His Territory

24

-Lucia

Everyone around us sat in tense silence, the early morning air thick with exhaustion. Nobody feels social when catching a 4 AM flight to New York. Ricardo kept his fingers locked tightly around mine, giving the appearance of a doting couple. But beneath his grip, pain throbbed in my hand as his strength bruised my skin.

I glanced at him, parting my lips as though to speak but catching myself. I had a million questions, but I knew the rules with 84th—don't speak unless spoken to.

Ricardo raised an eyebrow, licking his lips. "Dímelo, chula," he murmured.

The pet name made my stomach turn, but I forced my face to stay neutral. "Where is Adrián?"

He narrowed his eyes, then leaned in close, letting his lips graze my ear. "He's coming to meet us before we board. Had some things to take care of." His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging my head back, exposing my neck. He pressed a light kiss to my throat, his breath hot against my skin. "Don't ruin our alone time," he whispered, his hand sliding down my back and resting on the curve of my hip.

I swallowed my revulsion, my face expressionless as I pulled away slightly. "What kind of things? Is he grabbing my clothes?" I asked softly, glancing down at the wrinkled hoodie I wore.

Ricardo's lips curved into a smirk. "Try not to worry, baby. I'm sure you've got plenty back at the house."

The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal: "Flight 209 to Kennedy Airport is now boarding at Gate 27."

Ricardo rose, pulling me up by the hand. "I thought Adrián was going to be here," I said, injecting a false note of concern.

"It's all an act," I reminded myself.

"He'll catch up if he misses this one," Ricardo replied, thrusting a ticket into my hand and releasing his grip, positioning himself behind me in the line.

I glanced down at my ticket: Row 4, Seat C—Business Class. I turned to see Ricardo's ticket: Row 26, Seat E—Economy.

He shrugged. "He wants you comfortable on the way home. It's not like you can run from us on a plane," he said, smirking.

I forced a nonchalant shrug and handed the stewardess my ticket. She scanned it, looking at my empty hands. "Ma'am, are you taking any bags on board? A purse, perhaps?"

I started to shake my head when Ricardo interjected. "I've got her wallet in my bag," he said smoothly, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close. The attendant gave a small, approving smile, waving me through.

I walked down the glass corridor toward the plane, Ricardo close behind, his presence looming like a shadow. The glass walls offered a view of the runway, and I glanced back at the terminal just as Adrián approached the gate, handing his ticket to the stewardess. His face was bruised, a cut above his lip, and his hands were streaked with blood. Chills ran over my skin as I watched him smirk at the stewardess, who looked visibly shaken as she handed back his ticket. She quickly closed the door behind him, the slam echoing in the narrow corridor.

Adrián came up behind me, his hand landing heavily on my shoulder, spinning me to face him. "Mía, ¿qué haces, chulita?" he said, his grip tightening, and I felt tears welling up, the strength of his hold making my knees buckle. Before I could react, he lifted me, throwing me over his shoulder.

I kicked and pounded against his back, screaming, desperate for help. I clawed at the glass walls, looking back into the terminal, where I saw Los, his eyes wide with shock, and Cristian, pleading with the attendant to open the door. His face was pale, blood staining his tank top.

Our eyes met, a final, desperate connection, and I saw the horror and helplessness in his gaze. He banged on the glass, his fists echoing through the hallway, as Adrián turned me away, smirking at Cristian before lifting his hand in a crude gesture, flipping him off. A sharp smack landed on my backside, jolting me as he laughed, carrying me onto the plane.