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Chapter Text

James had always thought soulmate marks were bullshit. And not because he was the only person he knew who didn’t get theirs at twenty-one.

Mostly, he thought the idea of having a soulmate—one person you were fated to be with—gave people an out. He’d seen his parents’ relationships fall apart, and they’d used the names on their wrists as excuses not to try to fix anything. By the time he was twenty-one, he’d decided not to pay attention to the person whose name would appear.

And if he’d been disappointed, it hadn’t lasted long; the army had been something to focus on, and now, so was the cartel. His relationship with Kim was good—at least, good enough, he thought—and he was good at what he did. Good enough, he hoped, that he’d make enough money to get out one day.

Today, though, he was nowhere near that. Today, he’d had to dig around Aveline’s stomach minutes after she’d died to get the bags of coke she’d consumed. 

As he’d walked into the warehouse, he’d heard yelling, but he hadn’t paid it any attention. The fucking bags shouldn’t have dissolved that quickly. 

Walking over to the table where Aveline lay, he’d pulled on medical gloves. Out of the corners of his eyes, he’d seen a few men dragging a half-conscious girl back into one of the cages. 

That girl had been Teresa, and a few hours later, she was being pinned down on a table as Camila asked someone to drug her. James had turned his head slightly, trying to ignore the piercing, desperate screams that echoed in the warehouse. He didn’t involve himself in this side of the business for a reason.

“Wait!” she’d yelled. “I’ll deliver the drugs.”

James had been sure she’d change her mind or that Camila would say it was useless. It was useless. Instead, Camila had agreed.

He’d watched as a new girl—Teresa—swallowed bag after bag of cocaine. You’re going to die for no reason, he’d thought.

And now, they were speeding through the streets of Dallas to get to the airport on time.

Teresa kept glancing over at him, brows furrowed. Through his sunglasses, he did the same, looking for any sign of an overdose. She wasn’t sweaty or jittery. Not yet.

As they jerked to a stop while people meandered through the crosswalk, she braced herself on the dashboard, and he briefly caught sight of the name on her wrist. Guero. 

Turning a corner thirty seconds later, they were forced to stop again. This time, it was because of construction workers. Fuck.

He tossed his glasses aside, turning to look at her. For some reason, she seemed to think they could make it to the airport before the bags dissolved. They couldn’t. But, Christ, she wouldn’t stop arguing with him. So he started driving. “You’re gonna die,” he said matter-of-factly.

Teresa glared ahead of them. “Drive.” 

“I am,” he spat back.

Teresa watched as the man gripped the wheel tightly, and her eyes widened a fraction when he sped by the exit to the airport. “Airport!”

“I know where I’m going. I’m not trying to kill you.”

She scowled. “I’m not trying to–”

Before she could finish the sentence, a horn honking cut her off, and then, the car was spinning as another vehicle slammed into them.

James froze for only a moment before he glanced at Teresa. “C’mon,” he said, aware of his heart slamming in his chest. He jumped out of the car and moved to her side of the car, but she was already shoving the car door open.

He grabbed the bag, and they both started running.

Minutes later, they were in an airport bathroom. James stared at Teresa as she retched into the sink. Her hands were shaking. Was it because she was throwing up, the adrenaline, or the cocaine? 

He picked up the baggies, examining them and depositing each one in a tin he’d found in the restroom. 

No holes in any of them yet.

Seventeen. Eighteen.

Leaning over the sink, Teresa coughed, trying to force herself to vomit. Her throat stung, and only bile was coming up.

She forced her fingers down her throat again, gagging. Two more came out, then another, and James hastily washed them off, putting them inside the empty tin.

“Three more. C’mon.”

Tears blurred her vision, and she stared down at the dirty sink, her chipped black nail polish, and Guero’s name. What if it’s too late? Vaguely, she heard James saying “three more” again. What did Guero think when he was dying? Was he scared?

“C’mon, Teresa. Throw that shit up.”

James patted her back before yanking the soap dispenser off the wall. He grabbed her forearm, pulling her towards him. “Here.”

She opened her mouth, coughing as the soap was forced down her throat. Teresa turned, throwing up in the sink again.

Seeing the bags, James grabbed them. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. He looked over at her, brows furrowed. There was nothing else in the sink.

Wiping her lips, she leaned down and picked up a little bag. Shakily, she handed it to James. “We’re good.” She thought she saw something like relief flicker across his features, but she was sure it had more to do with the fact that they had the cocaine than it did with her being alive.

After the man took the bag from James, they walked out of the airport. James hailed them a cab, and they both climbed in.

“How’d you know about the soap thing?”

“When I was a kid, I was trying to ditch school. Drank half a bottle,” he answered. “Never did it again.”

Teresa gave a small nod. She leaned her elbow against the window, closing her eyes for a second.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Sick.”

“Sick’s fine,” he said dismissively. “It didn’t look like anything dissolved. You got lucky.”

Teresa opened her eyes and shot James an irritated look. “I don’t feel lucky.”

“You’re not dead.”

I guess not. She looked out the window again, recalling what he’d asked her as they’d driven. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

“I wasn’t sure,” he said, not looking at her, “since you’re obviously in some kind of shit. I thought you might want an out.”

Does he know about Guero being dead? She wasn’t sure what Camila had told James or if he meant to imply anything. But she wasn’t going to ask, and she didn’t bother responding.

She trudged back into the warehouse alongside James, looking around. 

James said nothing more to her, either, still certain that Teresa had gotten lucky. Hopefully she keeps her head down.

***

As he stood in the back of Camila’s bar while Camila talked to Teresa, who’d just saved them $50,000 by pointing out the cash they were being offered wasn’t real, James knew that Teresa wasn’t going to be staying out of trouble.

Teresa stared at the watch Camila had slid across the bartop, eyes narrowed. “I don’t want it.”

“I know you don't want to be here.” Camila paused, then added, “I know how much it must have hurt to lose Guero.”

She had to keep herself from snapping reflexively. “You know nothing about me,” she said, touching her wrist and feeling the familiar raised letters.

Camila eyed Teresa now. “Just because you have a man’s name on your wrist doesn’t mean he’ll protect you. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

Teresa bit her tongue until she tasted metal. “I know that.”

“And yet here you are.”

