I frown as I read the message on my cell. “Thiago isn’t coming,” I say, setting my phone down on the glossy black tabletop.
“Oh?” Mom tilts her head to one side. “That’s a shame. How come?”
I shrug, not caring too much either way. My little fling with the hot waiter at the resort has a looming end date, and it’s not like I’m attached. Although it was Thiago’s idea to come here tonight, and I should probably be pissed he’s ditched us, it’s not like it’s his fault. If he has to work, he has to work. “One of his colleagues is sick and he was on call, so the hotel made him come in,” I explain.
“That’s too bad.” She combs her fingers through her chin-length dark hair, nervously scanning the busy cocktail bar. “We should go back to the resort.”
“We’re here now, and we might as well stay since we’ve already ordered drinks.”
My gaze swings to the bar on our left. Three barmen are busy tending to a long line of thirsty patrons. A dazzling array of booze is displayed in illuminated shelving behind them. Music pumps out of speakers, and the guys sway their hips and flirt with the female clientele as they mix drinks. One of the barmen locks eyes with me, flashing a flirty wink and a matching grin. My smile is automatic. Latino men are fun, flirty, and hot in my—limited—experience.
This is my first Mexican vacation, but it won’t be the last. I’ve loved it here. The five-star resort we’re staying at is incredible, the food is delicious, the beaches are stunning, and we went on an amazing day trip yesterday to Chichén Itzá, learning all about the Mayan and Toltec culture and history, before stopping at a cenote—an ancient sinkhole—for a cooling swim on the way back. I wish we weren’t going home in a week. I could easily spend all summer here in blissful luxury—if I had the money to fund it.
My college bestie has been begging me to come to Mexico for spring break since freshman year, so when I messaged Rory to say I was down for spending our last spring break here, she was thrilled.
Tearing my gaze from the hottie at the bar, I cast a glance around the rest of the plush space. High gloss tables with matching stools comingle with smaller tables and larger booths. Huge potted plants are dotted around the dimly lit room. Overhead, twinkling string lights drape the industrial-type ceiling and flickering candles reside on every table alongside bowls of nuts.
This Russian-owned bar is a relatively new addition to downtown Cancun, according to my online research, and it’s a welcome one, judging by the crowd. There seems to be a mix of tourists and locals, and the servers are working nonstop delivering yummy cocktails around the room. There isn’t a single table free, and we only got one because Thiago comes here regularly and he reserved it for us.
“It’s safer at the resort,” Mom says as I spy a waitress heading our way carrying a tray.
“Mom, we’re perfectly safe here. You need to chill and stop reading shit online.”
“The state department advisory said all travelers need to exercise increased caution,” she retorts, wisely clamping her lips shut when the waitress reaches our table.
I thank her, and Mom pays for the drinks, her not-so-subtle way of telling me we’re leaving after this round. “Cancun is one of the safer areas, and there are plenty of US states with a higher crime rate.” I pat her hand. “Stop worrying. Relax and enjoy yourself.”
“I can’t help it.” She slides a cocktail in front of her. “It’s my natural disposition.”
“I have lived with you for most of my twenty-one years on this planet.” I cock a brow and grin as I grab my drink. “I’m well aware.”
“I think it comes with the territory when you’re a single mom.”
I don’t remind her of the seven years she was married because it’s a touchy subject. “I’m an adult, Mom. You did good raising me. Now it’s time to let loose and have some fun.” I lift my glass to hers. “A toast. To enjoying our second week and having lots of fun!”
“I think my idea of fun and yours are vastly different,” she teases, clinking her glass against mine.
“No kidding.” I waggle my brows before bringing my drink to my lips. I’m guessing I got my little wild streak from my father, though I have no way of verifying it as I’ve never known him. Then again, Mom got pregnant with me after a one-night stand when she was twenty, during a backpacking trip around Europe, so she definitely had some wild in her at one point.
“Oh, that’s good,” Mom says after tasting her gin cocktail.
