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Somewhere In Mexico Chapter 10
"Sara, are you set? Come on, let's go or we’ll be late for classes," Olivia called from outside the door. She had stopped by Sara's house as usual to walk to school together. "Sara? Why aren’t you answering me? We’re gonna be late," Olivia shouted again, knocking on the door but receiving no response. She paused and glanced at her phone: 8:47 AM. They still had a 30-minute walk to campus, and with time ticking away, she began to wonder if she should leave without her friend. But then, on second thought, she tried the doorknob. It turned easily, the door swinging wide open. As she poked her head in, she froze. A scream, louder than anything she’d ever known, erupted from her chest. On the floor, Sara lay in a pool of crimson, her neck brutally slit. Blood pooled around her, soaking into the carpet beneath her body. Her eyes, wide and unseeing, stared at nothing, her mouth slightly open, as if trying to speak one last word. Olivia's breath caught in her throat, and her body went cold
Somewhere In Mexico Chapter 11
5:30 AM – Cuernavaca, Raúl's Compound The hallway was dead quiet, the kind of silence that only came after too many screams. The girl’s heels scraped the concrete with every step as El Toro dragged her by the hair like a sack of trash. Her nightgown clung to her body—drenched in sweat, dirt, and humiliation. Bruises marbled her legs, fresh and old ones layered like tattoos from the life she’d never chosen. Raúl lit a cigar with a gold-plated lighter and watched them enter like it was just another morning. He leaned back in his chair, behind a steel desk littered with black tar heroin, rolled-up bills, and a 9mm Beretta he kept polished like a trophy. “Elena,” he said coolly. “You know what this is.” She didn’t reply. She didn’t beg either. She’d already spent that energy trying to gouge a client’s eye out with a fork the night before. No one cared why. Raúl had to respond. “El Toro, bring me the gringo.” Barracks, same time The metal door flew open and banged against the wall.
Somewhere In Mexico Chapter 12
"Querido, I’m heading out now. I’ll call once the interview’s done," Valentina said, tightening the cap over her dark curls. Her little backpack clinked faintly from the metal zipper tags as she slung it onto her shoulder. She stepped into the parlor where Jorge sat on the worn-out sofa, cradling their two little girls. Jorge rose immediately. The moment he saw her, a gentle pride lit his tired eyes. Despite everything, she still found a way to shine. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "If anything feels off, call me. Right away. No second-guessing." Valentina let out a soft laugh, trying to mask the ache in her chest. Her family was everything—her anchor in a storm. She broke away from his arms and scooped her daughters up for a final squeeze before heading out the door. She didn’t know this would be the last time she’d see her family as the woman she was. Valentina had always been resourceful—twenty-six, full of grit, already trying to stitch togethe
Somewhere In Mexico Chapter 13
“Hola. I’m Christanté.” Valentina turned sharply, startled by the voice behind her. A small boy stood barely a foot away. His smile was wide, too practiced for someone his age. His teeth were stained, his clothes worn thin, but he radiated an odd kind of energy. Hopeful, maybe. Or just desperate to be seen. He couldn’t have been more than ten. Valentina crouched down and gently ran her hand over his unkempt hair. The boy chuckled, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m Valentina,” she said softly. “What are you doing here, cariño? This… this isn’t a place for a child.” Christanté shrugged. “I work here,” he replied, his smile still fixed in place, almost like it had been stitched to his face. Valentina's stomach clenched. “Work? What kind of work?” He hesitated. The smile faltered. His eyes dropped to the floor like something in him collapsed. “I clean the bar. Serve drinks. And sometimes…” He trailed off, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Silence stretched. The
Somewhere In Mexico Chapter 14
Marcus entered the dimly lit room with slow, uncertain steps, both hands gripping the handles of a small, weathered nylon bag. The place reeked faintly of sandalwood incense and something metallic—perhaps blood or rust—lingering under the surface. He stood near the center, unsure whether to set the parcel down or wait for someone to claim it. He was still wrestling with indecision when a soft shuffle of feet broke the silence behind him. He turned instinctively—too quickly—and nearly collided with her. Josefina. She stood inches from him, her breath warm and steady, caressing the nape of his neck. She had a presence like cold silk—elegant and unnerving. He hadn’t heard her enter. "I—I'm sorry. I was sent to deliver this," Marcus stammered, placing the bag on the edge of the bed as though it might explode. He made to leave but froze when her voice cut through the tension. “I said... what’s in there?” Josefina repeated, more deliberately now, her eyes sharp with curiosity. Marcus me
Somewhere In Mexico Chapter 15
It was Friday night, and like clockwork, the Euphoria Discotheque pulsed with artificial energy. Neon lights sliced through the smoke-heavy air, casting warped shadows of dancers against the velvet walls. Valentina stood behind the thick curtain, peering through a slit with deadened eyes. She wasn’t searching for anything in particular. She just scanned—an instinct carved from survival. Then she saw him. A young man, seated alone, his back turned to her. Something about his posture—it was too composed, too controlled. She felt like she’d seen him before, maybe even recently, but memory was a fragile thing these days. She saw dozens of men each week—some violent, some indifferent, some pathetically kind. They all blurred together. A pressure began to build in her chest—tight, suffocating. The sounds of the club—laughter, music, glassware clinking—dissolved into a distant hum. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the vial hidden behind the vanity mirror. Two pills. She dry-swallowe
