Two long days had crawled by before the punishment was lifted.
The moment the lock clicked and the door creaked open, Emma stormed toward her bedroom—only to stop cold in the doorway. Her breath caught. Her chest tightened. The lavender walls she had painted herself, the posters that mirrored her dreams, the DIY décor painstakingly assembled during countless restless nights—all of it was gone. The room had been gutted. The walls were now a bland, sterile beige. Shelves sat empty, and the cozy bedspread had been replaced by a generic factory-clean sheet. “What the hell?” Her voice cracked as she stepped inside. “Mum!” Her scream cut through the silence like a blade. “You can’t just erase everything! This is my room!” Across the hall, Aiden stood at the threshold of his own room, just as stunned. “Where’s all my stuff?” he muttered, stepping in. His sneakers thudded softly against the bare floorboards. The clutter of childhood—comics, action figures, half-assembled model kits—had vanished. Everything personal, gone. In the master bedroom, Mr. and Mrs. Kinney sat in silence. Neither flinched at the noise echoing down the hall. “They need a wake-up call,” Mr. Kinney said, voice like ice. “We’ve indulged them long enough. Digital addictions. Emotional theatrics. It ends now. They’re not children anymore.” He stood and strode into Emma’s room without a word. Snatched her phone from her hands. Walked out. Aiden’s confiscation followed moments later. No explanation. No discussion. Just silence. — Out on the street, Marcus walked alone. His thoughts were a mess of worry and restless energy. His steps eventually brought him to Eric’s house. He stopped short when he saw Eric standing outside with two unfamiliar men by a beat-up sedan. One of them, tall with a hawkish nose, quickly tucked something under his jacket as Marcus approached. The red-haired one jerked his chin. “Who’s this?” Eric gave a nervous chuckle. “Relax. He’s cool. Marcus, didn’t know you were dropping by... but, uh, maybe you’ll wanna be part of this.” Marcus slowed, instinct pulling him back. Before he could turn, the tall one grabbed his sleeve in a grip like steel. “You’ve seen too much,” the man said, smiling thinly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t benefit.” He held up a small package, wrapped tight. “Warehouse on Simpson Street. Drop this off. You get a hundred per run. Simple. No questions, no cops. Sneakers, cash, girls—whatever you want. All within reach.” Marcus’s gut screamed to walk away. But then came the taunts. “Scared, kid?” sneered the redhead. “What, your mum still tucks you in?” Marcus clenched his jaw. His pride burned hotter than his fear. “I’ll do it,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I want to know what’s in the bag.” The men exchanged a look. The redhead shrugged. “Later. First delivery is a test.” Marcus snatched the bag and turned, his fists tight at his sides, his pulse pounding in his ears. — Back home, Emma hovered by the front door, the usual mischief in her eyes. “Hey! Just the man I was looking for,” she said with a grin. “Think you could spot me a little cash? I’m thinking... shopping therapy.” She batted her lashes. Normally, it worked. Today, Marcus brushed past her like she didn’t exist. Emma blinked, her smile fading. “What the hell?” she whispered. “He’s never ignored me like that...” Then she frowned, an idea forming. “Maybe I should start charging for chores. Four bucks to wash Dad’s car every morning? Not bad.” — Aiden’s school day dragged like cement. Exhausted, he nodded off during class and slammed face-first into his desk. A loud smack jolted him awake. “Aiden!” Mrs. Heffley barked. “Asleep again? That’s it—detention all week. You’ll be reporting to Mr. Ray after school.” Aiden groaned. That wasn’t the plan. The second the bell rang, he bolted out of the building. But fate had other ideas. He skidded to a stop in front of a decaying warehouse, his heart skipping when he spotted Marcus standing with a man who looked like a villain out of a noir film. Scarred arms, eye patch, cigarette drooping from his lip. “Bro!” Aiden called, jogging over. “I see you around here all the time. What’s going on?” Marcus turned. The cold in his eyes froze Aiden in place. He grabbed his brother by the collar, dragging him close. “You shouldn’t be here,” Marcus hissed. “Go home. Right now. Don’t ever follow me again.” Aiden stumbled back, stunned. His gaze dropped to Marcus’s wrist—a sleek, expensive watch gleamed in the sunlight. That’s not normal. — Back at the Kinney house, Emma was folding laundry when Aiden burst into her room. She raised an eyebrow. “What is it? You look like you saw a ghost.” Aiden dropped onto the edge of her bed, breathing hard. “Have you noticed anything... weird about Marcus lately?” Emma looked up, her expression serious. “Yes. Finally, someone said it. He’s been different—quiet, angry. Yesterday, I caught him counting stacks of cash. Like, thick stacks.” Aiden nodded slowly. “He’s always near that warehouse. Today... I saw him with a guy who looked like he’d kill someone for fun.” Emma’s pulse quickened. “We need to watch him. Something’s seriously off.” They locked eyes, the rare silence between them filled with shared purpose. For once, they were on the same side. Aiden lingered, his gaze on the pale, empty walls around them. Emma gave him a look. “You can leave now, you know.” He stood, but a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Peace—however temporary—was something he wasn’t quite ready to let go of.