“Yummy,” I agree. “Thiago said these are the best cocktails in all of Cancun.” The cocktails at our hotel are the one letdown. They’re clearly using cheap booze and far too much juice or mixer. These drinks are on a whole other level.
We chat as we drink, and I successfully coax Mom into a second round, glad she has relaxed and is enjoying herself. The irony is I probably worry about her as much as she worries about me. She’s only forty-two with her whole life still to live, but she seems to have closed herself off to the possibility of love. She has close friends she goes out with, and she adores her job as a teacher at the local middle school, but she refuses to entertain the idea of a relationship, and that makes me sad for her. I know her ex-husband broke her faith in men, but she’s been divorced over eleven years. It’s more than enough time to get back in the saddle. I decide I’m finding her a hot guy to have some fun with before we leave Mexico in a week.
“Sloane.” Mom clutches my arm. “I don’t feel so hot,” she slurs, slouching in her chair.
A stabbing pain pierces my skull the same time my stomach churns unpleasantly. “Fuck.” I have a bad feeling about this, but I’m damned if I’m letting us become a statistic. My panicked eyes dart around the room, my gaze connecting with the same barman from earlier. This time, the look he gives me sends ice-cold chills racing through my body, and I know my assumption is correct.
“We need to get out of here.” I toss some bills on the table to cover our last round and help Mom out of her seat. She sways on her feet, clearly in a worse state than me, and I wrap my arm around her back, keeping her close as I guide her toward the door, praying the bouncers don’t try to stop us. My head is pounding, and nausea swims up my throat. I hope I have enough strength to get us to our car before I collapse. Thank fuck I organized a car and driver with the hotel and made arrangements for him to wait for us while we were in the bar.
I feel eyes trailing my every step the closer we get to the door, and I’m trembling all over. My breath falters when the security guys at the door take one look at Mom and start speaking to one another in Spanish. “Excuse me,” I say, pushing past them. My vision blurs in and out, and I need to get us the fuck out of here now before we both pass out.
One of the guys moves to touch my arm, and I yank Mom past him. I’m almost fully propping her up now. “Don’t touch me!” I snap, and the guy holds up his palms. I maneuver Mom out onto the sidewalk, grateful when they let us go without further interference.
Our driver is parked across the road at the curb, and upon spotting me, he gets out and rushes over to help me with Mom.
“We’ve been roofied,” I explain as we each take one of Mom’s arms.
He cusses in Spanish, glancing all around as we walk Mom over to the car. Her head is lolling from side to side, she’s moaning, and little beads of sweat have formed on her brow. My legs almost give out when I’m helping her into the back seat. Pain is pummeling my skull, and alcohol sloshes uncomfortably in my stomach as I climb in beside her.
My fingers fumble as I try to buckle Mom in. She’s fully passed out now, and my panic has reached coronary-inducing territory. Our driver wastes no time hanging around, quickly taking off. When I get Mom secured, I buckle my belt and drop my head against the window. I’m seeing two of the driver as he talks rapidly in Spanish into his phone, in a clearly aggravated, high-pitched tone, while his eyes constantly scan his mirrors and the back window.
I can’t even lift my head to look, and I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. I doze in and out, and I’m only vaguely aware of being jostled forward when our car slams to a halt. The driver is screaming, and I try to focus my vision, but my eyes won’t cooperate. Two loud popping sounds barely reach my eardrums. My heart is pounding so fast, and I know this is bad, but I can’t do anything to stop whatever is happening because I have no control over my body right now.
I almost hit the asphalt when my car door is suddenly yanked open. Large hands grip my shoulders, and then I’m hauled against a warm body. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out, and then everything turns dark.
When I wake, I’m on a plane, surrounded by unfamiliar men. I’m confused until it starts to come back to me. I don’t see Mom. Panic crawls up my throat, and my body reacts instinctively, my legs flailing and my arms thrashing around. A tall, broad figure looms over me. A sharp pinch in my neck stings before I succumb to nothingness again.