Somewhere In Mexico Chapter 16
JULY 10 – DULSIE’S NINTH BIRTHDAY It was mid-afternoon. The sun hung low in a glassy sky, casting shadows across the lawn like blades. The air held a breeze, lazy and warm, brushing through the garden where Lucia darted from one corner to the next, setting up little umbrella shades for her daughter Dulsie's birthday party. Colorful balloons swayed. Paper streamers fluttered. On any other day, it would’ve looked like paradise. Candela had arrived just after dawn with her husband and two children, ready to help her sister make the celebration perfect. The kids disappeared inside the house for a round of hide and seek—laughing, shrieking, completely oblivious to the storm heading their way. Candela’s daughter, just four months older than Dulsie but never tired of claiming the upper hand, kept bragging she was already ten. Elvio—Lucia’s husband—had driven off to pick up the birthday cake and a few groceries. Esteban, Candela’s husband, manned the barbecue. The meats, mostly chorizo and
Somewhere In Mexico Chapter 1
“No, Mum,” Marcus called over his shoulder, brushing past the kitchen with barely a glance. His voice was edged with fatigue and frustration. “The traffic was hell. I didn’t even make it to Donald’s place. I’m beat.” He paused, nostrils flaring as the smell hit him. “Toasted bread again?” His tone turned sharp. “Seriously, I hate toasted bread.” He disappeared into his room without waiting for a response. In their shared room, Emma was hunched over a sketchpad, lost in her drawing of a glittery, doe-eyed Barbie. Just down the hall, Aiden was carefully painting a picture of Ben 10, tongue sticking out in concentration. From the kitchen, Mrs. Kinney’s voice cut through the calm like a blade. “Emma! Aiden!” she snapped. “Those two better not be wasting time with those ridiculous cartoons again. Always playing, never helping.” The phone rang on the balcony. She stormed out to answer it, muttering under her breath. When she returned, smoke greeted her—the toast had burned to black. The
Latest Chapter
Chapter 16
JULY 10 – DULSIE’S NINTH BIRTHDAY It was mid-afternoon. The sun hung low in a glassy sky, casting shadows across the lawn like blades. The air held a breeze, lazy and warm, brushing through the garden where Lucia darted from one corner to the next, setting up little umbrella shades for her daughter Dulsie's birthday party. Colorful balloons swayed. Paper streamers fluttered. On any other day, it would’ve looked like paradise. Candela had arrived just after dawn with her husband and two children, ready to help her sister make the celebration perfect. The kids disappeared inside the house for a round of hide and seek—laughing, shrieking, completely oblivious to the storm heading their way. Candela’s daughter, just four months older than Dulsie but never tired of claiming the upper hand, kept bragging she was already ten. Elvio—Lucia’s husband—had driven off to pick up the birthday cake and a few groceries. Esteban, Candela’s husband, manned the barbecue. The meats, mostly chorizo and
Chapter 15
It was Friday night, and like clockwork, the Euphoria Discotheque pulsed with artificial energy. Neon lights sliced through the smoke-heavy air, casting warped shadows of dancers against the velvet walls. Valentina stood behind the thick curtain, peering through a slit with deadened eyes. She wasn’t searching for anything in particular. She just scanned—an instinct carved from survival. Then she saw him. A young man, seated alone, his back turned to her. Something about his posture—it was too composed, too controlled. She felt like she’d seen him before, maybe even recently, but memory was a fragile thing these days. She saw dozens of men each week—some violent, some indifferent, some pathetically kind. They all blurred together. A pressure began to build in her chest—tight, suffocating. The sounds of the club—laughter, music, glassware clinking—dissolved into a distant hum. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the vial hidden behind the vanity mirror. Two pills. She dry-swallowe
Chapter 14
Marcus entered the dimly lit room with slow, uncertain steps, both hands gripping the handles of a small, weathered nylon bag. The place reeked faintly of sandalwood incense and something metallic—perhaps blood or rust—lingering under the surface. He stood near the center, unsure whether to set the parcel down or wait for someone to claim it. He was still wrestling with indecision when a soft shuffle of feet broke the silence behind him. He turned instinctively—too quickly—and nearly collided with her. Josefina. She stood inches from him, her breath warm and steady, caressing the nape of his neck. She had a presence like cold silk—elegant and unnerving. He hadn’t heard her enter. "I—I'm sorry. I was sent to deliver this," Marcus stammered, placing the bag on the edge of the bed as though it might explode. He made to leave but froze when her voice cut through the tension. “I said... what’s in there?” Josefina repeated, more deliberately now, her eyes sharp with curiosity. Marcus me
Chapter 13
