His Ruin, Her Salvation

CHAPTER ONE.

Rosalina Diaz is dead.

SCARLETT BROOKS – POINT OF VIEW.

Gunshots crack the air like thunder, and I gasp awake immediately. My heart slams against my ribcage painfully, and my eyes dart across the dark room, wondering what is happening.

I wonder if I am still stuck in a bad dream, but this is very much real. Boots pound on the floor, rushed and mechanical. Gunshots ripple, and I hear men yelling in Spanish, harsh and vaguely familiar.

Terror sinks into my skin, and I quickly get off the bed. My whole body is trembling, my chest is tight, and my breath comes out in shallow and burning gasps. I try to keep quiet, but a horrified gasp escapes me when the footsteps inch closer. I look around for my gun, but I can barely think straight.

My eyes burn with tears as screams fill my home. A home that has been invaded. I need to find my parents.

Almost immediately, my bedroom door slams open, and my Dad runs in, looking ruined. His eyes are wide with fear, and he is holding a duffel bag.

“Rosa!” He whispers, reaching for me. His hands are trembling, and the room feels smaller immediately. His fear drowns me out, and my eyes sting with tears.

“What’s happening, Dad? Who are these people?” I ask, cold sweat trickling down my spine.

He shakes his head urgently, “You have to go, now, Rosa. You must leave. Take this.” He pushes the bag into my shaking hands. “It has everything you need. Go before he finds you.”

“Dad,” I cry, hot tears spilling from my eyes.

“We have no time. You must leave. Do you remember the secret door I showed you? Do you know where it leads? Do you understand what I am telling you, my darling? You must go now. They are coming, and we have no time.” He says sternly and presses his lips to my forehead.

I know what I must do. He pushes me towards the door and helps me in. I clench the bag with trembling hands and stifle a gasp when he closes me in, and darkness creeps in. I know I must be quiet, so I crawl through the vents. Nausea rolls through me like a tide. Grief slams into me like a wave. I want to go back. I don’t want to live without him. I –

A crash cuts off my train of thought, and I freeze.

“Where is she?” Someone yells.

My knees go weak, and my chest tightens painfully. I recognise that voice.

“She is not here. I told you already. I knew you were coming. Did you really think I’d let my daughter stay here and await you? She is not fucking here!” Dad responds, his voice sharp, the tone of a Capo refusing to bend.

“You will die tonight, Diaz. You should have never crossed us. You will die, and everyone will forget you. We will hunt down everyone who remembers you and kill them, too. We will burn down your home. Know this: we will find your daughter, and we will make her beg for death before ending her pitiful existence.”

Goosebumps trace my arm like electricity, and I push forward. I don’t stop crawling, and when it is time, I don’t stop running. I don’t stop, not even when I hear the flames, not even when the ashes fill my tongue.

I run, and I don’t stop.

__

Getting out of Mexico is difficult, but I do it anyway. I try not to think of my parents. I just keep moving. I hop on buses, sleep in shitty motels, bribe a lot of people, change my name and hold on to the duffle bag. I haven’t had the time to check out its content. I just took the cash and paid my way through.

It takes me a week to get to New York City. I could have gone anywhere, but I chose here instead. It is the city that never sleeps, and I need to disappear, at least for now. I spent the next couple of weeks sleeping on Park benches and searching for a job.

Rosalina Diaz is dead. I’m Scarlett Brooks now.

Luckily, or maybe the Universe is mocking me, I landed a waitressing job at a dingy bar that always smells of spilt beer and bad choices. The floor is sticky. The manager is handsy, and the customers are shitty, but I get a small apartment across the street. I also made a friend, Eve, who makes everything feel better. We live in the same complex and work the same shift.

I learn to keep my head down, to answer when anyone calls Scarlett, to smile like I am fine, to pretend I don’t still taste the ash on my tongue, choking me every night.

Every morning, I wake up trapped in a nightmare, but I pretend to be fine. I lie through my teeth to Eve and smile widely for tips. I ignore my boss’s wandering hands and try not to flinch when fights break out.

The month falls away like leaves on a tree. Seasons pass quickly like racing cars. I settle in. I cherish the friendship I find in Eve. I follow a routine at work – pour drinks, dodge wandering hands and smile bright enough to get tips.

That afternoon, Eve and I talked about everything, memes we share, the muscular bartender and how the bar smells like wet socks. We savour the rare calm as we lean against the counter and let the fresh air wash over us. For a moment, I almost believe that everything will be fine. It has been months since I left home, and nothing has happened.

Then, rush hour hits like lightning.

The rickety door slams open, and a wave of frat boys walks in, dragging loud music with them. Eve and I share a look as their voices fill the air, alongside cheap cologne and a huge ego.

“Get them, Scarlett.” My boss snaps.

I bite back a groan. Eve gives me an apologetic smile. I plaster a smile on my face and walk to their table.

“Hi, boys, I’m Scarlett. I’ll be your server –”

A hand slams against my ass, hard, and I freeze.

Rage coils in me like a snake. Blood rushes to my ears. I glance at the bottles on the table and almost reach for one. The urge to fight back roars in me. I want to break a bottle on the bastard’s head, but I don’t. I can’t. This is the only job I have, so I exhale shakily, and I walk away, eyes stinging with tears.