When I wake the next time, the first thing I register is the crying. My head hurts as I move it toward the sound. Mom is lying beside me on a bed propped against a wall covered with peeling paint. She’s sobbing and staring at me with terror evident in her eyes. “Mom.” My throat scrapes as the word leaves my lips, and my mouth is as dry as the Sahara. My arm feels like a dead weight as I attempt to touch her.
“You’re awake,” a strange man says. “Good.”
A tight pain spreads across my chest as fear has a chokehold on me. Callused fingers grip my ankle, and I’m tugged down the dirty mattress. My heart slams against my rib cage as I stare in horror at the five men standing around the bed in the small, windowless room. All are armed, coated with a myriad of ink and piercings, and sporting similar dark, lust-filled glints in their eyes.
“No,” I croak as the man holding my ankle starts moving his hand up my bare leg. It’s only then I realize I’m completely naked and totally vulnerable. Adrenaline supercharges my veins, and I kick out, trying to wrench my leg free.
“Leave her alone!” Mom cries, crawling to my side and wrapping her fingers around the man’s wrist, trying to force him off me. She’s naked too, and the full horror of our new reality is only now dawning on me.
Another man backhands her, sending her flying back. Her head hits the wall with a loud crack.
“Mom!” I scream, continuing to kick at the monster feeling me up while I arch my neck and look back at my mother. She’s cradling her head in her hands and softly moaning. I cry out when fingers touch my pussy, and tears automatically leak out of my eyes.
“You leave her alone!” Mom shouts, clambering off the bed and swaying on her feet. She rounds on the man, slapping him across the face before pummeling her fists on his chest. The hand leaves my body to wrap around Mom’s throat.
“Bitch, you dare to attack me?” he snarls in heavily accented English.
Mom’s fingers claw at his hand as he exerts more pressure on her neck.
“Please, stop.” I sit up, wrapping my arms around myself as if that will stop the vicious trembling that’s seized my body. A strangled sob rips from my lips as the other men ogle me like I’m their next meal. I stand on shaky limbs. “Let her go. I’ll do what you want if you don’t harm her.” His meaty hand eases his grip on Mom’s throat a little. “Please. She’s my mom.”
“Aw.” The asshole reaches out with his free hand, cupping my bare breast and squeezing it. “That’s cute, but no bitch gets to disrespect me without punishment.” He tweaks my nipple hard, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to react. Bile fills my mouth, and acid churns in my gut. “And Mom has bigger tits.” He makes fun of my voice, releasing me to paw at my mother instead.
“Don’t be too hasty,” one of the other men says. He grabs both my boobs in his hands and fondles me. I want the ground to swallow me. “They may be small, but they’re perky.” I close my eyes as his mouth lowers over my tits. Tears stream down my face, and inside, I’m dying.
“Take me,” Mom pleads, and my eyes pop open. She’s rubbing at her neck while the main asshole gropes her everywhere. “I’ll take my punishment. Just leave my daughter alone. Do what you want to me, but don’t touch her.”
“You don’t get to call the shots, slut,” the man says, roughly shoving his fingers inside her.
Mom is shaking as badly as I am.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth as tears continue to fall freely down my face.
This is all my fault.
She didn’t want to leave the resort, but she wouldn’t let me go on a date with Thiago alone. She didn’t want to stay at the bar after he canceled, and I should have listened to her. If I had, our drinks wouldn’t have been spiked, and we wouldn’t have been kidnapped. I ignored her fears and safety concerns, downplaying them when she was right. Mom is only in this mess because of me, and if I could die to save her, I would.
“I love you,” she mouths back, silently crying while the man violates her.
Hands paw at my body while different hands grope hers. I can’t watch, so I stare blankly ahead, trying to numb myself to everything happening.
Mom screams, and I drag my gaze around in time to see her being pushed down over a table. The main monster kicks her legs apart before lowering his zipper.
“Don’t, please don’t! Fuck me, not her,” I cry out. “Please.”
