A Dangerous love

“Shoot, go ahead, kill me! Damn it, pull the trigger!” he shouted. My legs trembled with fear, my heart pounded like it would burst, and he kept screaming at me to shoot. But I couldn’t. I wouldn't make it . I was paralyzed with terror. “I… I can’t… I’m sorry, I just can’t do it,” I stammered. I was only 12 years old when, with a gun in my hand, he ordered at me to pull the trigger. He stepped closer, laughed, ripped the weapon from my grip, and hit me. “You’re nothing but a cowardly girl” he sneered.” If you’re useless to me, don’t expect me to help you.” “I’m… I’m sorry. I’ll be stronger. I just want to see them again… my parents…” I whispered through sobs. I collapsed to the ground, begging him to forgive me, to forgive my weakness. He laughed again—a dark, chilling laugh that was so uniquely his. The laugh of the monster he was. A man without a heart. A man with an empty chest. TWELVE YEARS LATER I was only 12 when he set out to turn me into a monster. Today, I was the person he had always wanted me to become. I had killed people; I had taken lives. And sometimes, those lives haunted me like ghosts. Sometimes, I thought I could hear their agonized cries before I ended them. I heard their desperate pleas for mercy. And then, I’d hear the click of my gun as I pulled the trigger. I replayed all the horrors I had witnessed and committed at his side, all for one reason: to find them. My parents. And yet, despite everything, I was still stuck in the same place—working for him, enslaved to him, enduring the sickening, lecherous comments from his men. They all disgusted me. But for my parents, I would do absolutely anything to find them. I promised myself that day, the day I killed the first person on my long list of victims. “What are you thinking about, Yesenia?” I was sitting on the rooftop of one of the townhouses, my head resting on Miguel’s shoulder. A best friend—or perhaps something more. I still didn’t know. I couldn’t untangle the feelings I had for him. They were intense, but at the same time, impossible to describe. Miguel was like me—a henchman. He was the son of one of my uncle’s men. My tormentor. My master. Fernando Roman. I had arrived at Fernando’s doorstep when I was just 8 years old, after my parents disappeared. Fernando had taken me in. At first, I loved him. He promised he’d do everything he could to help me find my parents—his brother and sister-in-law. But within weeks, I realized what he truly was: a monster disguised as a man. He hit me, insulted his brother and his wife, and didn’t care about their disappearance. He forced me to stay, to become his pawn, if I wanted any chance of finding them. And in that year of suffering, Miguel was the only bright spot. Back then, when I still had tears left to cry, he was always there to comfort me. But when my tormentor noticed we were growing close, he sent Miguel and his father to another city, far away from me. Until one year ago. I came back from a mission, and there he was—standing in front of me. He had changed. He was taller, more handsome, and somehow gentler. Miguel had become my anchor in this sea of darkness. “Nothing. I’m not thinking about anything anymore,” I replied softly. He cupped my face in his hands and pressed a tender kiss to my lips. A shiver ran through me. My breath caught in my throat as his hand moved to the small of my back. Then, my phone rang. “Ugh, it’s Will,” I said, glancing at the screen. "Mi Yesenia, ¿qué soy yo para ti? (My Yesenia, what am I to you?)" I do not answer this is question. But his dark, nocturnal blue eyes begged me to. What could I say when even I didn’t know what he was to me? He captivated me, enchanted me, but words failed me when it came to defining what we were to each other. I pulled away from his embrace, the cold night air hitting me like a slap. I stood up. “I have to take this call, Miguel. Meet me back at the villa,” I said. He sighed and walked away. I reply to Will, my uncle's right-hand man. I hear his voice, hoarse—a voice I can no longer stand, one that repels me the moment it reaches my ears. "My sweet Yesenia," he says to me in a smooth, sickening tone. “Don’t call me that again, or I’ll rip out your vocal cords. You hear me" "Why so much hatred in such a beautiful and soft body? HE wants to see you. Your uncle wants you, my Yesenia." I hang up before he can finish. Will disgusted me to the core. For several years now, he had been relentlessly trying to get me into his bed—something I would obviously never do, not even if he were the last man on Earth. Ten minutes later, I find myself standing in front of the villa’s gate. I take a deep breath, wondering what mission Fernando would assign me this time. I step into the vast, white, and brightly lit hall. My chest tightens as I spot Miguel sitting on the massive black leather sofa that