My eyes widen before I can fully process what he’s just said. “The Pharaoh is one of the Raines’?” Gia stammers out, completely caught off guard.
The Pharaoh is the ringleader of a private gang, or maybe it’s an organization, called the Jackals. They’re sort of a vigilante group who takes actions into their own hands.
“Rose Raines is the Pharaoh.”
“Holy shit,” Gia mutters in amazement.
“So, we will do what we can to get her sister back. Is that understood? We owe at least that much to her. Now, tell me what Juan said to you. We’ll need to act quickly and hope we can figure something out. We have so much land to cover.”
I nod, “Yes, we do. Gia and I will be taking a visit to Margarita tomorrow to let her know about Juan’s fate.”
“Thank you, but I’m going to have Javi go with your sister.”
“Javi? Isn’t he in prison?”
“No, he was released early for good behavior.”
I don’t hold back my laughter, “That’s a first.”
“Gia, Javi will go with you tomorrow. Dante, Javi will be coming here to stay with your sister for a few days while she’s visiting. I hate to ask you to do this, but I need you to go to Tamaulipas with the rest of the men. We must find the girl.”
I nod, accepting the order he’s given me. “How long has she been missing?” I ask out of curiosity.
“Over a year, which is why this is so important.”
“Alright. I’ll be ready to leave whenever you are.”
“Great. Pack a bag, you’ll be on a flight at dawn.”
Chapter Three
“I have worn nothing but blood and death for years. I have fought all your battles for you, just as you asked me. I am not a little girl anymore who’s dazzled by your magic.”
~ Unknown
Amara
Beads of sweat slide down the side of my face, even though the old-fashioned thermometer on the wall says it’s barely seventy-five degrees out. Barely any light comes in through the slits on this adobe style storage shed. The windows are simply cinderblock sized cutouts a foot below the ceiling. They have thin pieces of wood going straight down through them, reminding me of bars on a jail cell.
I inhale deeply and look around, seeing how the sun is starting to go down. It must be passed six, but not too far passed that time. From what I can tell I’m getting a little over twelve hours of direct sunlight in this piece of shit structure.
Lucien hasn’t come to give me my dinner as of yet like he typically does. I wonder if something has happened. He’s never been late. Not once in the entire year I’ve been here. Fuck. It’s been over a year at this point. I rub my hand over my forehead to wipe the sweat away and adjust my back against the wall of the iron cage he has me in. That’s right, I’m in a metal cage, like a fucking animal.
He has about four feet of walking area around the cage to do whatever he’d like or access me at any angle he’d prefer. During the first few weeks I was here he preferred to douse me with water and then poke me with a cattle prod. A while after that his kick was punching me in the face, gut, or arms. But as with everything he does he grew bored of it.
There was a time where he forgot to lock the door to my cage. It was maybe six months after we arrived here . . . wherever here is. I only know we’re in Mexico based on what I had seen when he had brought me to this place. I was able to get out of the shed, but he caught me after I had run maybe a mile. He cut the bottom of my feet, sliced them as much as he could until I couldn’t even walk. It took weeks for my feet to heal, for me not to feel one bit of pain. Even now, I still have stinging pains shooting through the bottom of my feet to the back of my ankles.
A bucket sits over in the far-left corner. It’s the only type of toilet I’ll ever get. Meanwhile on the far-right corner I have old animal feed sacks. They’re woven, itchy as hell, but it’s the only thing keeping me from laying down on the dirt. If Lucien’s feeling gracious, he’ll give me a bale of straw to disperse throughout the cell, offering some sort of texture. It doesn’t get cold here in Mexico, but it has gotten chilly on occasion. One night I remember I had to burrow myself under the straw just to refrain from shaking.
The wooden door creaks and I look up from my position, nestled in the corner of my prison, to see Lucien entering. He doesn’t speak which is unusual. He’s the type of man who believes his words are entirely more important than anyone else’s. Sometimes I think the man only wants to hear himself talk.
He flips the switch for the floodlamp he put up on the wall. It’s so bright my entire cage lights up. Within a moment, bugs buzz over to it. The sounds of their wings flapping make me want to shiver. Even now after being here for so long, I still can’t stand it.
I glance back over to Lucien and see his nailbeds are stained crimson red. Not only that, the same color is going down his fingers, leading up to his forearms. I pray this is his blood and not someone else’s, even if it means I die here, slowly starving to death. This monster’s life coming to an end would be worth it.
His eyes catch mine and he grimaces while pacing, “I had a small scuffle today. It seems we have trouble brewing, mi mascota. You