Detained

09.

❝What We Watchin'?❞
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A week later, May 2016
San Antonio, Texas

"Moira, if you plan on being this quiet, I'mma' hang up on yo' ass."

Sighing, Moira looked away from the telephone in her hand and set her gaze on her two captors. The three of them were seated at her dining table: Marcos all the way at at the end and shoving a spoonful of Raisin Bran in his mouth with obvious repulsion etched on his face, while Santiano was right next to her on the other end of the table, glaring at the phone before meeting eyes with Moira and waving his gun in signal to speed the nonexistent conversation up.

"I'm not being quiet, Mishi," Moira tried to sound convincing, but it still came out forced, and she covered her face in shame when her older sister smacked her teeth.

She had been on the phone with Ah'Misha for about thirty minutes and desperately wanted their "conversation" to end. Moira usually enjoyed speaking with her, but that was when it was only her in the room; having company not only made it awkward to talk to her, but it also made her genuinely worry if Ah'Misha would notice anything different going on.

Despite the New York native being the farthest out of her sisters, and being the complete opposite of her in every way imaginable, Moira and Ah'Misha had the strongest bond, and got along with each other the best. Mishi had never treated her baby sister any differently from before she went into the psychiatric hospital; there was no pity or walking on eggshells when she said anything to Moira—just regular sibling bonding.

"What does not hearin' anything mean again? It's like I'm pulling yo' damn teeth out just to get a few words from you," a bit of shuffling could be heard on the other line before Ah'Misha's voice came back barreling through the phone's external speaker, "Damn. Lemme' find out somebody got a gun to your head or somethin', twistin' yo' arm to talk to me—"

Marcos snorted, the action laced in derision and loud enough for Ah'Misha to hear, and both Santiano and Moira's head flew in his direction when Ah'Misha responded with a sarcastic laugh of her own.

"Did you just laugh?"

Shaking her head in panic, Moira rushed to click the phone off of the speaker and place it by her ear. "No. I have to go now. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

With that, Moira hung up and winced when Santiano snatched the phone out of her hand to hurl it at Marcos. "You dumb ass idiot," he spat, tempted to rise from his chair and slap his younger brother.

"What? She thought it was her. We're good. The next time she's on the phone, I won't make any—"

"There won't be a next time; we're leaving tonight, but that's besides the point," Santiano rose up from the dining table's chair and staggered over to the couch, "you need to learn how to shut the fuck up."

Trying her best to mask her relief, Moira breathed out a content sigh. The brothers planned on taking off tonight, specifically after the Comcast technician that was scheduled to come did all they needed to and cleared out, and she couldn't be more at ease.

It had already been six days since Santiano and Marcos hid out in her home, and Moira was over their very unsought stay. Even though they hadn't harmed her anymore after the first day they took over the house, Moira knew she would be a fool to trust them. They were violent hotheads on the run, and if she wanted to survive, she needed to remember that at all costs.

The two brothers refrained from keeping her in restraints; all three of them realized it was becoming a hassle of tying her up, just to turn around and release Moira minutes later when somebody decided to visit. Her parents had been stopping by for the last two days, giving the fugitives a heads up each time by phoning Moira before coming, but Marva kept popping over unexpectedly.