Chapter Text
My entire body ached.
Thin, tightly bound ropes bit mercilessly into my skin: ankles tied to each other, wrists tied to the metal headboard. Bruises bloomed on my ribs, my neck, my thighs. My head pounded from crying so long, my shoulders screamed from the contortion. But the worst part was the thick fabric band running between my teeth. When I became too aware of the nylon catching on my tongue, I gagged, drool freely sliding down my chin.
I had been in that room, bound to the bed, for hours. Long enough for the tears on my cheeks to dry, though my heart had barely slowed. Long enough to memorize the space around me. The room was large and spare, almost staged. A bed, a closet, a bathroom, a nightstand. There was no dust or clutter. The only personal touch was a single book by the bed: a collection of Mexican poetry. Nothing sharp, nothing heavy, nothing useful. As for me, I was dressed in a white cotton nightgown that felt far too flimsy. Every cold draft settled directly onto my skin. It wasn't something I would’ve chosen to wear in November, but then I hadn’t had much choice in things lately.
I tried to dismiss the thought as the gag went thick in my mouth again.
The faint click of the lock cut through the silence in the room like a deathknell. My breath caught. The door opened, faint music and laughter spilled in from the hall. It sounded wrong. Too ordinary, too alive.
A man entered, humming softly to the music, his attention elsewhere for a beat too long. He looked almost twice my age, with a silver streak in his dark hair and wrinkles at his brow. Still, he was tall and broad-shouldered. I knew he could overpower me easily even without the ropes.
When his gaze fell on me, he stopped short.
“Dios mío,” he said quietly, then called over his shoulder something in Spanish to someone unseen. There was humor in his voice, but no smile on his face. The reply from the hall made him stiffen. He kept his eyes fixed on me as he closed the door behind him.
A cold, prickly sensation spread through my limbs as he started toward me. I squirmed, tried to inch away from his approach, instinctive but useless. My chest tightened and suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. Unable to face whatever came next, I squeezed my eyes shut. He stopped at the edge of bed. Even without seeing it, I sensed him pause.
Then: a tug at the knot behind my head. The gag loosened.
“Shh,” he hushed me, though I hadn’t made a sound. “Open up.” His voice was entirely unmoved. I obeyed unthinking, and he pulled the cloth from my mouth.
I swallowed air. He said nothing, just stood above me, staring. My mind lurched forward, trying to anticipate his next move, but he was expressionless, motionless. In the tense silence, I wilted. I felt the wet of tears on my cheek before I understood I was crying. Traiterous body.
He raised his eyebrows. “Breathe,” he said. It was a command. I only grew more frantic, gasping in short, shallow breaths.
I felt a finger hook under my chin. In one precise movement, he guided my head up to his eyes. I blinked in rapid bursts, urging myself to calm down under his gaze, but I couldn’t.
He looked at me like my hysteria was merely an inconvenience. “I’m gonna cut you loose, but I can’t do it until you settle down. Understand?”
I nodded quickly. The promise of freedom gave me a swell of relief, enough to finally slow my breathing.
“Good,” he said, smiling. My neck warmed.
He rose from the bed, and I saw it: the sleek handgun resting easily in the front of his belt. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, not after what I’d been through. Even so, it imposed the kind of fear that stills. My eyes flicked from the gun to his face. He caught me looking.
“No funny business, eh?” He said lightly, amused I’d noticed.
I shook my head quickly, ears ringing.
He lifted the hem of my nightgown around my ankles. It took everything in me not to retract from his touch. When he produced a switchblade from his pocket, I couldn’t help but flinch. “For the rope, cosita,” he said with unearned levity, already flipping open the knife.
The ropes fell away quickly, and I was freed. A sigh escaped me in spite of myself as I let my arms fall beside me at last.
