Present Day
Milo
STARING ACROSS THE table into the cold, emotionless eyes of Detective Roth, I wonder if he’s fully prepared for the information he’s about to receive. Will he believe me? I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t spent the last four months living it, and I have the physical and mental scars to prove it. I live with the vivid memories that shift from fantasy to near-death nightmares every minute of every day.
I’ve made a mess of my life. Not on purpose. I always thought, in the moment, that I was doing what was best for those I love.
You know what they say. Hindsight is a bitch.
I adjust my position, but the cold metal chair still digs into my back. The AC unit whirrs as it pumps cool air into the stifling room filled with powerful men who stare at me with anticipation. Not that I’m surprised. I hold the key to shutting down a cartel that has been a thorn in their asses for years. They want what only I can give them even if it means signing my own death certificate. They don’t care about what this confession will cost me, but neither do I. I only care about the life it’s securing.
“Where do you want me to begin?” I ask and slide my gaze from the detective to Chief Bastilla then to a sergeant from the San Ysidro Police Department.
The detective leans back and props his ankle on his knee. Casual, as if we’re just a couple of homies grabbing a beer rather than the police questioning a known gang member. “Start at the beginning.”
I scratch my cheek and chuckle. The beginning? Nah . . . some things are too personal to share, and not all skeletons deserve the light. I cross my arms and tilt my head while fixing my gaze on his. “You promise once you hear the story you’ll do what you can—”
“We’ll do what we can.”
I chew the inside of my mouth. I’m not feeling the warm fuzzy confidence that he’ll follow through on his word, so I keep my mouth shut.
After a few silent minutes, he adjusts in his seat to catch the eyes of the men around him. Bastilla nods.
The detective leans forward with his elbows on the table. “All we need is proof.”
“You realize I could be killed for what I’m about to do.”
He nods and frowns. “You could be killed if you don’t.” He twirls a finger around the room, motioning to the other men and the camera in the corner with the red light that burns like a laser-sight pointed at my head. “You talk, we become allies.”
Allies. With cops.
“Fuck.” I groan and drop my head into my hands and rub my eyes so hard it takes time to regain my vision.
The detective returns to his casual slump. “Why don’t you tell us what happened after you ran away from your foster parents and crossed the border into Mexico?”
My eyes settle on the large picture window, and I see my own reflection. I wonder who’s on the other side of the glass. Maybe no one . . . maybe everyone. Maybe that one and only someone.
My lips curve a little, but I flatten them out when I turn back to the detective. “We went to go live with my . . . father.” The word tastes like acid. “Maybe you’ve heard of him? Esteban Vega?”
The room is already silent but manages to go impossibly still as if everyone stopped breathing. The only movement I see is the widening eyes of the man across from me.
“I’m gonna take that as a yes.”
Detective Roth clears his throat. “Go on.”
“I came to Mexico and needed a place to stay, but Esteban’s hospitality comes at a price.”
“And why did you run away?” The good detective readies his pen.
Nice try. “Have you ever been in love, Detective?”
He doesn’t answer.
“The woman I loved was traumatized in the worst kind of ways, and after my brother’s accident, she was terrified she’d be locked in a psychiatric facility for the rest of her life. I wasn’t going to let that happen.” All lies, but I can’t tell him we made an African criminal with human trafficking on his resume disappear and worried more might be after us.
“Did she want to go, or did you convince her?” Chief Bastilla says, earning a glare from me.
I fist my hands under the table. “You’re focusing on the wrong thing. Now, do you want my story or not?”
“Bastilla.” Detective Roth’s cool, calm voice has the chief standing down.
“In order to live with Esteban, he made me agree to work for him. Mostly deliveries.”
“What kind of deliveries?”
I shrug. “Drugs. Guns. Only problem was I underestimated the toll Mercy’s past had taken on her. The toll it had taken on me. Suddenly being in Mexico wasn’t about staying safe. I was after revenge. I wanted the people who’d hurt her to pay. Unfortunately . . . I wasn’t the only one.”