James stayed quiet, lighting a cigarette as Camila spoke. Should’ve taken the watch, he thought as Teresa refused it yet again.

“I’m tired,” Teresa said flatly. “Can I go?”

Camila nodded. “I’ll have James take you home.”

She stared back at Camila. “This is not my home.”

James waited for Camila to finish lecturing Teresa about letting someone go free and women looking weak in the business before walking toward the car. Teresa followed in silence, arms crossed.

They got into the car, and he said, “Whatever you did, Camila’s not someone you want to owe a debt to. And helping her doesn’t mean she’ll return the favor.”

She looked over at James briefly before looking out the window. “You don’t have a mark. Did you have one before?”

The response wasn’t one he’d expected. Still, it was a question he’d gotten often enough. James shrugged, adjusting the radio. “Why does it matter?”

She raked a hand through her hair. “It doesn’t. I was just curious.”

He turned down the street in the direction of the warehouse. He expected Teresa to ask more questions—everyone else seemed to—but she didn’t. Tapping his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, he said, “I’ve never had one.”

“Maybe you’re lucky,” she said dryly.

“Maybe it’s just because I don’t believe in it.”

Teresa shook her head. “Other people don’t believe in it. They still have them.”

As they stopped at a red light, James glanced at her. Dark half circles hung under her eyes, and she pulled at her sleeves absentmindedly. The clothes probably weren’t hers, he thought, and he felt a twinge in his chest. I’m not making her do anything, he chastised himself, I shouldn’t feel bad about whatever she’s gotten herself into.

Clearing his throat, he replied, “I don’t know. It’s not important.”

They were quiet for the remainder of the ride, and when they arrived, James grabbed his pair of keys. There were a few other girls still there, but so many came and left, and most had better places to stay overnight.

Unlocking the door, he made note of who was there, then checked their inventory of weapons and coke.

Teresa walked to one of the bathrooms. After splashing water against her face, she made sure no one else was inside before tugging down her sleeve. Narrowing her eyes, she studied the mark. The letters were more faded than they’d been a week ago. And they weren’t supposed to fade.

She’d never thought that the person whose name her soulmate mark would spell out would save her. As far as she’d been concerned, no one would pull her from the life she came from. Admittedly, that was partially because she never thought that she’d make it to twenty-one.

But she had. When the mark had slowly started to appear on her twenty-first birthday, she’d been skeptical. Her parents had been lucky to have fallen in love before they’d turned twenty-one. No one had been surprised when their marks had spelled out each other’s names. They’d chosen each other.

Being soulmates hadn’t kept them alive, though. And it didn’t save anyone. She’d seen families torn apart from these marks; she’d seen people scream and fight and kill because of them. 

So when she’d met Guero, she fell for him hard. He made her feel cared for. Safe.

Sitting in the bathtub in Guero’s house— their house, technically, since he’d given her a copy of the keys recently—Teresa had been smoking a cigarette and watching a movie when she’d noticed the scar-like imprint, just a shade or two lighter than her skin, with Guero’s name almost appeared smudged.

Extinguishing the cigarette, Teresa had examined the mark. Though still visible, his name had been faded. Maybe I ran into something. She’d run her fingers over the slightly raised lines, knowing that the thought wasn’t logical or true. She’d bruised her wrist before after she’d narrowly caught a heavy pan Guero had dropped in the kitchen when they’d been cooking together, and it never affected the mark.

Nothing could affect the mark permanently. At least, that’s what she’d been told. Then, no one really knew where the marks came from, just like no one could really say what happened after death or when time had begun. 

The shrill ringing of a phone had pulled her from her thoughts. Before she could even process what it’d meant, she was jumping out of the tub, throwing a towel around herself, and rushing down the stairs, leaving a trail of water behind her. Nearly slipping on the wet floor, Teresa had run to the table that held the phone. The one that wasn’t supposed to ring.

Please, let it be a mistake. Please.

“Si?” she’d asked, voice quiet.

“You don’t know me, Teresa. Guero’s dead.”

No. No, she’d thought. And then, You should’ve known it was too good to be true. 

She’d acted on autopilot, bolting upstairs, throwing on clothes, and calling Brenda. Then, she’d run.

And she’d kept running. To get Brenda and Tony. To get away from Gato and Pote. To Guero’s safehouse, which hadn’t been safe. And now, she was here. Still not safe, with a dead soulmate and a disappearing mark. Alone.

Teresa pulled down her sleeve, washed her hands, and returned to the small cot that was hers now. She took off her shoes and set them underneath the bed before lying down, closing her eyes. 

She tried to pretend things were normal. That she was at home.

But no amount of pretending would change things. This would never be home. And Guero was dead. Nothing would bring him back.

Chapter Text

There was something so absurd about getting dressed up to go to a party, listening to people who were rich—pretending like she was one of them—to get intel on their business, and then coming back and sleeping in what felt like a prison, Teresa thought.

The past several weeks had passed by in a blur, and Teresa was still insistent on helping Camila. Days ago, that had meant killing someone. She could still see the man staring at her if she closed her eyes.

Tonight, helping Camila meant going to another party. This time, she didn’t have to borrow one of James’ girlfriend’s dresses, and James wouldn’t be taking shots at anyone. Camila had given her a dress to wear to wear. This one was sparkly and blue and frilly, and this party was for them to test the waters, see if anyone knew of another chemist, and listen if anyone indicated they’d be interested in buying with them instead of Epifano.

Teresa walked into the mansion with James, struck by a sense of familiarity. She was reminded of the party she’d attended with Guero at Christmastime. Brenda had been with her, and they’d laughed and enjoyed themselves then. 

We thought we were safe. We were so stupid.

“You,” Camila had told her just before she left as they’d stood in the warehouse, “only listen. Don’t start talking business with people; they may not want to talk to James, and they won’t listen to you.” Camila paused, then reached into her purse and pulled out a thick bracelet. “Wear this. To cover the name.”

Teresa took the gold bracelet, keeping her expression blank. She’d seen people who were interested in dating and single—whether their soulmate had died or they’d broken up with, had divorced, hadn’t met, or didn’t care about their soulmate—cover their marks with makeup, clothes, or jewelry. It was a signal to others that you were available and didn’t care about the name on your wrist.

