get up carefully, then peek outside. I can see Anabella with her back to me as she begins to rearrange the lounge chairs, and I tell myself not to be scared. I count to three, then shoot out of the shed back toward the woods that separate our home from Pedro’s.
I’m tired now and have to use the machete to help myself stand up while I catch my breath.
The problem is that I know I can’t waste any more time than I already have.
With renewed determination, I take the few steps toward Pedro and line the machete against the wound I’ve been trying to cut through with the numerous kitchen knives.
A few good strikes, if I’m strong enough, should get the job done.
The sound is wet and makes me feel a little sick, and when I hit the bone, I do my best not to throw up as I drop my knees onto his chest and begin to saw at it. But something different comes over me when I put the machete down and reach for his arm. The more I tug and pull, the harder I huff and puff, I feel … happy. Almost as if his death helps me cope with what happened to my real Mama and Papa and tells me that one day, I’ll be strong enough to do this to the people that deserve it.
I toss his arm to the side, breathing heavily as I reach for the machete again and begin to whack at his other arm. Since I kind of know how to do this now, it’s much faster and less gruesome. Even when I hear the sound the bone makes as the blade scrapes against it.
Once I have both of his arms severed, I get up and turn around, sitting on his tummy, and reach for the zipper of his pants. I grunt as I stand up just enough to pull them down, then take a seat again. I use my arm to wipe the sweat from my forehead and raise the blade again…
“Sofi!”
I gasp and turn my eyes up to my find myself staring into my sister’s horrified face.
“I didn’t mean to,” I say as a fresh wave of tears begin to fall down my cheeks again. Tati rushes forward and picks me up off Pedro’s partially dismembered body, holds me close, and runs for the house.
I bury my face into her neck as I continue to sob and tell myself that if I could do this to Pedro, I can do it to anybody.
And I’ll do it to keep Papa safe.
He needs someone to protect him at all costs and without regard for themselves. While most of his sicarios are like that, there are a small few that aren’t, and I have to finish weeding them out before it’s too late.
Twenty-five minutes later, I’m dressed and walking toward his den.
I know he has to be awake at this point, and that’s usually where he likes to spend time before seeing anyone else.
I knock gently on the heavy, wooden door and hope that he heard it.
When a moment passes, I clear my throat and knock a little harder.
“Entrar!”
Here goes nothing.
“Good morning,” I say to him as I peek my head into the room.
He looks over at me with his warm eyes and smiles, “Good morning, Mija.”
I begin to chew my lower lip nervously as I step into the room and close the door quietly behind me.
If Tatiana knows I’m in here, she’ll more than likely come barreling in and demand equal treatment.
Sometimes, it feels like she thinks I’m trying to take her father from her when I’m honestly just happy to belong.
“What’s bothering you?” he asks as he sets his toast down and looks at me curiously.
So, that’s why he rarely eats with us, I think with a slight chuckle. But I can’t say that I blame him. Having a meal in peace every now and then must do wonders for him.
“Um,” my voice breaks, and I take a deep breath, then try again, “I know you said you wanted me to stay close to home, but I was hoping it would be okay with you if I went out for a little while today.”
“To where?” he asks.
There’s no point in lying to him.
He has eyes from here to the fucking border and beyond.
“Culiacán.”
Chapter Nine
Thirty minutes of begging and pleading, assurance that this wasn’t a suicide mission, a promise to call him every twenty minutes, and I finally got him to