He returned the knife to his pocket in a practiced movement and took a seat at the foot of the bed, watching me gather myself. The ropes lay discarded on the floor, coiled and harmless now, though my skin still burned where they’d been. I wiped the drool away from my chin with the back of my hand, and he frowned. He produced a faded handkerchief from his shirt pocket and offered it to me impersonally. My cheeks warmed as I took the cloth from his hand. I dabbed the tears and snot and drool from my face with my knees brought to my chest.
“You cold?” he asked, eyes drawing down my bare arms.
As if he’d brought them into focus, I became aware of the goosebumps dotting my skin. My fingers traced the ridges on my shin through the nightgown.
“Yes.” My voice was low and hoarse. It was the first word I hadn’t screamed all day.
He hummed softly, as if that were the answer he’d expected, but offered no consolation. “What’s your name?”
I told him, and he repeated it once. Strange, it seemed already comfortable in his mouth.
“Do you know who I am?”
I blinked. “No. Sh- should I?”
He only smiled at me, almost pitying. “Where are you from?” He continued.
“New Mexico,” I answered, more steady this time. Though my heart hammered on, something about the mundanity of the questions kept me rooted in my body.
He chuckled, though at what I had no idea, and brought his fingers to trace his mustache. “And how’d you end up here, in my home?”
His home. I hesitated. I was hoping he could tell me. Since I woke up in that room, the memories of the night before had only come to me in flashes. The rough fingers pressed into my arms. The chill of a gun grazing my neck. Being forced to sign a paper I couldn’t read. Someone tying the gag around my mouth when I wouldn’t stop sobbing. Finally, the sedative: sweet and terrifying relief. “Um. . .” My vision blurred.
He leaned forward and caught my wrist, squeezed it. I hadn’t realized I was digging my fingernails into my palms. He met my eyes without grace. I looked away, pulled weakly against his grip.
“I don’t know,” I said finally, voice smaller than I intended. He searched my face a moment longer before releasing his hold. Still, I could feel him examining me—my chest stuttering out shaky breaths, my hands twisting in the fabric at my knees, the red marks that circled my ankles.
“Anybody gonna come looking for you?” he asked at last.
The question uncovered a deeper ache I’d forgotten. A wavering image surfaced in my mind: my father looking away as I screamed for him to not let them take me.
“I don’t think so.” The words slipped out bitterly before I could think better of it. My breath hitched as I realized what I’d revealed.
The air went still. He leaned back slightly.
“No?” he said lightly. “Nobody at all?”
My stomach twisted. “There’s no money for a ransom if that’s what you want.” I tried to strengthen my voice, sound tougher than I felt. Though, something told me that wasn’t why I was there at all.
“That’s not what I asked.”
I pursed my lips, searching my mind for a face, any face. “My uncle,” I finally blurted, thankful to have found an answer.
“Uncle,” he echoed. “What’s his name?”
“Augustus- I mean-”
“You don’t know your uncle’s name?” He cut me off with a surprised laugh. “Por la familia, my ass,” he muttered to himself with more than a little sarcasm.
“Gustavo Fring,” I said quickly, the words finally coming to me. I knew very little about him. Though we lived only 30 miles from each other all my life, we’d never met. But as a name, he’d do.
He looked at me closely. He was searching for something. I tried to keep my face strong, but the corners of my lips quivered. After a long moment, he finally broke his gaze away, apparently satisfied with whatever he’d found. In fact he seemed relaxed, more than before. He stood and moved toward the door without a word.
Panic sparkled in my stomach. I couldn’t be kept in the dark. Worse, I couldn’t stand to be left alone again. “Wait,” I blurted.
He paused, one hand on the doorframe, and turned back to me expectantly.
“I- I don’t understand what’s happening,” I said, hating the way my voice wavered. “Why am I here?”
He considered me for a long moment. A tight, mocking smile tugged at his lips. “You know, I think you’d explode.”
