Punished (Calavera Hotels #1)

Chapter Twelve Adrian

Freshman Year of High School

I was getting tired of making up excuses for my mother. By age ten, I was making calls to her employer so she wouldn’t lose her job. Most times, out of pity for me, they would give her another chance. And another, until she ran out of chances. I was also good at pacifying teachers when she couldn’t make it to the various meetings they requested her to be at. Those meetings about my violent outbursts on the playground. Socializing was never a skill of mine, however, it had always been a primal need to earn respect.

Back then, the excuses worked. Her binges wouldn’t last longer than a few days to a week, but now it’s been a month, and if I don’t get money fast, then we will be evicted. I’ve spent the last three summers working for Romero’s Lawn Services. It helps, but the pay barely cuts it when we are behind on all our bills. When the oldest Romero brother offers me a little extra pay to run drugs for him, I don’t even have to think twice.

I am supposed to meet Mireya at our local meet up spot tonight. It’s an old abandoned clubhouse one of the earlier tenants built for his kids before the neighborhood went to shit. The new owner of the house has no kids and works all night, so the clubhouse was ours. I’d been avoiding her more in the few months since I started working with the Romeros. Recently, I’ve started skipping school so I could make more money. She’s noticed, but never says much. I stopped calling her as much as I used to. Even looking at her makes me feel guilty for what I’m doing. The part of me that wants to be a better person for her. It’s as if she expects the world from me. My safe place. However, the more I struggle to survive, the more I see how ruthless I can be.

The pent-up rage from my mom’s addiction often makes me question my own worth. It isn’t like I woke up one day and said, “I think I want to be a drug dealer when I grow up.” No, I am a lost cause. Where Mireya glamourizes me, people like the Romero brothers see the struggle. They knew it would lead to ambition they could use and we would all benefit.

In all my attempts to try to save my mother, I fell into a dark hole, addicted to the violence and power offered to me on the streets. It was the only place I felt I had control of my life. I convinced myself that as soon as I could move up my street game, I would find a way to make sure she was taken care of. I would find a way to help her slaughter all her demons. And in my delusion, I was convinced I would have time to make it right with Mireya.

When I get to the clubhouse, I wait for an hour, and Mireya never shows. It’s not completely unlike her, and it’s possible she never got my note. Our cellphones had been turned off again, so I make my way back to my house. I would swing by tomorrow while Joaquin was at work. He wouldn’t let Mireya out of the house right now if he was home. She usually had to sneak out to meet me, but Constance might have caught her again.

I’m surprised when I get to my house to see her there–Constance, sitting on my front porch, smoking a cigarette. The lights are off, so Mom is likely still not home, or if she is, she’s sleeping off the binge.

“My mom’s not here.” I walk up to the porch. Constance has never liked me and more so once she found out how much time Mireya and I had been spending together.

“I didn’t come here for her. I came to talk about my daughter and you.”

“What’s there to talk about?” I cross my arms over my chest. I heard the way she spoke to Mireya when Joaquin wasn’t around. She was no better than the kids who had bullied Mireya at school. That is, before I stepped in. The day I caught some kids throwing rocks at her was the first time I released all my anger. I broke one kid’s arm and left the other bloody on the cement. Mireya stood there and watched me as I fought them. I thought she would run away, but she stood there and waited for me. Wrapped her arms around me afterward in gratitude, and it was the first time someone had done that. I was determined to keep her.

One of the parents threatened to sue me, but Joaquin had stepped in when he heard what I had done. He thanked me for helping her and then threatened the parents that he would sue for harassment if they touched me. None of us in this neighborhood could really afford a lawyer, so nothing happened. The kids stopped harassing her, and I made sure of it by walking with her every day. The more I talked to her, the more I couldn’t help but find her company enjoyable. I had spent fifteen years of my life feeling like I was alone, but she always found a way to make me feel included. Asking questions about me and not about my mother.

“Mireya has a lot of potential,” Constance says as her eyes scan me up and down. “She has a lot of opportunities. Opportunities she won’t take if she’s shackled to you.”

“Shackled to me?” That familiar blaze of red makes its way up my neck. The anger ready to surface.

“I see you running around these streets. You and I both know the type of life you can offer her. The same one that keeps your own mother gone for weeks on end.” The comment burns me. She watches me as that anger builds back up in me. Who the fuck does she think she is to talk about my mother? I stalk toward her.

“Get off my fucking porch,” I growl and push past her to open the door.

The next day, I told Mireya I couldn’t be with her anymore.

“I don’t understand. You’re breaking up with me?”

