Asimina
My churning stomach has finally eased. I don't want to experience it again. Adding to my dismal state, my body feels so weak. I'm so tired physically and emotionally. Finishing the last touches to my new look, I stand in front of the mirror, assessing myself. I don't even recognize my own reflection.
I'm miserable being on my own. I miss my sisters and Petro, but mostly I miss Raffaele. Ironing out the creases on my top with my hands, I remain lost in thought. Being away from him is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. The one question that keeps running through my mind is, if I'm successful in killing Alonzo and I go back, what will Raffaele do?
My heart shatters thinking about his words, "You're crippling me!" I don't think I can apologize enough to ever lift the guilt off my chest for hurting him. God knows I never wanted to hurt him. The constant internal battle I'm having continues to drain me. I'm shattered.
After everything with John, I guess I don't want to be a victim again. I can't be a victim again! I seal my eyes as my mind takes me back to my nightmare with John. "Why won't you fuck me, slut? Is your cousin's cock that good?"
Christ! Those words never fail to bring vomit into my mouth. I didn't sleep with John because I didn't feel the urge to give myself to that man. His words lit a fire in me, and the blaze had me seeing red. I slapped him. I couldn't stop my hand even if I wanted to. Such vile words made my skin crawl!
When the first punch hit the side of my face, my vision blurred. My head instantly pounded. The second blow forced the air out of my lungs, and before I could take a breath, three more hits quickly connected. The vivid image of him undressing me remains. His disgusting fingers slid between my legs and penetrated me. I was helpless and in pain. I couldn't fight; any movement shot pain through my body. The lack of a condom stopped him from going further.
I can't go through something like that again. I get to decide who has my body. Me and me, alone. No one can just take what they want from me. No one knows about the sexual assault. I can't bring myself to think about it, let alone talk about it. I feel dirty. I'm worried about what my family would think. What will they say? How will they look at me?
The thought of another sexual assault, rape even, crosses my mind, and a shiver runs through my body. I can't let that happen. Taking a deep breath, I wipe my tears and straighten up. "Push away your fear! You're strong!" I declare, giving myself my usual pep talk.
Raffaele is a smart man with connections everywhere. I don't believe he's given up the search. He may be questioning our relationship and regretting us, but for the sake of my cousin and sister, he will keep searching. I need to get those fakes tonight. I've spent too many days in Tucson, and Mexico City is a twenty-six-hour drive from here.
Making my way out of the hotel, I throw my bags into the truck and head down the street. The bar is a short walk away, and I'm desperate for fresh air. The gun in my handbag provides the courage I need. Pushing the door open, the eyes of the Satan Familia biker gang fall on me. I hate when men gawk. I get the urge to claw their eyes out. It's one thing for a man to look and notice you, and it's another when their eyes show nothing but salaciousness.
Ignoring them all, I pull up a stool at the bar. The space between these four walls is filled with cigarette smoke, making my eyes sting, while the stench of heavy, alcohol-laced breaths makes my nose wrinkle. Not one person here is sober, and the majority are men. However, there are women, half-naked, of course. They're sitting on laps and rubbing themselves against groins. Do they have no shame? I'm starting to think I've walked into a brothel.
"What can I get you, chica - girl?" the bartender asks, disrupting my thoughts. His eyes roam down to my chest.
"Eyes up here and get me a bourbon," I retort. My anger gets me in trouble often, but how can I control it when dealing with pigs?
Smirking, he flips a glass on the bar and pours me a drink. I don't avert my eyes from the glass as he's pouring. The last thing I need is my drink spiked. I scull the first and tap the bar for a refill. Once again, I keep my eyes glued to the glass. Placing my palm over the opening of the glass, I cover it, protecting it.
"What is a hermosa - a very beautiful woman like yourself doing in this bar?"
"Bourbon," I respond, sweeping my eyes over the man, leaning his right elbow on the bar, his body facing me completely. My guess would be he's in his thirties. Dark, short hair, brown eyes, and five-day stubble hug his jaw. He's well-built and maybe just a little taller than me. The man isn't unattractive, but no one compares to Raffaele.
"I've never seen you around town before. Have you just moved here?" he questions, his curiosity piques.
"Why would I want to move here?" I ask. "Just passing through, resting for the night. That's all."