The other men laugh. “Well, if you insist,” a man with a bald head and a skull tattoo says, shoving me down on my back on the bed.
Mom screams again, and chills crawl all over me despite the stifling heat in the room. I buck and writhe while trying to fight the man crawling over me.
The door slams against the wall, and a dark shadow fills the doorway. “Enough,” a man with a deep masculine voice says, the cadence booming around the small room. Authority is evident in his tone, and the men defer to him as he stalks inside. This man is clearly the one in charge. The man on top of me is lifted off and thrown to the floor. “No one touches the girl.” The newcomer wears army fatigues and a neutral expression as his eyes roam my body. He pulls me to my feet and hauls me around in front of him. “Lift the woman,” he commands, and the bastard hurting my mom pulls out and yanks her to her feet.
Mom stares vacantly at me with tear tracks streaking her pretty face.
I want someone to pinch me and drag me from this nightmare because this cannot be real.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” the boss says to Mom. “We won’t touch your daughter as long as you spread your legs and do as you’re told.”
“Why are you doing this to us?” Mom whispers.
“We have our reasons.”
“Please let us go,” I say. “We won’t tell anyone anything. Just let us go home, and we will forget all about this.”
“That’s not how this works.” His hot breath fans over my ear, and my legs almost buckle in disgust. “The big boss has important plans for you. You cooperate, and we’ll let you live. Refuse, and we’ll keep you alive, but you’ll wish you were dead.”
“What plans?” Mom asks, her voice cracking.
“Do you agree to my deal?” he says, ignoring her question.
Mom’s gaze meets mine, and everything I see reflected in her eyes mirrors how I feel. Steely determination radiates from her face when she returns her gaze to the boss. “You promise she won’t be touched?”
“Yes. I give you my word. We need her unmarked and as pure as a non-virgin can be.”
Mom eyeballs him before calmly agreeing. “Okay.”
“No, Mom!” I cry. “No, please no.” I wriggle against my captor, but his arms lock around my chest, caging me in place. “I won’t do it!” I screech. “Whatever you want, I won’t do it. If you hurt my mom, I refuse to cooperate!” Lifting my legs, I swing back, trying to hit the prick in the balls, but my feet only land midway up his thighs, and they lack a punch.
Shoving me to my knees on the cold stone floor, he bends down and clamps his hand around my throat. Not enough to restrict my breathing, but it’s enough of a threat to control me. “You will obey,” he says in a cold, clinical tone. “My men have needs that must be met. Cooperate, and I’ll restrict it to once a week. Disobey, and your mother will bear your punishment. If you cause continuous problems, you’ll both become cartel sex toys, and you’ll be fucked every hour of every day for the rest of your miserable lives.”
“Cartel?” My voice shakes, and my lip wobbles as he secures a leather collar around my neck, locking it into place.
“You’re the property of the Sinaloa Cartel now,” he says, straightening up and yanking on the chain attached to the collar. My head whips back involuntarily. He stares down at me with emotionless black eyes. “Forget your old lives because they no longer exist. The quicker you accept that truth, the easier it will be for everyone.”
“Fuck. You.” The words slip out before I can trap them.
He folds the chain around his fist, stretching my neck and body back at an awkward angle. “That’s two infractions your mother now has to pay for.”
Icy fingers tiptoe up my spine, and nausea floods my mouth.
He looks across the room. “Continue and fuck all three holes.” He relaxes the chain, and my body falls back into position. Mom cries, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “Watch,” the boss commands. Slapping sounds and grunts mix with Mom’s quiet whimpers and sobs. I don’t want to watch, but I don’t want Mom punished further either, so I compel my eyes to open.
Pain obliterates every part of me as I’m forced to watch my mother being assaulted by multiple men in multiple ways. It seems to last for hours, and my heart is a torn, bloody mess by the end of it.
“Don’t worry,” the boss says as Mom collapses on the floor when the last man pulls out and closes his zipper. “Your turn to sacrifice will come.”