dominates the center of the room. He is surrounded by Fernando's men and all those women dressed in barely visible clothes. Silence falls as I walk in. They see me, their eyes on me—some judging, others stripping me bare with their perverted stares. They had all, at some point, tried to approach me with their filthy intentions. To them, I was nothing more than my uncle’s toy. But who are they to judge me? Men? "Alpha males," as they like to call themselves. Miguel looks at me, he stares at me. His hand rests on the back of a young woman—blonde, feminine, everything I was not. Jealousy eats away at me, but I know I have no right to reproach him. I am not fair. I can’t even admit my own feelings. Is it pride? Or is it simply because my heart is dead? I don’t know anymore. I look at him and go up the stairs that lead to the floor where our rooms were and also Fernando's office. I enter and find Fernando sitting across from me. He looked so much like my father—or at least what little I could remember of him. He had the same blue eyes, the same mid-length hair that stopped at the nape of his neck, a pepper-and-salt color, and the same jet-black beard that covered his face. Even the fine wrinkles around his eyes. He was the spitting image of my father, but unlike him, Fernando's heart was black, cruel. On his lap sat a woman—the second I’d seen in as many days—wearing a short dress. Her long brown hair cascaded down her back. She was beautiful, but her behavior made her so ugly. She was stroking his beard, her lips pressed into the crook of his neck. “What do you want?” I asked coldly. He had taught me to be this way, had forced me to be. It had been so long since I’d laughed, so long since a smile had graced my lips, so long since I had felt joy. I was no longer myself—just a shadow of who I once was. I watch him as he chuckles with his new plaything, his hand on her chest. He had never respected women, and today wasn’t going to be any different. I grow impatient. I hate seeing him, and I hate waiting even more. He leans in to whisper something in the nameless woman’s ear. All the women who end up on his lap are nameless. I never see them again. She looks at me, smiles, and leaves. “you don’t know how to show respect, do you?” he said in that cold, irritated tone he always uses to criticize me. "I don’t need to be respectful to you. Do you have any news about my parents?" "No, not yet. But we’re working on it." "It’s been over 16 years now that you’ve been telling me the same thing." "And it’s been over 16 years that I’ve been taking care of you and continuing the search," he says, this time with anger in his voice. I glare at him. Just seeing him alive tears me apart inside. After everything he’s put me through, I hate him. "Just tell me what my mission is so I can leave this damn office." He rises from his chair and walks over to me. Standing in front of me, he takes my hand. The feel of his skin against mine disgusts me. I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip. "I told you to respect me, or else..." he threatens. "Or else what? You’ll kill me? You’ve already done that. Years ago." "Oh no, you’re not dead yet. Trust me." I pull my hand free from his and meet his gaze head-on. "Tell me what I need to do." "Mea pulchritudo (my beauty), God gave you such a beautiful face for such a dark heart." "Tell me what I need to do, and don’t lay your hands on me again." He slaps me. That one, I felt. But there was no way I was going to show him I was in pain. The taste of metal filled my mouth. He didn’t hold back, the bastard. "You owe me respect. I will never tolerate such behavior from you," he shouts, yelling into my ears as if I were deaf. I stare at him, waiting to hear what this damn mission is for which he called me. "Tomorrow, you’ll go with Will. Right now, there’s competition in the market—MY territory," he says, clearly irritated. "You’re the mayor of this city. Just ask your corrupt cops to handle it," I reply in a bored tone. He was indeed the mayor of this godforsaken city. A city corrupted to its very core, where no villager dares to speak up or complain. I don’t know if it’s out of fear of retaliation or sheer respect. I don’t even understand how they managed to elect him. Either way, his position significantly boosted the power he already wielded within the political institutions. A corrupted country driven solely by greed. They all disgust me. "I can go alone. I don’t need Will by my side," I tell him. And there you have it, a second slap. It's starting to do a lot "You’ll go with him, and that’s final. If you ever want to see your parents again, I suggest you listen to me. Around here, the orders come from me." At his final words, I ignore him and leave. What a bastard. And as I open the door to walk out, I find him sitting on the floor, waiting for me. Lost in thought.