Taste Of Scotch // James Valdez

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I might have snatched a few hours of sleep last night, though calling it "sleep" is generous since I was sprawled on a cold, hard floor. Every muscle in my body felt stiff, my bones aching. As I sat up, my eyes scanned the room, half-expecting the surroundings to magically transform if I stared long enough. With a heavy sigh, I realized this might be the peak of my day. Reaching behind me for my red flannel, my hand found only air. I glanced back; it was gone. Had someone taken it?

I turned to the young Mexican girl sitting on her bed, meticulously sewing her own clothes. "Hola, did you see what happened to my stuff?" I inquired. She looked at me with disdain, as if I'd insulted her, though I couldn't fathom how.

"No one took anything. He moved you up, bitch... James," she said, pointing over her shoulder towards where the mule girls stay. "You sleep with the mules now. Congrats."

I gave her a nod of thanks before standing up and heading towards the area designated for the mule girls. At least you have a bed now, my inner optimist chimed in, trying to focus on the silver lining. But the reality was stark—I was still here, under Camila's control. Being a mule might offer more freedom, but it wasn't the freedom I craved.

"Hola, excuse me. Which bed is mine?" I asked one of the girls. She gave me a look of disgust, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. Under her scrutiny, I felt diminished, though I couldn't pinpoint why. She pointed to a small, single bed in the far corner. I thanked her quietly and moved towards it, knowing well that making friends here wasn't on the cards. I'd have to navigate this place alone.

Approaching my bed, I noticed a large, dark green bag perched on it. With cautious hands, I opened it and started rummaging through.

Inside, I found three new, albeit slightly worn, flannels, two more pairs of pants, and four new t-shirts. For a moment, gratitude towards James flickered within me, but it quickly soured. Why should I thank him? It was my effort that landed me here, my loud mouth and outspoken opinions. If I hadn't delivered those drugs yesterday, I wouldn't be in this mess.

As I reached the bottom of the bag, something caught my eye—a faint glow. My hands dove in, pulling out a phone. My heart raced with a spark of excitement, only to be doused by the realization that there was no service down here. "Great..." I grumbled, tossing the phone back into the bag. A part of me considered wandering around with the phone until I found a signal. But what then? Call the cops?

I sat down on the bed, the almost softness beneath me offering a strange comfort. After nights on a cold, hard floor, even the slightest cushion feels like luxury. The gated door creaked open in front of me, revealing a tall, brooding silhouette. I didn't need to look up to recognize him – leather jacket, black boots, black shirt, black jeans. It was James.

As my eyes met his, a flicker of fear passed through me, hoping he wasn't here for me.

"James..." I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. His gaze locked onto mine, his body shifting to fully face me. "Thank you... for moving here."

He remained silent, his stare intense. When he finally spoke, it was not to me. "Tina, Julie, get dressed. Savings club," he commanded, his voice directed at two girls just a foot away from me.

"James, do you need me today?" I asked, unsure why I even bothered. It wasn't as if I wanted to involve myself further, but proving myself, climbing the ranks, could mean becoming someone of importance, could mean escape. James shook his head, a mocking chuckle escaping his lips. He turned fully towards me, took two steps forward, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me up. "Come here," he demanded, his grip leaving no room for refusal.

My back was pressed against the fence, the cold metal doing little to cool the flush on my cheeks. His breath, hot and annoyingly close, fanned across my face, making my skin prickle with irritation. His left hand shot up, slamming against the fence next to my head, effectively caging me in. My eyes, wide with a mix of defiance and irritation, locked onto his. What the hell was this about?

"I don't know how deep in the shit you are, but I know what you're trying to do." he growled, his voice a low, raspy rumble that might have been intimidating if I weren't so pissed off.

"what am I supposedly doing?" I snapped back, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I wasn't about to let him see me sweat, even if my fingers were digging into the fence behind me like I was trying to meld with it.

"You think you're playing nice with Camila, huh? But the moment you start mattering to her, Elena, the moment she decides you're worth her time, you're in too deep to just walk away. So, maybe think twice." His tone almost fooled me into thinking he gave a damn. Almost.

I snorted, rolling my eyes. "Oh, please. Spare me the faux concern. We both know these aren't your words; they're Camila's. She's just playing her little games through you. Tell her I said thanks for the heads-up, but I can handle my own mess."

James steps back, preparing to leave, but I catch his arm. His gaze flicks to my hand on his forearm, then locks with mine. "What am I supposed to do?" I ask.

"You did well. She was impressed. Just keep doing the small tasks, Elena. She'll lose interest eventually."

I let go of his arm, watching as he walks off with the two girls from earlier. I retreat to my bed and sit down, pondering his words.

He was right, annoyingly so. If I just lay low, avoid making any bold moves, and stay out of the way, maybe she would indeed get bored with me. But then what? What if I only did as I was told?

"Elena, come on. Camila wants you with us." James's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I look over at him, confusion evident on my face. "Come on, hurry," he urges. I rise quickly, following him out, my mind racing with questions. Why does Camila want me along? What's really going on?

The devil with its pitch fork deep inside my mind screamed trap.