Latest Chapter
Chapter 16
JULY 10 – DULSIE’S NINTH BIRTHDAY It was mid-afternoon. The sun hung low in a glassy sky, casting shadows across the lawn like blades. The air held a breeze, lazy and warm, brushing through the garden where Lucia darted from one corner to the next, setting up little umbrella shades for her daughter Dulsie's birthday party. Colorful balloons swayed. Paper streamers fluttered. On any other day, it would’ve looked like paradise. Candela had arrived just after dawn with her husband and two children, ready to help her sister make the celebration perfect. The kids disappeared inside the house for a round of hide and seek—laughing, shrieking, completely oblivious to the storm heading their way. Candela’s daughter, just four months older than Dulsie but never tired of claiming the upper hand, kept bragging she was already ten. Elvio—Lucia’s husband—had driven off to pick up the birthday cake and a few groceries. Esteban, Candela’s husband, manned the barbecue. The meats, mostly chorizo and
Chapter 15
It was Friday night, and like clockwork, the Euphoria Discotheque pulsed with artificial energy. Neon lights sliced through the smoke-heavy air, casting warped shadows of dancers against the velvet walls. Valentina stood behind the thick curtain, peering through a slit with deadened eyes. She wasn’t searching for anything in particular. She just scanned—an instinct carved from survival. Then she saw him. A young man, seated alone, his back turned to her. Something about his posture—it was too composed, too controlled. She felt like she’d seen him before, maybe even recently, but memory was a fragile thing these days. She saw dozens of men each week—some violent, some indifferent, some pathetically kind. They all blurred together. A pressure began to build in her chest—tight, suffocating. The sounds of the club—laughter, music, glassware clinking—dissolved into a distant hum. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the vial hidden behind the vanity mirror. Two pills. She dry-swallowe
Chapter 14
Marcus entered the dimly lit room with slow, uncertain steps, both hands gripping the handles of a small, weathered nylon bag. The place reeked faintly of sandalwood incense and something metallic—perhaps blood or rust—lingering under the surface. He stood near the center, unsure whether to set the parcel down or wait for someone to claim it. He was still wrestling with indecision when a soft shuffle of feet broke the silence behind him. He turned instinctively—too quickly—and nearly collided with her. Josefina. She stood inches from him, her breath warm and steady, caressing the nape of his neck. She had a presence like cold silk—elegant and unnerving. He hadn’t heard her enter. "I—I'm sorry. I was sent to deliver this," Marcus stammered, placing the bag on the edge of the bed as though it might explode. He made to leave but froze when her voice cut through the tension. “I said... what’s in there?” Josefina repeated, more deliberately now, her eyes sharp with curiosity. Marcus me
Chapter 13
“Hola. I’m Christanté.” Valentina turned sharply, startled by the voice behind her. A small boy stood barely a foot away. His smile was wide, too practiced for someone his age. His teeth were stained, his clothes worn thin, but he radiated an odd kind of energy. Hopeful, maybe. Or just desperate to be seen. He couldn’t have been more than ten. Valentina crouched down and gently ran her hand over his unkempt hair. The boy chuckled, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m Valentina,” she said softly. “What are you doing here, cariño? This… this isn’t a place for a child.” Christanté shrugged. “I work here,” he replied, his smile still fixed in place, almost like it had been stitched to his face. Valentina's stomach clenched. “Work? What kind of work?” He hesitated. The smile faltered. His eyes dropped to the floor like something in him collapsed. “I clean the bar. Serve drinks. And sometimes…” He trailed off, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Silence stretched. The
Chapter 12
"Querido, I’m heading out now. I’ll call once the interview’s done," Valentina said, tightening the cap over her dark curls. Her little backpack clinked faintly from the metal zipper tags as she slung it onto her shoulder. She stepped into the parlor where Jorge sat on the worn-out sofa, cradling their two little girls. Jorge rose immediately. The moment he saw her, a gentle pride lit his tired eyes. Despite everything, she still found a way to shine. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "If anything feels off, call me. Right away. No second-guessing." Valentina let out a soft laugh, trying to mask the ache in her chest. Her family was everything—her anchor in a storm. She broke away from his arms and scooped her daughters up for a final squeeze before heading out the door. She didn’t know this would be the last time she’d see her family as the woman she was. Valentina had always been resourceful—twenty-six, full of grit, already trying to stitch togethe
Chapter 11
5:30 AM – Cuernavaca, Raúl's Compound The hallway was dead quiet, the kind of silence that only came after too many screams. The girl’s heels scraped the concrete with every step as El Toro dragged her by the hair like a sack of trash. Her nightgown clung to her body—drenched in sweat, dirt, and humiliation. Bruises marbled her legs, fresh and old ones layered like tattoos from the life she’d never chosen. Raúl lit a cigar with a gold-plated lighter and watched them enter like it was just another morning. He leaned back in his chair, behind a steel desk littered with black tar heroin, rolled-up bills, and a 9mm Beretta he kept polished like a trophy. “Elena,” he said coolly. “You know what this is.” She didn’t reply. She didn’t beg either. She’d already spent that energy trying to gouge a client’s eye out with a fork the night before. No one cared why. Raúl had to respond. “El Toro, bring me the gringo.” Barracks, same time The metal door flew open and banged against the wall.
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