“That’s how I got it,” he says. “But Papa never hit me again after that. You know why?”
I shake my head and wait for the massive revelation that I think is going to come.
“I never gave him a reason to,” Cesar tells me. “I do whatever Papa wants, and I do it however he wants. And you must learn to do the same.”
For some reason, I shudder. “What if I can’t?”
“Does your cheek hurt, little bird?” Cesar asks.
I nod. “A lot.”
“It will get a lot worse if you continue to defy him. I know you’re growing up, but that’s only going to make him harder on you.”
“I’d rather take the pain than do everything I’m told to do,” I snap defiantly.
Cesar smiles. “You’re braver than I am. But you’re also young. Pain takes all sorts of different forms, and it stays with you, little sister. It works its way into your skin and never leaves. You and I have been born to a don. Our life will never be easy. We will always be bound by the expectations of the Moreno cartel.”
“Then maybe I don’t want to be a Moreno anymore.”
Cesar raises his eyebrows and looks me dead in the eye. “If you’re not a Moreno, who will you be?” he asks.
I shrug. “Someone else.”
He ruffles my hair. “That’s a good plan.”
“Are you making fun of me?” I demand.
“No, I’m not,” Cesar says softly. I believe him. “You’re not just braver than I am, little bird. You’re smarter, too. I don’t have the option of not being a Moreno. But you might.”
“How?”
“You might have to disappear one day,” he tells me. “Find a quiet corner of the world to call your own and just… live.”
“Why would I have to disappear?” I ask, alarmed by the notion of disappearing at all.
“Because if you don’t, Papa will look for you,” Cesar tells me. “And if he finds you…”
“I’ll be back to being a Moreno,” I finish.
Cesar’s eyes are dark with grief. I notice that his fingers tremble slightly. I reach out and take his hand, massaging it gently between mine.
“I can’t disappear, Cesar,” I say at last.
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t leave you.”
He smiles at that, but he’s still sad—I can see it in his eyes. “And I can’t leave you,” he replies.
“Then I’ll just do what you do. I’ll listen to Papa and I won’t give him a reason to hit me again.”
Cesar nods, but he doesn’t look proud like I’d hoped he would.
He looks… broken.
“You could disappear with me,” I say softly. “We could disappear together.”
Cesar raises his eyes to my face, but it’s like he’s looking right through me. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. There is no escape, Esme,” he replies. “Not from this life. It consumes you whole until there’s nothing left. The real world won’t accept you after you’ve been spit out by this one.”
The look in his eyes scares me. “Cesar…”
“Let’s not talk about disappearing anymore, okay?” he says abruptly.
I have no choice but to nod.
I open my eyes once more.
Fresh tears slip free. I had long since forgotten about that memory. The fact that I’ve remembered it now feels ominous and revelatory in equal measure.
I take a deep breath. It comes easy this time. Easier, at least.
I strain against my bindings. Suddenly, I feel one of the knots give.
Just a little bit. Just a tiny sliver of hope.
But that’s enough.
I suck in another inhale, regroup, and push harder. With each shove, the sheet slackens a tiny bit more. And more. And more.
Until, with one final push, I manage to get one hand free.
From there, it’s easy enough to disentangle myself from the sheet. I wriggle out of it and rush to the bedroom.
Crouching down on all fours, I pull out the gun that Artem’s stowed under the bed. Once I’m armed, I turn off all the lights in the cabin and slip outside, into the shadows and the moonlight.
The night outside is dewy and crisp. Bright stars overhead, and the trees standing tall and silent like soldiers.
My hand is weak and sweaty with anxiety as I hold the weapon and move forward into the trees. I don’t know what difference I can hope to make, but I’m resolved to try.
Maybe one bullet in this gun will mean the difference between life and death for Artem.
I don’t hear any noise to guide me. Ten minutes in, I realize that I don’t even know which direction to walk. I’m walking in circles for all I know. Trapped in my own head. Held back by my lack of instincts, my lack of experience.
And then I hear something.
A sharp noise that has me freezing in place.
It snaps me out of my daze. Suddenly, I’m acutely and painfully aware of the position I’ve put myself in.
I’ve walked into the forest without any notion of what I’m going to face.
I have no protection, except for the gun in my hand, which isn’t much, seeing as how I’m barely confident in which end to aim where.
I should have listened to Artem.
I should have listened to Cillian.
I should’ve never left the lodge.
I hear the sound again, and this time, I’m certain of what it is—footsteps, coming right towards me.
The night air turns cold against my skin. I hear the trill of frightened birdsong, the chirp of crickets, the whistling and crunching and motion in the brush that surrounds me.
And underneath it all, those footsteps, like thunder behind the storm clouds.
Please, dear God, let it be Artem. Let it be Cillian.
The owner of the footsteps appears from between two tall trees.
It’s not a friend.
I don’t know who it is beyond that. But he sure seems to know me.
“Well, well, well,” the man says. “I thought I got stuck with the grunt work, scanning the area for Artem’s men. And I stumble across Artem’s woman instead. Lucky me, huh?”
I take a step back and keep my arm sheathed behind