"This road leads to Mexico. Not many young, beautiful women head alone to Mexico," he continues probing for information. I've yet to figure out what role he plays in this gang.
"I didn't know this road leads to Mexico. I simply had enough one day, jumped in my car, and started driving. It's led me to here." I may not be very good at lying to people I love, but strangers I have no problem with.
"So, do you plan on heading to Mexico? It's beau-" he begins.
"Sorry, Mister?" I prompt, abruptly cutting him off.
"Apologies. Carlos Rodriguez," he introduces himself, extending his hand.
Ignoring the gesture, I sweep my eyes back to his face as a smile curls on the side of his lips. "Mr. Rodriguez, stop asking questions that don't concern you. I'm here for a drink and just passing through. My destination is none of your business," I rebuke harshly.
Raising his brows, his smirk fades. "Miss?"
He's now playing my game. "Samantha Lawson," I claim.
"Miss Lawson, I'm asking as Arizona and Mexico are my territories. You can't just cross the border," he reveals.
"Is that so?" I prod.
"Yes! Papers are required. I can assist," he offers.
"A sale? Is this what you're doing? Trying to sell me fake Visas?" He now has my attention.
"Yes. I try and get business wherever I can. I don't care where the road takes you, Miss Lawson. It's more a question of how many Visas you will need." He stares into my eyes, waiting for my response.
I compose myself, clearing my throat. My voice doesn't falter as I contemplate, "Although Mexico sounds lovely, I'm more of a Costa Rica girl."
"So, four or five then," he states, rubbing his chin with his hand. Pondering, he delivers a figure, "Eight hundred. And I'll issue new identification and Visas. It will take fifteen minutes."
He cocks a brow waiting for my acceptance. I take another sip of my drink, considering it for a minute. Raising my eyes to meet his, I shrug my shoulders. "Okay. You never know when a fake identification will come in handy." My anxiety builds. That felt too easy!
"Let's make our way next door and seal the deal," he suggests.
Averting my eyes to my drink, my heart plummets to the darkest pits of my stomach. I would rather do this exchange in public. Not in some dodgy warehouse. "Why can't we do it here?" I ask.
"I assure you it's a quick transaction, Miss Lawson. It will only be my brother, you, and me. I don't hand out illegal Visas in public," he explains.
"It better be," I curtly warn.
"Follow me." He proceeds to walk out of the bar and straight through the door of the adjoining building. I remain guarded and close to the door as he walks further in. "I need a picture."
Nodding, I respond, "So take one."
I observe their every move. Printing the photo, they issue me with four sets of Passports, Visas, and Driver's Licenses to cross borders through to Costa Rica. My frantic nerves make my palms sweaty, and my heart rate increase rapidly. Taking deep breaths settles me briefly while I continue darting my eyes between both men. "Stay as close to the door as possible," my mind repeats.
We're in a small office in front of the warehouse. José sits behind the desk finishing off the fakes while Carlos sits on the sofa towards my right. Inspecting the small space, I notice two bags filled with cash. What am I doing? I shouldn't be here. This was stupid!
I'm regretting this. The sound of footsteps has me snapping my focus back to José, who's approaching me. "All yours," he offers, handing me the identification and Visas.
Taking them out of his hands, I throw them in my handbag. The sound of a door opening has my blood running cold. Glancing up, three of his men walk in from a secondary door I only just noticed. My breaths hitch, and panic runs through me as my body starts to shake. I can't push away my fear as my tears begin to flow. Thoughts of this being a setup, along with everything that could go wrong, flood my mind. Carlos lied to me. He said it would only be the three of us.
"Pull it together, Asimina! You're on your own," I tell myself. Tightening my grip on the gun, I take a breath in, not faltering my eyes, pulling it up, I aim my gun at José's head.
The three men draw their guns in response. Swallowing the lump in my throat, tears cascade down my cheeks. Is this my final moment? Am I going to die? I'm engulfed with panic. Fear and hysteria have me screaming, "Drop the guns! I will fucking shoot him!"
My unstable state has Carlos on guard. He orders, "Lower your guns, boys."
"Turn around! Get on your knees," I seethe at José. My shaky hands struggle to hold the gun. I need to lower my arms slightly.
