as a little beggar!”

Canelo’s fleshy face softened. “For that, I will always be grateful.”

“I turned you into the man you are today. Put more money in your pocket than you’d ever see where you came from.” Hector pointed a stiff hand at him.

“And I appreciate it,” Canelo spoke sincerely.

“You are a very big man. Yet, I’ve come to understand to be patient with you, Canelo. See, it takes time for your brain to catch up,” Hector said in annoyance as he tapped an index finger to his forehead. His lips curved into a smile, framing expensive veneers. “Treated you like a son all along.”

“Thank you, Hector,” Canelo practically spat the words, the sorrow for his misdeeds written all over his face.

Hector glanced around and laughed. “I said I’ve been patient with you. Fuck, I’ve wagered with a few of these motherfuckers here… That you’d find out a long time ago, though you didn’t.” He paused as more of his men tuned in with laughter. Hector picked up his bowl and slurped up the last bits of creamy soup. He turned to Mary Jane and in English said, “Eat up, please. You are my guest.”

Her eyes cast downward to the full bowl of soup as Canelo appeared swallowed up with guilt.

“Still he doesn’t get it?” Hector spoke in Spanish. They all shook their heads no.

“I,” Hector replied, standing. He dabbed his lips with the cloth, then let it float to his empty bowl. “Requested the death of your family. The man and police who invaded your home, killed your family and set it all on fire, work for me.”

“You,” Canelo whispered, beginning to grip a fork in his hand. He twirled the handle in his thick, sweaty palm. “You…you…”

“Si.”

“But!” Canelo stood, and then they all did. “But you’re my family. You’ve been like a father to me!”

“Yes.” Hector shrugged. “I’ve done my best raising you.”

“Raising! Me! You–raised–me!” Canelo stabbed himself in the chest with the fork. With each word, spots of blood dotted his light gray button up. “You took me out of the home with my Madre and brought me here. Motherfucker, you raised me!”

Mary Jane looked back and forth between them. Canelo crying and stabbing himself made her mouth drop open. Guns were raised at the snap of a finger, all pointed at Canelo. The fork fell from his fingers in a nano-second. He whisked out a snub-nosed revolver and pointed it toward Hector.

Mary Jane reared back in her chair as shots fired. On hands and knees, she slithered toward the door to the kitchen. Pushing it forward with one hand, she quickly crawled inside as a frenzy of fireworks went off.

The sound of a hammer cocked back on a Winchester rifle brought her back to her knees before she could even make it to her feet.

“Make a move, I’ll blow your fucking head off!” said the cook in broken English.

She closed her eyes at his words and nodded her head then took a deep breath.

“Up!” he announced. “Slowly, very slowly, Lalina!”

Mary Jane cried, “I-I’m not—”

“Shut up!”

She stood, eye-level to his gnarly yellow teeth.

He grabbed a knife from the rack. When he lashed out with it, Mary Jane jumped back. He gripped her wrist and yanked her body to him. Her hand went out to hit the chef, but he turned her quickly and pinned her back to him. The knife chewed softly at her neck.

His sweaty body molded to her behind. “I wonder how Escobar will feel when receiving a call while I rape every orifice of your body.”

Mary Jane whimpered at the callous beast. He pulled her against his body, his member hard and poking harshly against her bottom. The chef wrapped a large arm around her throat, putting her in a headlock. “Do you think Escobar will stay on the phone long enough to hear his precious daughter take her last breath?”

The cook’s fat sausage fingers groped at her breasts. The slob became a wild animal as he struggled and concentrated with undoing the button of her jeans.

In that exact instant, Mary Jane hauled back her head and slammed against his fleshy nose.

“You bitch!” he screamed. The knife flew from his hand. His eyes narrowed even more until they seemed to be swallowed by puffy skin. She kicked him in the crouch, and he fell to his knees.

“Now, Mr. Cook. That’s never been my favorite word.” She smiled.

“Yeah, but now this knife gets to have some fun with you.” He grinned, grabbing the serrated utility knife from the rack. The blade was semi-hooked and had a jagged edge that matched the sharpness of the chef’s smile.

“Not gonna happen.” Mary Jane grabbed the wood chopping block as he lunged toward her. The sound of it smacking his forehead sent shimmers of happiness down her spine. His large body fell back and hit the floor, knocking him out cold.

Taking a quick breath, she stood up as the side door flew open. Her eyes widened. “You!”