“Ready?” James had asked.

Teresa had nodded, heels clicking along the warehouse floor, the same cold floor she’d spent hours lying on, trying to imagine how she’d escape. Now, she was just trying to survive here.

After listening to conversations about screwing women and drug routes, Teresa walked by another group. She’d already gotten more than enough stares and flirtatious comments, but of course, no one would talk about anything serious with her standing too close. That’s probably what Camila wanted.

As she approached James and several other men, she caught pieces of their conversation.

A man holding a cigar with a gun visible in his waistband said, “...that pendejo didn’t know what the hell he was doing.”

“They normally don’t,” James agreed, taking a sip of his beer.

One of the men gestured towards Teresa. “Valdez, you got yourself a new morra?”

James raised a brow, glancing momentarily at Teresa before shaking his head. “No. She’s working with us.”

Another man laughed, saying in Spanish, “He’s teaching you to work with him? You need a better teacher than this guy, mamacita. I can show you a few things.”

Teresa wondered how much James understood. More than he let on, she thought. “You’re a good teacher?” she asked, tilting her head and studying the man. When he nodded, she said, “Can you teach me where to find a good chemist?”

James paused, brows furrowing.

“Probably. It depends on what you can do for me.”

“I think we could help you with your supply,” she said with a demure grin. Then, she looked over at James. “Right?”

By the end of the night, they had a new contact for a potential chemist and a new client. James wouldn’t admit it, but he was impressed with the way Teresa had handled herself.

Listening to someone make a speech, thanking everyone for coming, Teresa leaned against a column by the entryway. The room was warm with so many bodies crowded together, laughing and drinking. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw James shake someone’s hand before he moved to stand beside her.

“I guess you’re still hellbent on making an impression on Camila,” James said, not looking at her and keeping his voice low as he spoke.

She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, feet aching from the high heels. Teresa peered ahead as the host slurred his words slightly. “I don’t want to be expendable, and I have to stay here if I want to stay alive. That’s what she told you to tell me, isn’t it?”

Heat crept into James’ cheeks. “Tell her if she wants to die, she should run. If she wants to live, she should stay with me,” Camila had said the day they’d gotten back from the airport. He hadn’t thought Teresa had heard the conversation.

James still didn’t look over at her. When the host mentioned the restaurant he was opening soon—a front, of course—several people whistled and clapped. He smiled politely. “Yes. That doesn’t mean you need to get so involved.”

Teresa mirrored his smile, and when the man at the front of the crowd yelled, “salud!”, she, along with everyone else, echoed back, “Salud!”

The moment they turned around to leave, the grin fell from her face. “She could still sell me to Epifano. I don’t have a choice or a home to go to like you.”

He rolled his shoulders, agitated to feel the sting of her words. “I get that.”

“Do you?” she challenged him, finally looking up at him.

Sighing, he gave a short nod, forcing himself not to think too much about her comment. “Yeah. I do,” James said. “Just be careful.”

Teresa glanced at him, eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

They moved around a group of men as they walked out onto the patio towards the car. “Why should you be careful?”

“Why does it matter to you if I am?”

James shrugged, looking over his shoulder. People were calling for their drivers and talking loudly, a few of them shuffling unsteadily toward their cars, but no one was following them. He turned to look ahead of them, loosening the tie around his neck. “Because it seems like you’ll be running with me a lot. Like I told you when we met, I don’t want to see another girl die.”

Teresa considered James’ comment. It was…nice, in its own way. I don’t know if you’re lying or if you care. Studying James, she searched for some sign of insincerity in his expression.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire filled her ears. Only the distant light from the house illuminated the patio, and in the darkness that spanned ahead, it was impossible to see. Heart hammering in her chest, Teresa moved with James to crouch behind a large fountain.

Grabbing his gun, James shifted by Teresa. He saw her step out of her heels in case she needed to run.

“Learn how to use a gun, pinche cabrón!” someone shouted.

Someone else yelled back, “I know how to use a gun, this pendejo can’t walk straight and ran into me!”

Nose wrinkling in disdain, James looked from behind the fountain before holstering his gun, muttering, “Idiots.”

He started to stand before Teresa grabbed his arm, tugging him down. “You don’t think it’s a setup?” she whispered.

Seeing the spark of fear in her eyes, James shook his head. “No. But I think you should keep a gun on you.” He nodded at the heels in her hand. “Makes for a better weapon than those.”

“Camila hasn’t wanted me to keep one. She thinks I might leave.” Slowly, she stood alongside him, brushing herself off.

“I’ll talk to her,” he said. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Teresa walked next to James, still holding onto her shoes. “You think talking to her will help?”

He shrugged. “If you’re gonna be doing this, you need to be armed. Always. Besides,” James said, glancing at her, “a handgun wouldn’t do you much good if you were trying to leave.”

“Good. Because I sure as hell don’t want to have to track you down.”

She met his gaze. “You won’t have to. I’m staying.” I have no other choice.

Two weeks later, James still wasn’t convinced that Teresa was cut out for this kind of work. He’d seen the way she hesitated to give over Rolando, the ex-con who insisted he was a born-again believer. Whether he was or wasn’t, James didn’t really care. 

But Teresa had cared. And now, she was placing flowers on a memorial site for Rolando. It was her humanity that was going to get her killed one day, James thought.

“Everything in life has a price,” Teresa said, staring at the memorial before glancing at James. “Brenda was my best friend.”

The street lights illuminated her face in the darkness, and James could see her eyes watering and her lip trembling. He knew what had happened to her friend, and he knew how wildly out of control she must’ve felt right now. He’d felt it before, too, the first time he hadn’t been able to save someone. It’d been in Afghanistan for him.

Teresa’s throat burned, and as hard as she tried to push down the overwhelming guilt she felt, it wouldn’t disappear. Sometimes, she was convinced that the pain would kill her. But she was still here, even though she wasn’t sure she wanted to be.

She pressed her lips together, trying to force back the tears that stung her eyes. “She’s never coming back.” Teresa gave a humorless, weak laugh as she looked at the pile of flowers in front of her and thought to herself that Brenda had never gotten a proper funeral.

James remained quiet, knowing that nothing he could do would bring her friend back. Some part of him felt like he was to blame for the way she felt. He hadn’t made her kill Ronaldo, nor had he brought her into the cartel. And yet, there was a knot forming in his chest.

