Enslaved (Colombian Cartel #6) - Suzanne Steele

Prologue

“Mano. Mano, ven para aca’,” his mother’s voice rang out through the crisp mountain air, bouncing off the beauty of the poppy fields. His father could make more money growing poppies than he could coffee. The mountains served as a sanctuary for the beautiful red poppy fields. They were nature’s hideaway from the military that destroyed the crops the family made money from.

The little boy felt free out here in the open air. He would come out and run, waving his arms through the air and mimicking an airplane. The family had a landing strip for the cartel that would purchase the gummy paste used for heroin, and from time to time, it inspired his imagination. He was the only child of an American mother and a Colombian father. She, his mother, had been a missionary. She came to the mountains of Colombia and fell in love with a landowner who loved the peace and tranquility the mountains offered.

Mano’s mother was a contradiction in terms; conflicted about the part she played in the cartel. Fidel was a man who had orchestrated a finely-tuned deception to win the woman he loved. Once they had married, he had promised she would never be out from under his vicious hold. A dangerous man with diabolical intentions, he had systematically won her over—a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Though she was an educated woman, her merciful heart towards people had made her naïve enough to not realize just how dangerous Fidel was. It wasn’t until after years of marriage that the layers of Fidel's nature were revealed entirely. He had gotten her pregnant with Mano quickly, knowing she would never leave her son. Mano was the glue that held her captive to a man who ranked very high in the Colombian cartel. He was bi-lingual, bi-cultural, and blessed with dual-citizenship; however, the family remained on the small finca—the Spanish word for farm—they owned and operated.

The boy flew his imaginary plane to the large hacienda for the food his mother had prepared; the growling of his stomach was stronger than the boy’s vivid imagination. His mother was a patient woman, but even he knew how far to push her fortitude when hours in the kitchen had been spent to cook the family’s meal. He knew from his eavesdropping earlier that morning there would be men coming for dinner to talk business with his father. Unlike many Latin men, his father allowed his mother in on business decisions.

Sometimes, when his father ushered his guests from the room after dinner, Mano would open his window. He listened as the men drank aguardiente and smoked cigars on the large porch. His curiosity was fertile soil for his imagination, and he was smart beyond his years. His love for literature and ability to read in both Spanish and English allowed him to learn new and exciting things. He was a sponge soaking up the knowledge of two cultures as well as two bi-polar worlds of crime and law-abiding citizens. Even at a young age, the boy was a chameleon and able to blend into his surroundings. He had been born with the innate capability to be whatever or whomever he needed to be to get the job done; he was a true master at hiding in plain sight. Unknown to Mano, he was also learning the dynamic of predator and prey; the ability to pursue, takedown, and capture a victim. He had witnessed his father’s mentality and subtle nuances of control, as well as his blatant dominant, alpha personality. Fidel’s temperament had served him well in the cartel, and his friends, as well as his enemies, knew he wasn’t a man to be toyed with.

“Wash your hands, mijo,” said his mother without turning and looking at him. Mano eased over to the sink and glanced up towards his mother in an attempt to see if his tardiness had tried her patience. When she smiled down on him and rubbed his hair, he knew she was okay. He looked at the woman who had given him his green eyes and lighter complexion—she was beautiful with long blonde hair and piercing green eyes. More than once, he had seen the way men looked at her when they went into the city streets of Colombia. Sometimes he would purposely walk behind her to keep men from checking out her ass. His mother never flirted or returned their looks. In fact, she often acted as if she was unaware of the men who gawked at