Carlos attempts to take cautious steps towards me. "Stop," I demand, my raging gaze holding his. His expression remains stoic. Not faltering, he halts his footsteps, lifting his hands in surrender. "You said it would just be the three of us!"
"We're not going to hurt you," he speaks softly, glancing down at his brother.
"Get your men to toss those guns away! Out of reach," my voice screeches. I look between Carlos, José, and the three men. He's taking far too long to comply with my demands, and this isn't a good time to test me. Raising the gun, I squeeze the trigger and aim at the wall behind Carlos, letting off a warning shot. "Now," I command, my throat vibrating, almost causing me to go into a coughing fit.
Clenching his jaw, he motions them to toss the guns. "Okay. It's done. You can lower your gun."
Carlos's trepidation is now evident in his body movements. His body heat up, and droplets of sweat form. "That's not going to happen. Send them out the way they came in, and lock that fucking door," I grit, my anger erupting.
My patience is wearing thin. He lowers his eyes and signals his brother, big mistake on his part. I kick his brother on the back, forcing him to hit the floor, lying on his stomach before turning my gun to Carlos and firing a shot to his leg.
"Fuck! Carlos," José yells as he riles up.
Warning the three men trying to move towards their guns, I aim back down towards Jose. "One more step and I put a bullet in his fucking head!"
"Do as she says," Carlos mutters, ordering them to comply. They immediately cease all movement.
"On your knees! Now!" José abruptly and aggressively pushes himself off the floor and kneels once more.
Repositioning my gun, I make my threats, "I'm going to count to three. If your men don't leave this office, I shoot your brother." Taking a breath, I narrow my eyes at Carlos, who's on the floor holding his leg. "One," I start my count, and both José and Carlos frantically yell at their men to leave. "Two," I breathe, nuzzling the gun harder onto José's head. All three men scatter quickly out the door they entered. For a quick moment, I feel relief, knowing I somewhat have the situation under control.
"You shot me," Carlos yelps, groaning in pain.
Tears blur my vision, and I blink them away. My erratic heart makes it difficult to breathe. The shake in my body forces me to hang my bag over my shoulder, gripping the gun with both hands. Turning to Carlos, I screech from both fear and anger, "You lied! Be grateful it was your leg and not your head."
Looking down at his brother, I demand, "Stand up." Raising my gun, I follow his movements. "Empty your pockets. Don't give me a reason to pull this trigger," I warn. He complies. "Lift your top and spin around once." He hesitates at first but complies with a nod from Carlos. Lifting his top, the gun tucked in his pants comes into view. I reach out, grabbing the gun, tossing it to the side, and direct, "Walk over and take those two bags from the floor, the car keys from the desk, and your phone."
"Do it," Carlos grits out while his hands remain on his leg, and he's breathing heavily from the pain.
José grabs the bags, keys, and phone. He halts, waiting for instructions. "Make your way towards the door."
Pushing through the shooting pain, I keep a tight hold of the gun. "I'm taking your brother with me." Carlos's eyes widen his jaw clenches. "If you send anyone after me, he dies. Understand?" Hesitantly, he nods. "Once I have a bit of distance, I will call you to come and collect him. I will make sure he's safe and unharmed."
Turning to José, I push him out the door while keeping my guard up with Carlos. Walking to the car parked a few feet away, I order him to open the trunk, drop the bags on the floor, and hand me the keys. He complies, not wanting to test me. "Get in the trunk. If you behave, I swear to you, you will come out of this unharmed." Nodding, he gets in and makes himself comfortable as I close the trunk.
Grabbing the bags, I throw them in the backseat of the car and erratically drive to my truck, collecting the rest of my belongings. At this stage, I'm running on adrenaline, frantically trying to put a safe distance between the biker gang and me.
Raffaele
Eight hours later.
I've spent the last hour pumping weights, my muscles now burning. Despite my efforts, I haven't been able to release my brewing rage. Closing my eyes and remaining focused, I pull up the dumbbell, feeling the burning sensation through my shoulder blade. I'm dripping in sweat, my hands are shaking from the punishment I've given them, and my knuckles remain raw.
Dropping the weight from sheer exhaustion, I pick up the towel and wipe my face. Mariano, Tommy, and Matteo should be up shortly. I haven't been able to sleep more than a couple of hours each night. So, I take the graveyard shift texting the mayor the body locations. The count has reached a hundred and thirty-three, sixteen of those my own men.