He looked down at the ground, gaze catching on his wrist. It looked like there was a cut or a blot of light ink on it. It’s probably just the lighting. He turned his attention back to Teresa, shifting his weight slightly. I shouldn’t care that she’s upset. We shouldn’t be here, anyway.

Unable to hold back a sob any longer, Teresa covered her face with her hands, allowing the pain, anger, and sadness she’d felt for so long to finally escape her. “It hurts so much.”

Shit. James hesitated before taking a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. Cautiously, he put a hand on her back.

Teresa tensed for a moment, the breath catching in her throat. But she didn’t turn away. Instead, she moved closer, leaning against him. No one’s touched me without trying to hurt me since–

She screwed her eyes shut, exhaling shakily and clinging to James’ arm. Desperate for some sort of comfort, just for a moment, she rested her head against his shoulder. “Sorry,” she choked out.

He lightly ran his hand up and down her back. “It’s okay,” he replied, voice quieter than normal. Gentler.

She stayed still, trying to compose herself . Finally, she took a small step back, swiping at her eyes. She walked toward the car, knowing Camila would be waiting to hear back from them.

James followed her, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry,” she repeated when James was beside her, swallowing hard. “I didn’t mean to—it’s just–”

“You don’t have to explain,” James said.

Teresa looked over at him. “I don’t have anyone now that Brenda’s gone. Guero’s name is disappearing from my wrist. Like he was never there. And I don’t know why I’m still alive and they aren’t.”

James shook his head. “I’ve never heard of anyone’s mark disappearing, but I’ve also never heard of anyone else not having one like I do. There’s not always a reason. For the marks or who lives.” He could feel her looking at him but only looked ahead. “You’re alive, though. That’s what matters.”

It was the most Teresa had heard James talk about his mark; really, it was the most she’d heard him give an opinion on something not related to a job. Maybe you’re right.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, and when James removed a cigarette carton, she silently extended her hand.

He quirked a brow. “You smoke?”

Teresa took one of the cigarettes. “Only sometimes.” When James stared at her, she said, “I heard you telling Pote you were trying to quit the other day.”

James scoffed under his breath. “Yeah, and he told me that he was watching what he ate.” He took his lighter and lit her cigarette before lighting his own. “Still, I wouldn’t start if I were you.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

His lips twitched upwards momentarily, but he said nothing.

After a few minutes, the tears had dried from her face, and she felt steadier. After extinguishing their cigarettes and throwing them away, they kept walking until they made it to the car.

“James?” she asked as they each opened their side of the car door.

He looked over at her as he got into the car. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said dismissively. “You seem to figure things out on your own.”

“I know.” She pulled on her seatbelt and returned his gaze, offering him a brief, faint smile. “But thank you anyway.”

A sense of warmth filled his chest, and as they drove and the lights from the city washed over them, he felt a twinge of something he couldn’t quite name.

When he was alone in his room later that night, James caught a glimpse of his wrist. There was a slightly raised line in the shape of a circle. It’s not a letter because it’s not a mark. It can’t be.

Right?

James tried to recall what the marks had looked like when they’d first started to appear on people he knew. He’d been in the army, and when several of the guys’ marks had started to show, their commanders had given them shit for caring.

“They don’t mean shit if you’re dead,” a lieutenant had snapped at them as they’d trained.

While they’d sat in the mess hall and hastily eaten, one of the privates whose mark was becoming more visible had sat down beside him and a few of the other guys he knew. “I don’t care what the fuck my mark says,” he’d said, “I’m not settling down with a chick I don’t even know. Fuck that.”

“They itch like hell when they’re coming in. They’re useless,” another had agreed.

James had been quiet, eyeing his own wrist, which had been free of irritation or redness.

Eventually, when he was well over twenty-one, and he’d been scrubbing off after exchanging gunfire with an enemy battalion, someone had realized he didn’t have a name anywhere on him. And suddenly, everyone had been interested in asking him what was wrong or speculating about why he hadn’t had anything to indicate he’d get a mark.

“You are pretty much by yourself all the time,” one of the men had said with a laugh as they’d walked to their bunks. “Maybe you’re just gonna like that forever.”

“Or no one wants to deal with your bullshit.”

James had rolled his eyes. “You were both complaining about yours the other day. I don’t really care if I have one or not.”

And he hadn’t. At least, he’d told himself that he hadn’t. Because he didn’t want to feel bound to some unknown person who was just out there, somewhere, waiting for him. James hadn’t waited for anyone himself. He’d dated people who didn’t care about his mark or theirs. It’d been fine.

Still, every so often, the thought something’s wrong with me would cross his mind. He ran a hand down his face, then pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. I don’t know what’s changed or who they are, if there’s anyone, but if they have their hopes up about me, they’re gonna be disappointed.

Chapter Text

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Because Guero was dead.

So she couldn’t be standing in front of him in a dimly lit room at a party she and James were attending for Camila.

Teresa’s throat grew tight, a crushing weight filling her chest. Guero was saying something, but she couldn’t focus on his words. He walked closer to her, and she took a step back, dizzy.

This isn’t real. He’s dead. Isn’t he? I didn’t see him, but…the phone call, and everyone came and killed Chino, and we ran, and he wasn’t at the safe house, and–

“Babe, I’m sorry,” he said pleadingly, taking hold of her hand. “I never meant to leave like that, and a part of me was still with you–” Guero paused, frowning. He squinted, looking at her wrist as the gold bracelet Camila had given her to hide the soul mark slid down her arm. 

Maybe he was trying to say something that was supposed to be romantic about not leaving because his name had stayed with her. She wasn’t sure. The truth was that his name hadn’t stayed, not entirely. When he moved the bracelet, it was hard to see now in the light. She tried to think of something to say, but the words died in her throat.

I thought it was fading because you were dead. You’re alive. You left.

You left.

“Teresa?”

James’ voice pulled her from her thoughts. Exhaling shakily, she looked at him, blinking back tears. Guero looked confusedly between the two of them.

James had been searching for Teresa to tell her they could leave, but walking into the room, he tensed. A man was gripping her wrist, eyes narrowed. Teresa stood rigidly, eyes glassy, face pale. 

