Jacinta
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.
I huff, still trying to catch my breath, and look at the rear windshield over my shoulder. There are a few cars behind mine, probably getting out of the college parking lot, but none of them seem to be in a hurry. And none of them are a white SUV that’s been haunting me for years now.
I just hate that damn car, you know? Every day, it takes me out of my golden cage only to follow Dad’s orders and-
“So which terminal do you need, miss?” the taxi driver suddenly interrupts my thoughts and gives me a grin through the rearview mirror. “For a small tip, I can get you right to the entrance! Two minutes-and you’re already checked in.”
For a small tip, huh? I can’t help but quirk an eyebrow at him. God, the audacity. Isn’t he supposed to take me to the terminals anyway?
But I’m not in the position to argue now. I have to keep quiet lest Dad’s people notice me in any part of Chicago. Besides, I don’t have much time left. If the driver decides to kick me out of the car or drive purposefully slowly, there’s every chance I’ll be late for the flight, so I
swallow my complaint and open my backpack.
It’s full to the brink, and it takes me a moment to find the folder with my documents. I didn’t want to slow myself down with any additional baggage, so I had to pack all I needed here: my favorite shirt, the hoodie I wore at the charity fair, a couple of sleeveless shirts, and my oldest copy of Gone with the Wind. It used to be Mom’s, and Dad gifted it to me on my
sixteenth birthday, making it the only truly thoughtful present he’s ever given me.
My gaze lingers on the book, and I feel a pinch of sorrow. Dad is gonna lose his mind when he finds out I’m gone. I know he really loves me, even if his way of showing his love is keeping me in a cage like a pretty bird. If only I was pretty-maybe then, someone would care enough to help me.
But Scarlett O’Hara wouldn’t sit there waiting for someone else to help her, and I breathe out any doubts I have and put the book away,
reaching for my passport and ticket instead. Dad can handle living without me-but I can’t handle living with him.
Only I can fight for my new life, and the only chance at true freedom is finally in my hands. When I open the boarding pass and see my name next to the details about my flight to Barcelona, it sends a thrill of excitement through me. I made it. God, I can’t believe that I actually made it!
Till this very moment, I had this tight feeling in my guts. The horror that something would go wrong and Dad would lock me up for months followed me through every step of my plan. But I believed in myself, and I refused to be scared enough to give up-and here I am. On the way to my dream!
I can’t help a little squeak of excitement, but when the taxi driver glances at me weirdly, I immediately clear my throat to hide it and
straighten up. “Terminal five. Hurry up, and I’ll pay double.”
It immediately wipes every trace of confusion and suspicion from his eyes, and the man grins widely and nods a few times, replying in Spanish, “Yes, Senorita.”
I let out another deep exhale and lean on the backseat, turning to the window with a mindless smile on my lips. My hands squeeze the ticket tighter, and my heart picks up its pace in excitement. I already feel like I
can breathe freely. God, everything is just perfect. All that is left now is to pass security and get on my flight to Barcelona-and there, I will finally be free.
The driver takes my encouragement seriously, not slowing down all the way to the airport, so when we get there fifteen minutes earlier than I
expected, I do leave him a generous tip. I’m too happy to care about the money right now, and when the driver wishes me luck, I chuckle and wave him off.
Today is already my lucky day. What else could I possibly need?
With my feet light and my heart singing, I walk inside the airport without a hurry and with my hood over my head. I don’t want the security guards to notice me, especially as I have some time to waste and I don’t want to look like I’m running away from the head of the Mexican Mafia family.
So instead of rushing forward, I go through the self check-in kiosk and take my time, looking for the security checkpoint. Well, I don’t even have to pretend to be lost because it’s actually the first time I’m on my own in an airport, and it’s kinda intimidating. I walk around for a bit, checking the signs, until I find the map of Chicago O’Hare and stop in front of it.
God, how do people-
“Be quiet.”
It’s all the warning I get before someone steps into my personal space and grabs my elbow so tightly it makes me hiss. A wave of freezing horror runs through my body, forcing me to stand still while my heart jumps into a frantic rhythm. Shit. Shit!
I see a man in dark clothes from the corner of my eye, his shoulder touching mine, and I swallow. Is it one of Dad’s men? Did they find out about my plan? And…wait, why do I recognize this goddamn voice?
I finally turn to the guy, pushing my fear deeper inside, and he squeezes my elbow tighter in a warning. “Don’t make any sharp moves. You don’t want me to-”
“You!” I exclaim in surprise and anger, and he raises his eyebrows with a look that sends a shiver down my back. I immediately lower my voice because, yes, I don’t want any witnesses either, but honestly what the hell! “Did you follow me here?”
It’s the goddamn thug from the charity fair! Okay, maybe with looks like that I shouldn’t call him a thug. Dark wavy hair, sharp eyes,
commanding voice, and ah, those arms! Everything about him is so damn attractive that I can’t even find it in me to be mad at him-at least not until he harshly tugs me after him.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
I try to pull my arm out of his grip, but the guy only grabs me tighter shit, I’m sure there’s gonna be a bruise-and forces me to walk next to him. He’s strong enough to hold my body close to his, and I feel a wave of heat that immediately turns into anger.
“Let me go!”
“I told you to be quiet, didn’t I?” he almost growls at me and suddenly opens the door of the men’s bathroom, tugging me inside.
I immediately try to get away from him, but the man has no problem controlling me with one hand. He harshly turns me around to face him, but before I have enough time to complain, the guy looks me right in the eyes- and something in the depth of his cold gaze makes my guts tighten.
“Don’t make me use this.”
I part my lips to ask what he’s talking about, still feeling more confused than scared-and the words get stuck in my throat when I feel a touch of something cold and solid against my ribcage. Dad has always kept me away from his business, but I know the feel and shape of a gun barrel well enough to recognize it without looking down.
I sharply inhale and hold my breath, feeling my heart pounding against the barrel. Oh shit. I’m in fucking trouble.
I don’t dare to move or look away, so I hold the man’s gaze-the dark look in his eyes doesn’t change even a bit, distant and cold as he
watches me gulp for air. It’s clearly not the first time he’s held someone at gunpoint, and I don’t have to look around to know that we are in the only place without cameras.
“Who are you?” I whisper, only now realizing that my throat is dry and aching from nerves.
“Paolo Messina,” he says without blinking an eye, and I widen my eyes. My skin immediately presses into his gun, but at this point I don’t
even notice it.
“Messina?” I repeat with a chuckle, barely holding on to my sanity.
The middle of my chest hurts from the growing mixture of horror, panic, and fury. “Is this a joke?”
“No, Senorita Jacinta. It is a kidnapping.”