“You’re still in Mexico. I have many homes, but this is my favorite. I’m a little disappointed they brought you here, to be honest. Torture is often necessary, but I prefer not to sully my home. Are you certain you’re not a rapist?” His words are spoken with all the gentleness of a hammer striking a nail.
“Felipe,” Celia snaps, “stop toying with him! You’ll only make it more difficult.”
Felipe laughs. “My Celia has taken a liking to you, boy. What do you think of that?”
“Water,” Kid barks and subsequently flinches. “Mmmsorry,” he slurs, “thirsty. Needsomewater.” His tongue snakes out to lick his dry lips repeatedly until Felipe takes pity and goes to retrieve a bottle of water from the small Frigidaire he keeps nearby. The boy makes pleading noises at the sound of the cap being removed and groans lustily when Felipe holds the bottle to his lips. Felipe watches the long line of the younger man’s throat as he swallows with renewed energy and clear desperation. “More! More please,” he begs after the water is pulled away from his mouth.
“It will make you sick,” says Felipe.
“I don’t care,” Kid gripes.
“I care.” Felipe’s tone has gone from amused to authoritative.
Kid shuts his mouth and nods. He lets his head fall against the wooden beam at his back in defeat. “I’m sorry. Thank you.” He sounds better already.
“Kid,” says Felipe, “what is it you want most?” He presses a finger to Kid’s lips before he can speak. “Out of life, I mean.”
8. Kid
Kid’s adrenaline spikes. Whenever anyone speaks to him about living, it’s a prelude to threatening to kill him. He’s always loved the club’s rides into Mexico. The food is incredible, the women eager, and bouncers never card him. Every month for the last two years, he and the rest of the Night Devils have come into Mexico to hang for a week, pick up their drugs, and head back across the border. Not this time. This time, Tiny fucked with the plan and it cost them everything.
“You gonna kill me now?” He tries to sound unafraid. Death has to be better than the torture, he tells himself. He fears the knife though, is terrified of the fucking knife, and he hopes they’ll just shoot him in the head before he knows what’s happening. Quick and painless—that’s how he wants to die. Well, he wanted to die an old man on his bike, going ninety-miles-an-hour down a dark stretch of road, but a bullet will have to do. He tries to bury himself in the memory of his mother’s embrace—home—he wants that to be the last thing he thinks about.
Abruptly, feminine lips press gently against Kid’s own. He pulls away in shock. Felipe’s laugh filters through his ears as an amused rumble. “I can kill you if you wish it. Though, I was going to suggest the opposite. Would you like to live instead? Would you like to get out of this room?”
Kid licks his dry lips. He’s exhausted. He’s hurting. And he has no reason to lie—especially when he has no cause to believe he’ll be set free. “I want to go home.”
9. Celia
Celia presses against Kid’s side. “Where is home?” she says in English. Her voice seems to soothe Kid somewhat. She lifts the bottle of water to his parched lips, allowing him one large sip and nothing more.
“With my parents,” Kid whines. He shifts in his bonds, craning his neck to tuck his head in Celia’s neck. She can’t resist nuzzling his sweat-damp hair with her cheek as she cords her fingers through his tangled hair. “They’re dead,” he whispers.
Celia whispers her condolences while continuing to stroke Kid’s hair and quietly asks how they died. She never knew her mother and has always rejoiced in the death of her father, but she can still empathize with Kid’s heartache insofar as she understands love itself.
“Car accident,” he replies in monotone. “Five years ago.” His lips brush Celia’s neck as he speaks; it makes her shiver. “I should’ve gotten a clue when I had to use my key to get in the house. Mama was usually home. She used to make me a sandwich, ask about my day, shit like that.” His stomach growls. “She wasn’t there. I remember the house felt weird. Empty. Turned out Dad had come home early to take her to lunch. They never came back.”
The room is silent in the wake of the young man’s grief. Celia looks up at Felipe, asking him with her eyes if he’ll release the boy so she can hold him properly. She isn’t surprised when her master shakes his head. Felipe is much too cautious about Celia’s safety. What could this boy do to her really? She rolls her eyes, but her lips betray how charmed she is by her enigmatic lover. She’s come to respect his logic over the years; he’s a hell of a chess player.