James removed his gun quickly, putting his arm out and gesturing for Teresa to move behind him.

Swallowing hard, Teresa tugged her wrist away from Guero. “He’s not going to hurt me,” she told James.

“You know him?” James asked.

Guero halfheartedly put his hands up. “You don’t need to point a gun at me, asshole,” he said, but James didn’t lower his weapon.

Nails digging into her palms, Teresa gave a short nod. “Yes. Guero.”

“Babe–” Guero started to say.

“Guero?” James repeated. He turned to stare at the stranger, face screwed up in confusion. 

“I know we need to talk, but I can’t stay here right now,” Guero said. He tried to move closer to her, but she withdrew, and James stepped forward, bristling.

Teresa felt like she couldn’t breathe, and she moved past Guero. “We’re done here?” she asked James hollowly.

He nodded, holstering his weapon and looking Guero up and down from where he stood. “Yeah. We can go.”

“And who the hell’s he?” Guero asked with a frown.

She didn’t reply as she ducked out of the room, deciding that Guero had lost the right to ask her anything now. Brushing by people, she steadied herself, forcing down the flurry of emotions threatening to consume her. Breaking down here wasn’t an option; it’d make her vulnerable. Unsafe. No, she’d wait until she was locked in her room at the safe house, alone.

Outside, the cool night air washed over her, and she stopped momentarily before catching sight of James’ car. She was only vaguely aware of James’ footsteps catching up to her.

“Teresa,” he called, not raising his voice too loudly to avoid attracting attention.

She glanced at him briefly, only pausing for a second before continuing towards the car.

After a few brisk steps, he caught up with her. He unlocked the car and climbed inside, waiting until they were both in the car and the doors were shut before saying, “How the hell is he alive?”

Struggling to keep her breathing even, Teresa shook her head, refusing to look at James. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

James’ brows furrowed, and he started driving toward the safe house. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking over at her.

She stared out at the dark sky, sure that if she spoke, she’d shatter. And though she and James were growing close to one another, and she had cried in front of him only a few days ago as she’d struggled with the pain of Brenda’s death and the cruelty of the world, she didn’t want to make a habit of it.

He hesitated a moment or two before lightly setting a hand on her shoulder and giving her a small, reassuring squeeze, saying, “It’ll be okay.”

Teresa’s gaze flickered to meet his. James’ usual stoic, indifferent expression was replaced with a look of quiet concern. Feeling her throat burn, she forced a tight smile. “Thank you.”

As soon as they arrived at the house, Teresa could see the lights were on inside. James’ phone buzzed, and when she saw him frown, she asked, “What?”

Sighing, James said, “Camila wants to talk with us.”

Teresa leaned forward, covering her face with her hands for a few seconds. She felt as if she was desperately hanging onto her composure by a thread that was close to snapping.

James pressed his lips together for a moment. There had been something about the look in her eyes when she’d seen Guero that had made his chest ache. “I can say you’re not feeling well. You can go in through the back.”

Dropping her hands in her lap, she gave a jerk of her head. “No. If it’s important, she’ll find me anyway.” She looked at herself in the car mirror briefly, making sure her makeup wasn’t smeared and her eyes weren’t too red before taking off her seatbelt.

He did the same, then walked inside alongside her, glancing at her a time or two more than he probably should’ve before they approached Camila.

The house felt cold, but Teresa was sure it was just the fact that she was wearing a short dress Camila had insisted she wear. Something about attracting people, making them underestimate you; Teresa couldn’t remember Camila’s reasoning now, the image of Guero’s face in the dark room still burning in her mind. 

She stood, trying to listen as Camila explained that they were going to take extra precautions. The DEA had found their last warehouse and had nearly caught one of their recent shipments.

Teresa struggled to stay fully present. She felt sick, nausea making her stomach clench.

When Camila was finally finished talking about the DEA and asked how the party had been, James replied, “Good. People seemed more interested in working with us this time around.” 

Camila looked at Teresa. “And what did you think?”

Her mind stalled for a few seconds. “It was fine. Busy.” She took off the gold bracelet Camila had given her and handed it back. “People are okay talking with me around, just not to me.”

“That’s fine for now,” Camila said dismissively. She tilted her head as Teresa slid the bracelet off her arm, brows raised. “Something’s wrong with your mark.”

She bit her tongue, hoping Camila would change the subject and say nothing more.

Instead, Camila took Teresa’s hand, turning it over. “Interesting.”

It was the same way Guero looked at her only an hour or so ago. Like she’d done something wrong, like it was her fault the damn name was disappearing from her skin. Teresa counted her breaths in her mind, trying to keep them slow and resist the urge to jerk away from Camila. “Do you need anything else from me?”

Camila dropped her hand. “Not for tonight.” She took the bracelet that Teresa had given her and handed it back to her. “You need to keep wearing this. You don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea.”

That I have someone. Teresa didn’t need Camila to say the words to understand. She took the bracelet and left Camila and James to talk, exhausted. Teresa shut the door behind her, running her thumb over the band. I don't have someone. He was alive. He chose to leave me.

The thought was on loop in her mind all night. When morning came, Teresa climbed out of bed early, knowing she wouldn’t sleep. Camila and Pote had left late last night. Something to do with Isabella and Epifano. I might as well enjoy the quiet.  

When she’d lived with Guero, she’d loved early mornings and late nights because, for the first time since she'd been a child and her parents had been alive, her time was really hers. She wasn’t sleeping in her car, worried about someone breaking in and trying to steal the few things she had, nor was she rushing to work as a money changer, desperate to avoid being late in fear of being pushed around or not getting paid. She was safe. At least, she’d thought she was.

Teresa wasn’t under the illusion that the time she had now was hers, not really, and she sure as hell didn’t feel safe. Still, she was going to cling to the small amount of free time alone.

Hearing a noise from James’ room, she opened the cabinet and grabbed another mug. Her own was already filled with hot water and a bag of tea. After making coffee and pouring a cup for James, she walked to the living room to watch the sun continue to rise.

Pale gold light trickled in through the curtains, warming her skin. The manicured patio that she’d never stepped foot on looked almost inviting outside. Teresa drew her knees close to her, taking a sip of tea.

I wonder what Guero’s doing now.

