The Untouchables

9. Women, Queens of Hell (1)

I woke up still on the ground, Carlos moved me out of his office and left me in the corridor. The blood on my head dried and I had to cut my hair short before putting some ice on the cut that stopped bleeding thanks to a clot.

By the time of the party, I'm locked in a guest room, sighing every time my mind brings up that Quintero will finally decide to kill me if I don't show up at the drug lords' meeting. What really bothers me is everyone's reaction to my look: a blonde mop of terribly cut hair and too many bruises that no heavy make-up could ever cover in contrast with the sexy dress I'm wearing.

It's not like going to school or work, where you can sue someone just for calling you ugly or remark with your friends how disrespectful they are. It's not even like walking in a dark street, where you can receive some insults or just be beaten up instead of getting compliments until someone rapes you and they see how ugly you are while you whine and beg them to let you go. Going to a party of mafia bosses, drug lords and murderers of all kinds is dangerous when you look like shit.

It takes a second to fuck it up. They tell you that you look disgusting. You tell them to mind their business. They shoot you in the face. Those people don't waste time arguing, that's why they make business with the greatest people. Too many words are never welcome from men that work with money.

Carlos will fucking kill me, and then the other will shoot me in the name of solidarity. I sigh again, hopeless.

Someone knocks at the door. "Can I come in? Or are you fucking with someone?" I recognize his voice.

"I look terrible, Navarro. You better not come in, it'd be like waking up in a horror movie. My fucking face would scare the shit out of you," I complain, mainly to myself.

Rafael opens the door and the music gets so loud that I feel like my brain could explode anytime. I squeeze my eyes until he comes in and the sounds from outside are muffled again.

"Call me Rafa," he says. "Carlos really didn't go easy on you."

That asshole beat the shit out of me! I think, but I just glare at Rafa without a word.

"You should learn how to fight for yourself," he says.

"Duh?"

"Hey!" He scolds me. "I'm not your brother, have some respect, perra."

I stand up in front of him. "I know how to defend mys-"

He punches me right on the nose, not hard enough to break my nose but still hard enough to hurt me. He laughs as I step back to the bed, instinctively keeping my hands up.

"Why did you do that?" I ask, holding the tears back while my body starts shaking.

"First, if you learned to fight it doesn't mean that you know how to defend yourself. Every street has its own rules, every group has its culture, every single fighter has a different style and you must be ready to defeat them all. Reason number two." He punches me again and this time I feel the bridge of my nose breaking with a loud crack, filling my eyes with black dots for a few seconds. "The scars on your body won't make you more beautiful, but they will grant you some respect. Come on, join the party!"

Rafa drags me out of the room while I gather blood from my nose in my hand.

༻✧༺

"Dios bendito." These are the first words spoken by Carlos as I walk to him with Rafa. "Take something to cover that fucking nose, it's ruining a wonderful dress!"

After a man dressed in gold brings me a towel, careful not to touch me, I sit at the table of the three most powerful drug lords in the world. It'd be the best day of my life if we all didn't profoundly hate each other and I was almost fatally injured. Diego seems the only one looking at me with concern instead of disgust.

"We all know why we're here," Quintero starts, hitting his glass with a spoon to get everyone's attention. "Thanks to the mediating work of Gabriela Lopez, me, Navarro and Hernandez will be able to keep having a peaceful collaboration for the benefits of all of you."

His spectators, a hundred criminals with too much money and scandalous principles to respect, clap their cold hands and cheer all together. After all, the minorances are always the closest groups, even if they're privileged in regards to the majority.

"Now that the problem has been resolved, it's better to let you all acknowledge who she was," Quintero says, looking at me.

My nails sink in the arms of my stuffed chair as all the eyes move on me. What is he trying to do?

"Miss. Lopez crashed the truck that caused this mess between all of us. I promised her to spare her life if she brought our peace back, and she did. As you can see, I kept my word. But if I'd kill her now, it wouldn't be a death by my hand, but by yours."

"It's getting interesting," Rafa says, snorting.

"If you decide that the woman has to die, she will die." Quintero points his gun at me. "She's not needed anymore here. What are we going to do to get rid of her? Do you want to kill her or do you want to let her go? I think there's only one way to make sure she won't cause more problems and we all know that."

I stay as still as a statue, breathing fast as if every time it's my last breath.

"Give me a good reason not to kill you."

Unfortunately, at least for me, there's no reason for him not to kill me.

I close my eyes, exhale my last breath and wait for the end.