Anger rolled in my stomach. For a second, I forgot to be terrified. My voice came out quick and shrill. “Don’t fucking play with—” I stopped myself and looked away quickly. Careful. I was preparing myself for retreat when I risked a glance at him. He looked amused.
Before I could apologize, a muffled voice called out from the hall. “Ay, Lalo! Bring her out here already, show off your prize!” Lalo. I realized he hadn’t told me his name.
His gaze shifted from the closed door back to me. My eyes widened as I realized what was happening. “No,” I choked. The way the man had said prize made me shiver.
“Get up,” he said flatly.
“No,” I repeated, more plea than defiance. I was frozen in place, unable to will myself to follow his order.
He wasted no time. In a few strides, he was by my side and wrapping his fingers around my bicep. I winced as his finger pressed directly into the bruise left by the last man who had held me like that. “Stay close to me,” he spoke fast and low. “Be polite to Don Eladio. Don’t try anything stupid.”
I shook my head in frantic protest, but he was already lifting me to my feet. I felt unsteady, squirming under his grip in spite of myself. He walked me out of the room I’d waited so long to leave. As we neared the end of the hall, he leaned down to reach my ear. “They won’t touch you,” he whispered factually. The words only made me more nervous. There was more to fear than I had previously conceived.
The music met me first, then the smoke rolling in orange lamplight. The hall opened into a wide living space, where men lounged across leather couches and high-backed chairs, drinks in hand, laughter rising easily between them. The tumble of voices slowed as we entered.
I felt the drag of eyes on me. It was a strange sensation after so many hours of isolation. Their gaze prickled my skin, and my steps faltered. Lalo noticed. His hand came between my shoulders, firmly steering me forward. I avoided catching any of their stares.
At the far end of the room, a man sat apart from the rest. Puffing on a cigar, his loose posture contrasted sharply with the men who flanked him. When his eyes lifted to me, my breath caught. Somehow I knew that this was Don Eladio, the one I was told to be polite to.
“Smile,” Lalo murmured under his breath. “Don’t look scared.”
Obediently, I formed my mouth into a weak smile. It was probably something more like a grimace.
“There she is,” the man said, his grin far more effortless than mine. His voice was warm and silken, the kind that recommended agreement.
Lalo stopped us a few feet away from him. His hand slid back to my arm. He was restraining me, I realized. Like I might run. Maybe I should, I thought, but I was frozen in place.
“Here we are,” Lalo replied. The lightness in his voice was nothing like the tension in his grasp.
Don Eladio rose slowly and crossed the space between us, the men around him watching closely. I resisted the urge to step back when he neared me. His gaze moved over me without shame, lingering in places that made my skin prickle. I shifted towards Lalo, leaning into his grip without thinking, until my shoulder just brushed his arm.
Eladio chuckled. “She’s prettier than the photos,” he said to Lalo. Photos? My mouth twitched. “Quiet, too.”
“She’s adjusting,” Lalo replied, voice neutral. I hated how they were talking around me, discussing me as if I weren’t there.
“Look at me,” Don Eladio commanded. He didn’t need to be loud.
I hesitated long enough to earn Lalo’s fingers tightening around my arm: a warning. I lifted my head in obedience, careful to soften my face.
Don Eladio wore a cold smile. He noticed my reluctance, and he liked it. He reached out as if to caress my cheek when Lalo took a small step forward, pulling me ever so slightly behind his shoulder. Don Eladio’s hand stalled in the air.
“Hey, she’s mine, jefe.” Lalo said with a light chuckle, like it was a joke. I glanced over at him, confused. I was his? What the hell did that mean?
For a heartbeat, Don Eladio only studied him. He seemed to be deciding whether to laugh along with Lalo or fume. To my surprise, he chose to laugh. He withdrew his hand.
“Already so possessive,” he said. “That didn’t take long.”
A ripple of amusement moved through the men. I felt their eyes shift from Eladio back to me. Someone at the edge of the room said something crude under his breath and laughed. Lalo’s jaw tightened.