She resented the thought immediately, and a bitter taste filled her mouth. She swallowed more tea, the earthy flavor taking away the sourness but not the anger.

He’s doing whatever he’s been doing, I guess. She peered down at his name. Every day, it looked just a little blurrier, like a tattoo that had been washed out by the sun.

Even people who say they had several soulmates have the same marks their whole lives. Did I do something wrong? Or is something wrong with me?

Hearing the wood floors creak, Teresa tilted her head back.

Seeing Teresa look over at him as he walked by the living room, James gave her a nod in greeting. “Morning,” he said, voice scratchy.

“Morning,” she replied, shifting her position to look back out the window.

In the kitchen, James paused. A pot of fresh coffee was brewed, and a mug filled with it, still steaming, sat on the countertop. Anything Pote and Camila might’ve made would’ve been cold long ago—not that they’d have made him anything.

“Is this yours?” he called, assuming Teresa must’ve made herself a cup of coffee for later.

“No. It’s yours.”

Oh. He picked up the cup and took a drink, surprised when he tasted a hint of sweetness—the coffee had been made with a little sugar, the same way he usually made it.

Brows knitted together in confusion, he stared at the coffee, then looked over at Teresa. 

Noticing how quiet the kitchen had become, Teresa looked in his direction again. She met his gaze, unsure what to make of his scrunched-up expression. “You don’t have to drink it.”

James gave a quick shake of his head, his skin prickling with heat. “No, it’s good. You just surprised me.”

A hint of a smile appeared on Teresa’s face when she saw the pink tinge covering James’ face. Maybe, she thought, she liked surprising James. And as he sat down on the sofa opposite her, she felt like this time was more her own than it’d been in a long time.

Chapter Text

The quiet sense of peace Teresa had felt with James several mornings ago when they’d sat alone in the safehouse hadn’t lasted long. Now, walking into an unfamiliar bar, Teresa tried to force down a dizzying rush of emotions, glancing over her shoulder uneasily. She was seeing Guero for the first time since he’d supposedly died, and she wasn’t sure what to expect.

Admittedly, some part of her expected to feel the same warmth and familiarity that she’d felt with him before he’d left. But now as she sat down next to him, he was like a stranger to her.

Maybe that had more to do with her, she thought. She wasn’t the same person she’d been when she’d gotten the phone call saying Guero had died.

Forcing herself to focus on what she wanted to say, Teresa steadied herself, studying Guero. “Epifano blew up your plane because you were stealing from him.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement, one she needed to see if Guero would confirm.

“Yep. For us, Teresa. I did it for us so we could start over. Go to Spain like we talked about.” Guero sounded so sure of himself when he spoke.

She had to keep herself from flinching. You took a risk that cost us everything. For what? “Drink cold sangria and make love all day on the white sand,” she said, echoing the words they’d told each other before.

I was so stupid .

Guero grinned, nodding. “That’s right. It was a good plan, wasn’t it?”

Teresa could feel her eyes stinging and her throat burning. She shook her head and turned away, lip trembling.

How can you look at me and smile? Brenda is dead because you and Chino thought you could steal. I thought you were dead. And you’re here, acting like it’s all okay.

Memories and emotions that she’d worked hard to repress crashed over her, making it hard to breathe.

She’d been so desperate and afraid. She hadn’t known why people were chasing her, Brenda, and Tony when they hadn’t betrayed Epifano, but she’d trusted Guero. She’d trusted that she could actually take the book filled with names and coordinates and trade it for her life. 

Had he really thought the notebook would help her? Or was it just a lie Guero had told himself to ease his guilt? Teresa wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t sure that it mattered anymore. The truth was that it hadn’t kept her safe. She’d still been forced to flee with Brenda and Tony, had still been hunted down, raped, kidnapped, and thrown into a cartel. 

And all the while, he’d been safe and sound. 

“ I’ve been through so much,” she whispered, covering her eyes with her hand and trying desperately to regain the composure that she’d clung to by her fingernails for months.

“I know,” he replied.

You don’t, Teresa thought, tasting bile in the back of her throat. 

“Listen,” he said, leaning towards her, “I didn’t mean for it to be hard on you. I thought you’d be okay.” He gestured at her wrist. “Did something happen? To your mark, I mean.”

She rubbed the mark on her skin reflexively, eyes widening a fraction. “That’s what you’re asking me about?” she hissed.

Sheepishly, he said, “I just noticed that it looked different at the party, that’s all.” He extended his arm towards her so she could see her name on him. “Mine hasn’t changed. I just ask because I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit,” he insisted, moving closer.

Teresa pulled back. “The mark doesn’t matter, Guero.”

“It matters to me,” he replied. When Teresa refused to look at him, he sighed, saying, “How can I make this right?”

Deep down, Teresa knew the answer: he couldn’t. She didn’t respond and looked at the floor, though her head snapped up seconds later when she heard Guero curse.

“Ms. Mendoza.”

Adrenaline coursing through her, Teresa hopped off the barstool and immediately started backing away as two men in uniforms approached her. As one of them explained, they were DEA agents.

She stared at Guero with wide eyes, wondering what the fuck he’d done. 

He’s the rat. The realization filled her with anger. He’d left her, and when she’d had no choice other than to work for a cartel, now he decided that law enforcement should be involved just to save himself?

Frowning, Guero moved closer to her. “Hey, I didn’t–”

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, eyes brimming with tears.

“This wasn’t me,” he insisted.

It’s never is, she thought, face pale as the agents continued to speak.

The agents tried backing Guero up, albeit poorly, and Teresa wanted nothing more than to run out as they made thinly veiled threats against her. 

At that moment, she wished that the ground would collapse in on itself and take her with it. Instead, she pretended that she was considering their offer until she was able to go back to the safe house. 

Not that the safe house offered her any refuge that night. Not minutes after sitting down to eat did Camila come in and announce that she would be going with James to the border to destroy a tunnel Epifano was using to transport product.

After packing her things and helping James load up the car, she got into the truck with James. As they drove, she stared out at the night sky, absentmindedly rubbing her fingers against the sleeve of her shirt and replaying her conversation with Guero.

James glanced at Teresa. She seemed a thousand worlds away, gaze unfocused as she looked out the window. “You okay?”