“Hola. I’m Christanté.” Valentina turned sharply, startled by the voice behind her. A small boy stood barely a foot away. His smile was wide, too practiced for someone his age. His teeth were stained, his clothes worn thin, but he radiated an odd kind of energy. Hopeful, maybe. Or just desperate to be seen. He couldn’t have been more than ten. Valentina crouched down and gently ran her hand over his unkempt hair. The boy chuckled, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m Valentina,” she said softly. “What are you doing here, cariño? This… this isn’t a place for a child.” Christanté shrugged. “I work here,” he replied, his smile still fixed in place, almost like it had been stitched to his face. Valentina's stomach clenched. “Work? What kind of work?” He hesitated. The smile faltered. His eyes dropped to the floor like something in him collapsed. “I clean the bar. Serve drinks. And sometimes…” He trailed off, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Silence stretched. The
Chapter 12
"Querido, I’m heading out now. I’ll call once the interview’s done," Valentina said, tightening the cap over her dark curls. Her little backpack clinked faintly from the metal zipper tags as she slung it onto her shoulder. She stepped into the parlor where Jorge sat on the worn-out sofa, cradling their two little girls. Jorge rose immediately. The moment he saw her, a gentle pride lit his tired eyes. Despite everything, she still found a way to shine. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "If anything feels off, call me. Right away. No second-guessing." Valentina let out a soft laugh, trying to mask the ache in her chest. Her family was everything—her anchor in a storm. She broke away from his arms and scooped her daughters up for a final squeeze before heading out the door. She didn’t know this would be the last time she’d see her family as the woman she was. Valentina had always been resourceful—twenty-six, full of grit, already trying to stitch togethe
Chapter 11
5:30 AM – Cuernavaca, Raúl's Compound The hallway was dead quiet, the kind of silence that only came after too many screams. The girl’s heels scraped the concrete with every step as El Toro dragged her by the hair like a sack of trash. Her nightgown clung to her body—drenched in sweat, dirt, and humiliation. Bruises marbled her legs, fresh and old ones layered like tattoos from the life she’d never chosen. Raúl lit a cigar with a gold-plated lighter and watched them enter like it was just another morning. He leaned back in his chair, behind a steel desk littered with black tar heroin, rolled-up bills, and a 9mm Beretta he kept polished like a trophy. “Elena,” he said coolly. “You know what this is.” She didn’t reply. She didn’t beg either. She’d already spent that energy trying to gouge a client’s eye out with a fork the night before. No one cared why. Raúl had to respond. “El Toro, bring me the gringo.” Barracks, same time The metal door flew open and banged against the wall.
Chapter 10
"Sara, are you set? Come on, let's go or we’ll be late for classes," Olivia called from outside the door. She had stopped by Sara's house as usual to walk to school together. "Sara? Why aren’t you answering me? We’re gonna be late," Olivia shouted again, knocking on the door but receiving no response. She paused and glanced at her phone: 8:47 AM. They still had a 30-minute walk to campus, and with time ticking away, she began to wonder if she should leave without her friend. But then, on second thought, she tried the doorknob. It turned easily, the door swinging wide open. As she poked her head in, she froze. A scream, louder than anything she’d ever known, erupted from her chest. On the floor, Sara lay in a pool of crimson, her neck brutally slit. Blood pooled around her, soaking into the carpet beneath her body. Her eyes, wide and unseeing, stared at nothing, her mouth slightly open, as if trying to speak one last word. Olivia's breath caught in her throat, and her body went cold
Chapter 9
“A'ight Mrs. Carla, I’m glad to announce—you’re pregnant.” Doctor Wyatt beamed, holding up the sonogram. Carla squeezed Burdett’s hand as though releasing him would shatter the moment. Burdett smiled, the kind that stretched from memory to hope. They hadn't expected another child after Aiden. This felt divine. “You’re ten weeks gone, ma’am,” Wyatt added with a nod. “Congratulations, Mr. Kinney.” He extended a hand. Burdett shook it firmly, laughing for the first time in months. Maybe this was God's way of restoring what they thought they had lost with Marcus. Carla, despite the joy, still believed—her son would return. At home, Emma and Aiden sat sprawled in front of the TV. Emma’s eyes barely lifted as Carla walked in. “Welcome, Mom. Hey, Dad.” Aiden, more attentive, perked up. “So? What did the doctor say?” He had popcorn on his lap. Emma reached in, grabbing a handful without looking. Burdett walked over and ruffled Aiden’s hair. “You’ve just been promoted, champ. Big brothe
Chapter 8
The truck rumbled past the final checkpoint at the border between Arizona and Sonora. Ethan Farrell, a man with dead eyes and steady hands, calmly handed over his ID and permit to the customs officer. His face showed nothing. He had done this before. Many times. “Open the dump body,” the officer ordered. Ethan complied without hesitation. The metallic groan of the hydraulic system cut through the desert air as the dump bed rose. The officers climbed in and combed through it like dogs on a scent. But they found nothing—no drugs, no weapons, no body. Not yet. “You're clear,” they finally said. Ethan offered a cold smile and drove on. 8:32 p.m. The truck rolled into Nogales. Gustavo had been waiting—impatient, twitchy, chain-smoking with his boot pressed against the bumper of his car. When the vehicle stopped, he tossed his cigarette and approached with an uneven gait, the glint of a blade tucked inside his boot. “You Ethan? Ethan Farrell?” Gustavo asked, glancing at the note scrib