“If I’m to have a wife, that’s how it’s gonna be.”
His tone was smooth, but the words hit me like a whip to the back. My head snapped towards him. Wife? He ignored my eyes. My every nerve lit up, inflamed and throbbing.
Don Eladio turned to me, sensing my shock. “Do you know why you’re here, mija?”
I could barely hear him through the ringing in my ears. I swallowed, tried to steady myself. “No- No, I don’t.”
“That’s alright,” he said. “You’re learning.” His eyes flicked to Lalo. “You’ll teach her.”
Don Eladio turned to the room. “Gentlemen,” he announced, “let’s welcome this young lady into the family.”
The words made my stomach flip. The room spun, my limbs grew numb. The weight of my body threatened to slip to the ground, but Lalo kept me upright in his grasp.
A few of the men raised their glasses. Others simply stared. One leaned forward in his chair, eyes dragging over me openly.
“You like how we set her up for you?” He asked Lalo, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at his mouth.
My eyes flashed to the man who spoke. I searched his face for any feature I may recognize, but came up with nothing.
Lalo’s response was quick and sharp. “I thought it was sloppy.” That was a surprise. He hadn’t seemed very bothered when he found me.
The man laughed nervously and leaned back, hands raised.
Don Eladio observed the exchange with interest, his gaze flickering between us. “You see?” he said to me. “You’ll be well looked after.” It didn’t feel very reassuring.
“Come,” he continued, motioning toward a nearby couch. “Sit with us.”
I waited for Lalo to move us forward, but he didn’t
“She’s had a long day.” Lalo’s hand slid down to my wrist, thumb pressing lightly against my pulse. With his hand on my arm, he was simply keeping me in place, but there on my wrist: he was claiming me, I realized with a start.
For a long moment, Don Eladio only watched. Then he nodded, chuckling to himself. “Very well. You’ve always had a territorial streak.”
He waved a hand at me. “Take her to bed, let her rest. We’ll talk later.” Relief washed through me so fast it left me dizzy.
Lalo didn’t wait. He turned us away from the room, pressing me back down the hall, his pace unhurried but purposeful. Behind us, the chatter swelled again as though nothing had happened.
Once we were out of sight, his hand dropped my wrist. I wished it hadn’t. My legs still felt unsteady. We stopped at the foot of the bed he had found me in. He turned to face me, and frowned. He reached out, adjusting the sleeve of my nightgown where it had slipped from my shoulder. His touch was careful. I looked up at him, searching his face. I had more questions than answers. I knew I couldn’t trust him yet, not really. But in that moment—well, whoever he was, he had stood between me and something worse.
“Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Before I could respond, he was already out the door, the lock clicking into place behind him.
***
“So? Even more beautiful in person, no? And untouched. Seems you’ve already taken to her nicely.”
Lalo let a smile stretch across his face. “You weren’t wrong, she is beautiful. But,” he tilted his head, “you’ll remember that was never my objection.”
“I do.” Don Eladio eyed Lalo. “And I expect you’ve laid your objections to rest.”
Months before, when Don Eladio had first raised the idea of a political marriage to end the conflict with Fring, Lalo had laughed like it was a joke. Marriage bored him, obligation made him vulnerable. But bringing Fring blood into his family line? Unacceptable.
Eladio dropped the subject, so Lalo thought that was the end of that. He should’ve known better. Don Eladio was an immovable object. Mortal, maybe, but immovable. That’s why Lalo locked her door, why he made sure she saw his gun—for her own good. Better she learned the shape of the cage quickly.
“I mean, hard to say no to such a pretty little thing.” Lalo kept his tone light, laughing like Don Eladio had simply pulled off a clever prank.
“I knew you’d see it that way.” The tension loosened as Eladio stood to leave. “I have one more thing for you before I go.” He pulled out a carelessly folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Lalo with a smile. “Sign it, and have your men bring it back to me.”