Making my way to the living room, I fall onto the sofa, resting a hand behind my head. I attempt to force sleep, but nothing ever comes of it. Instead, I lay there, eyes closed, wondering if Asimina is sleeping well.
"She has fucked you up, brother," Tommy mutters, his voice alerting me. I'm so tired I didn't even hear him walk in. "This is the reason I don't do relationships. I just fuck," he proclaims. "I'll get you a coffee."
I used to be like Tommy. No relationships, no strings attached. But along came Asimina, the most stubborn, infuriating woman I have ever come across. The first night I saw her, she intrigued me, breathtaking, my first thought. I found myself wanting to see her and hear her talk. I pursued her. Our first kiss sparked everything. Then, when she got shot, I realized how protective I felt for her.
The living room soon sees all my men present. Mariano and Matteo take a seat on the sofas across from me. I sit up, facing them. Matteo, the first to speak, states, "You look like shit."
Scoffing, I rub my eyes, "Woman, problems do that to you."
"Matteo is right. You look like shit," Tommy agrees as he hands me a coffee.
Parting my mouth to speak, my phone rings. Reaching over to the coffee table, I slide the accept button. Is my nightmare about to end? "Rodriguez?"
"Morelli!" He spits my name with hatred. Mariano, Matteo, and Tommy all sit around listening as Carlos continues, "I found your chica,"
"And?" I prod.
"And, Morelli. She shot me!" he grumbles, his irritated voice on the rise.
"Shot you?" I repeat.
"She fucking shot me, a bullet through the fucking leg," he yells. Cursing, he heavily sighs, adding, "And she abducted José." My nostrils flare. Glancing at my men, they all have sly smirks, impressed with Asimina. I guess they feel like they trained her well. Maybe they did a little too well. "I have to hand it to her, Morelli; she keeps her word. She called me with his location. He was safely locked in the trunk of the car, waiting for me to collect him, outside Mexico's border."
Rubbing my eyes, I'm ready to explode. I knew she was impulsive, but this is beyond anything I imagined. Taking a breath, he continues, "She stole half a million dollars in cash."
I blurt the only question I need an answer to, "Was she hurt, Rodriguez?" I find myself speaking tamely while balling my hands into fists. If they touched her, I'm going to fucking kill them.
"No!" he insists.
"I'll be in Tucson tomorrow with the new contract. Give me all the details then. One of my boys will transfer you the five hundred thousand she stole." Hanging up the phone, I look at the three idiots in front of me.
"Why the fuck are you all grinning?" My anger surfaces, and they quickly hide their amusement. "If Rodriguez weren't desperate for this alliance, if I hadn't told them she's not to be touched, they would have fucking killed her!" Standing to my feet, I pace, dialing to get the boys as I do.
"Raf," Sal answers.
"Where are you?" I question.
"Tucson," he sighs.
"Head straight to Mexico City. Don't stop. I'll meet you there in two days at most. I want her found by then," I bark my orders. I'm done playing games.
"Okay. See you there," he states, pausing. "Question. Does the name Paul Diakos mean anything?"
Just when I thought my fury couldn't escalate anymore, I hear her ex-boyfriend's name. I savagely seethe as my whole body vibrates from my voice alone, "Why?"
"There was a message left on the board for one of the guests. Paul Diakos and a phone number," he enlightens me.
Disconnecting the call, I grip the phone tight, cracking the screen. The veins in my hands pulsate. I'm on fire. Throwing my phone across the room, I smash it to pieces. My round neck t-shirt chokes me. Fisting the clothing on my chest, I rip the fabric off, growling in anger. The three men watch with eyes wide and mouths agape, seeing my rage surge to a whole new level. "Get fucking ready! All of you! We're going to get Asimina," I spit. My body feels as if it's going to start convulsing.
Clearing his throat, Tommy swallows hard, and I watch him struggle to speak to me for the first time. "The situations here, the cops searching, the gunfights on the streets of California?" he hesitantly probes.
Snapping my eyes at my brother, I try and control some of my anger but fail. "Did I order a stop? Hmm? Everything stays as-is until Asimina is back here locked in one of my cells!"
Yah or Nah?
Thoughts on Asimina?
Thought on Raffaele?
Theories?