Teresa pressed her lips together. I don’t know what you’d do if I told you about what Guero did. I hate him right now, but I don’t want him dead. She nodded finally, saying, “Yeah. I just keep thinking about seeing Guero the other night.”

His nose wrinkled slightly. “He hadn’t contacted you before that, right?”

Teresa shook her head, putting her hand in a loose fist and pressing it against her mouth. “No. But he was…fine. Safe,” she said, voice laced with bitterness. “Like he just left for vacation and didn’t–” Teresa cut herself off when her voice wavered, biting her tongue until she tasted metal.

Like he didn’t leave you for dead, James thought. Maybe he actually wasn’t a selfish coward the way James imagined him to be, but he knew from the look on Teresa’s face that he’d hurt her—badly.

“Let me know if you need me to take care of him.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want that. I want him to be safe.” Her voice grew quieter as she said, “I’m glad he’s okay. I just can’t trust him.”

“I don’t blame you.”

After he’d been driving a few hours, Teresa offered to drive. “You can sleep for a bit.”

James pulled over at the next gas station. “That means you should’ve slept,” he said, stretching his arms and looking at his watch.

She rolled her shoulders and got into the driver’s seat. “I’ll let you know if I get tired.”

James got into the passenger seat, listening to the music playing and stealing glances at Teresa. She seemed to gradually grow more at ease as she drove. It was rare that he saw her relax at all, and he looked away when she glanced at him, though he thought he saw her smile out of the corner of his eye.

Teresa was happy to see James asleep a while later. She often felt like she lost time when driving, entangled in her own thoughts, and tonight was no different. When she heard James yawn and looked at the time, she realized that hours had passed.

“My turn,” James said, voice thick with sleep as he rubbed his eyes and sat upright. He nodded at the exit sign ahead. “Let’s stop here. You need to sleep. It’s gonna be a long day.”

Though she stopped and let James drive, she didn’t sleep. When morning came and they arrived at the location near the tunnel, they each pulled on their backpacks and started walking.

Searching the tunnels had been the easy part of their day, as it turned out.

They were watching a group of militiamen stalk around in the distance when Teresa felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her right ankle that made her vision blur. She cried out, grabbing her ankle, frantically trying to find the source of the pain. 

James quickly made his way over to her, scanning Teresa and the area around them. “Shh, keep your voice down,” he whispered, catching sight of the bark scorpion.

Fuck. 

Immediately, his priorities shifted. He quickly crushed the scorpion beneath his boot and then splinted Teresa’s ankle, wincing when she whimpered. Still, he knew that it was more important to stop the venom from spreading, even if it did cause her some pain in the process.

“We need to get you to the car. Get up, put your arm around me.”

Teresa stood, leaning against James and walking alongside him. "The tunnels?" she asked.

"They're not going anywhere. Camila can send us back another time."

Though James' voice was level, Teresa knew enough to hear what he wasn't saying—this was serious.

Within minutes, James knew that Teresa was having an allergic reaction to the sting, and he checked his phone every few minutes, hoping they could call someone to pick them up. Camila knew people everywhere; someone had to be able to help them out. But every time he glanced at his phone, he was met by the same cruel message: no service. 

Teresa shuffled forward with James. Her entire body was beginning to ache, and she knew that she was just slowing him down. “You should just leave me behind, go back to the truck,” she said.

Maybe things would’ve been different if he didn’t know her. After all, he’d done far worse before. But the idea of leaving Teresa for dead in the desert made James’ stomach turn. It’d be a fucking miserable death, dying of an allergic reaction from the scorpion sting or dehydration, whichever came first. She didn’t deserve that. Leaving her wasn’t an option. If that meant that they didn’t finish the job that Camila had sent them to do, so be it.

“No, I can’t leave you,” he said dismissively. He stopped for a moment, pressing the side of his hand against her temple and feeling warmth radiate from her skin. “You’re burning up.”

Feeling sick, Teresa shook her head, looking at him. “James, you should leave. I’m only gonna get slower. I can’t help you.”

“I don’t need you to help me,” he said, kneeling down as she wavered on her feet and nodding for her to lie down.

On the ground, she screwed her eyes shut. She felt like she couldn’t get enough air, and when James told her to drink and offered her the straw attached to her bag, she pushed his hand away, saying she was out of water.

Turning his bag around, James sucked on the straw attached to his supply of water. Well, what had been his supply of water. He was out, too. They hadn’t planned on being out in the desert for so long.

Hearing the sound of James’ shoes scuffling in the dirt, Teresa opened her eyes, taking the cactus without question when he told her to squeeze it. A small amount of liquid came out. 

The sound of a car engine in the distance made James tense, and he hastily pulled Teresa to her side, saying, “Stay down. Don’t move.”

James’ hand on her arm felt both hot and freezing all at once, and when Teresa looked up and saw the car driving in the distance, she knew that they’d have to start walking again.

“We’ve gotta keep moving,” James said, helping Teresa up.

“James.”

Hearing how strained her voice was, James tightened his grip around her waist. “C’mon.”

“You should go.”

“You were pissed about Guero leaving you, right?” he asked. “I don’t want you to have to be angry at me, too,” he said, hoping she’d stop pressing the subject.

But Teresa shook her head, glancing at James. She could feel the effects of the venom taking its toll, and she hated the idea of something happening to James because she couldn’t move quickly enough. “It’s different now. I’m telling you to leave,” she said. “I…I won’t be mad if you do. Promise.”

His expression hardened. “You’re having a bad reaction to the sting, Teresa. You’re asking me to leave you here and die. You’re not thinking clearly.”

Shivering, Teresa insisted, “I am. You can…you can go and drive back to me. I won’t go anywhere. Can’t.”

“And by the time I do that, you’ll be unconscious.”

She hobbled forward, biting back a grimace. “Then you’ll know where to find me.”

James laughed humorlessly under his breath. “Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?”

Teresa's grasp around his shoulder tightened, her fingers gripping desperately onto his shirt. “Because if I’m going to die, you don’t need to too,” she answered.

Jaw clenched, he snapped, “You’re not dying. I’m not leaving you. Don’t ask me to again.”

Though she thought he was making a mistake, Teresa said nothing more about the topic and forced herself to keep walking. 