I could see the hurt in her face, but I didn’t sleep the entire night, Constance’s words repeating over and over in my head. I needed to survive more than I needed a girlfriend. I also questioned where my life would be. I was old enough to know fairytales didn’t exist in the hood. I couldn’t risk Mireya’s chances of getting out of here. I couldn’t risk being the thing that held her back. So, I did what any dumb fifteen-year-old boy would do when she asked why I was breaking up with her, and I pointed out her flaws. I told her I wasn’t attracted to her, that it was me, not her, and whatever other bullshit word vomit I could come up with .

She had tried for the next two weeks to reach out, but I continued to shove her away. When her father passed away, it took everything in me not to look for her. When I heard she had gone to Arizona, I was hopeful that she would get the opportunities Constance had thrown in my face. It wasn’t until I walked into a house party and saw her in Bryan’s lap that I felt the weight of losing her. In the end, I was responsible for her running to Bryan, but it didn’t stop me from hating her for trusting someone like him. It didn’t stop me from hating myself for letting her get away.

I sat with that anger. I knew I would need it for tonight. Thalia, Ricky, Osiel, and I are packed in Thalia’s SUV. We had gotten a lead on a house that sat on the outskirts of Houston, hidden on an abandoned farm. Thalia is sure that my mom is there. Conejo and his men trail behind us in the van for backup.

“Turn off the lights,” Thalia says to her driver.

The road leading up to the house is dark as we make our way to the farm. We are armed and ready. The adrenaline pumps through me. Even if my mother isn’t here, we are prepared to get the other women to safety and kill anyone who objects to that.

As we get closer to the farm, I see only a few men standing outside, guarding the house. Ricky rolls down the window and starts firing at them. It doesn’t take much to dismantle their security and make our way inside.

I rush in with Osiel behind me. The entire house is chaos after the gunshots they heard outside. Men run from the back rooms as they try to dress themselves.

“Who the hell are you?” a woman says, a shotgun pointed at our men. Her face matches the face of the pictures Thalia had shown me when looking for evidence. Several women who had been rescued remembered seeing my mother when they were held captive here. This is the woman who would groom them, drug them, and find suitors for them.

Osiel rushes toward her, and her shot hits the ceiling. When Thalia rushes in, I can see the fury in her eyes, and she slams her gun into the woman’s face. I fire shots at the men coming out of the room. Other than the guards at the entrance, there are very few security measures inside the house.

Ricky has already blown off two guys’ heads who were sitting on the couch, blood splattering the girls who were forced to entertain them. They scream, and he yells at them to go outside. The entire scene makes me sick. Some of the girls look barely older than Lucia. I make sure to kill every piece of shit sitting in the living room, waiting for their turn to torture one of the women. Cries ring out from the back rooms, and I move toward them .

A young girl, barely ten or eleven, runs out from one of the backrooms. Thalia rushes toward her and grabs her. Ricky rushes to the room she ran out of, and I hear rounds of shots fired. When he comes out, he is covered in blood, his face filled with fury.

The upstairs rooms are set up and cleaned for clients. All of them are now emptied and covered with blood. I make my way slowly down the stairs to the basement to find another room set up with multiple beds. I put my finger up to my lips to warn the women to be quiet.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Help is on the way.” I point to the stairs, and they take off, running up them. I see three rooms and motion for Osiel, who is behind me, to check them. The doors are locked from the outside, so we have to work fast to kick them in. The first room I reach has several women trapped inside. No beds or furniture. The entire basement smells of sweat and urine. None of the women are clothed, and they are dirty, lying on the floor. I can see their dilated pupils, and they barely register my presence with all the drugs they have been fed.

Osiel helps to get the women up the stairs. I can barely make out faces, and I don’t have time to figure out if any of them is my mother. We move them out and check the house thoroughly before setting it on fire. Thalia had already set it up so the police we worked with would make their way over and take the women somewhere safe. They have already arrived and social workers are making their way to help the women.

“Soledad,” I scream out. My voice is hoarse, but I keep calling her name, searching the faces of the women.

“Adrian!” I hear Thalia scream from the back of an ambulance. I run to her and the woman beside her, covered in a blanket. It’s my mother. She doesn’t look the way I remember, but I know it’s her. Thalia’s eyes are bloodshot as she holds my mother. She has the same dilated pupils as the other women I ran into. Her face is blank and bruised. I grab her and bring her close to me. “Ama,” I say, and tears flood my eyes. “Ama, we’re going to get you out of here. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I left you.” I kiss her forehead and wrap my arms around her.

She is quiet the whole ride home. She hasn’t processed that she’s been rescued. I should have let her go with the trained professionals, but I couldn’t risk losing her again. When we get to the hotel, we drive around back where Patricio is waiting outside, pacing back and forth. He rips open the door immediately and pulls my mom to him. “Soledad.”

She breaks down in his arms as she begins to cry. A part of me hurts at the sight. She hadn’t recognized me when I approached her. But she clings to Patricio and cries into his chest. Darkness draws in, and I feel like that little boy again. The one who, deep down, knew she hated him for being born.