Fifteen minutes later, James was half-dragging her, though she tried to keep trudging forward, thoughts becoming increasingly incoherent. What’re we supposed to be doing? It feels like we've been walking forever.

“Why’m I here?” she muttered as James scanned the horizon for their car.

The question caused a cold sensation of fear to crash over him. Teresa was getting confused. Her breathing was labored, and when he looked at her, her eyes were glazed over. Shit.

“Camila asked us to find the tunnel, remember?” he replied, trying to conceal his worry. 

“Did we find it?” she asked, shaking.

James nodded. “Yeah, we did. We’re leaving now.”

“To go where?”

“Home.”

She glanced over at him confusedly, brows furrowed. “I don’t have a home anymore, James."

And I was a part of that, working with Camila, making it harder for you to leave, telling you not to . The thought was unwelcome, and James forced the bitter remorse away for now, saying, “Hey, it’s okay. All right? Home’s with me.”

Teresa barely seemed to register his words, her mind already wandering. She continued to move forward, squinting in hopes to sharpen her vision. “You weren’t stung, too, were you?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

“Your wrist looks red.”

Glancing briefly at the area Teresa was staring at, he shook his head. “No. That’s…” The circular mark he’d seen days ago was more defined now. It looked like the letter a. “It’s fine.”

A car’s engine revved, and James tensed when he saw the car speed towards them, spitting sand in the air. They’d definitely been spotted. He ran as fast as he could with Teresa beside him, and when he caught sight of a boulder, he helped her hide behind it.

He listened to the car approaching and looked at Teresa, who was slumped against the rock and listening quietly, breathing shallow.

She’s not gonna make it out here much longer, and they’re not going to stop chasing us. We can’t get to the truck with them after us like this, he thought. But if I can get her to the car, she’ll have a chance. She’ll just have to do it without me.

“We’re running out of options here,” he said, putting a hand behind Teresa’s neck, lifting her head slightly to make her look back at him. 

Though his voice was level, Teresa could hear the anxiety behind his tone. “Then go,” she rasped.

I am. Just not the way you want me to. “Listen to me. You’re gonna take the car. The truck is just over that ridge,” he said, pointing in the direction of the truck. “Drive until you get cell service.”

Briefly, Teresa craned her head to see where James was gesturing before collapsing back, drawing in shaky breaths. “Okay,” she agreed, too disoriented to think of asking James why he wanted her to be the one driving in such a state.

James put a hand on the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her temple. He hadn’t prayed since he’d been in the army, but right now, he was desperate. Please, if there’s a God and You’re listening, let Teresa get out of this alive. She deserves that. You owe her that.

“You’re gonna make it. Say it,” he instructed her firmly. In Afghanistan, if people had believed that they were going to survive, sometimes, he’d seen it be enough. And fuck, did he hope it was enough for her.

“I’m gonna make it,” Teresa mumbled. 

“That’s right. You will,” he said, his gaze lingering on her as he prepared himself to confront the group. “As soon as you see them grab me, go to the truck,” he said, stepping out from behind the rock.

Her mind stalled for a few moments, and by the time she’d processed what he’d said, he was gone. “What? James, no,” Teresa said pleadingly, struggling to sit upright. But he was too far off to hear her. She watched him fire at the truck before giving himself up to the men who then tased him in turn for shooting at them.

Inside the truck, shaking from the effects of the taser, James contorted himself to look out the window in the direction where Teresa had been, though he saw no sign of her. He thought about the last thing he’d told her—that she’d make it. In Afghanistan, if people had believed that they were going to survive, sometimes, he’d seen it be enough. And fuck, did he hope it was enough for her.

Chapter Text

Teresa stared at the distant vehicle as it drove off with James. For a moment, she was paralyzed, her mind blank. 

Finally, her thoughts caught up with her. Fuck. I have to go.

She forced herself upright, pushing off the rock for leverage.

Behind the ridge. The truck is behind the ridge. I get to James, then the ridge—shit, no, the ridge, then James.

Teresa fell, looking up at the truck. It was closer now. She couldn’t remember the last several minutes when she’d been walking towards it. Crawling, she dragged herself to the car.

She leaned against the front bumper for a moment, panting. Everything was spinning, and the sight of one of the DEA agents who had shown up at the bar where she’d met Guero last night suddenly standing in front of her made her jerk back.

“Ms. Mendoza.”

“You followed me here?” she asked in disbelief, squinting as she looked up at the man.

“You didn’t think we’d let you go just like that.” His voice was smug as he spoke. He knelt beside her, looking at her ankle. “What happened there?” he asked, inspecting the wound. “Oh. Nasty bite. Main road’s just up ahead. Let me get you to a hospital.”

She rested her head against the bumper, staring at the desert that went on forever around her. “I’m so tired,” she breathed.

“Like I said, you’re a good person in a bad situation. Come with me, this all ends. Take my hand,” the agent said, extending his hand toward her.

You don’t have a mark. You did at the bar. James is the only one I know who—

Shit. James.

Then, the man was gone. A snake took his place and hissed at her, and she weakly pulled herself away. A spear that seemed to come from thin air impaled it, and it lay dead in front of her.

As bright spots danced in her vision, she looked up and saw a version of herself she’d seen before. She was wearing all white, hair sleek and pulled back. This version of her was put together, calm, and confident—and very much not dying like she was. 

“Snakes eat rats. Only you can save yourself.”

For a moment, Teresa rested her head against the ground and closed her eyes.

“Get in the truck, Teresa.”

I am, she thought, hauling herself upright and clambering into the truck, but fuck you and your perfect hair and suit and lipstick. Her limbs felt like lead as she started the engine, only seeing the vision of herself out of the corner of her eyes. You’re not even here.

But James is. Somewhere. I have to get to him.

The truck lurched forward as she drove over the rough terrain. She stopped the car for a few seconds when she came to the spot where the men had captured James, then started driving in the direction of the tire tracks the car had left behind.

Every so often, she found her head lolling forward, nearly passing out. And every time, the same vision, who now sat beside her in the passenger seat, said evenly, “Stay awake, Teresa.”

“I’m trying,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

She followed the tire tracks, relieved when green tents came into view. She drove towards them, and when she moved close, men rushed towards her. Quickly, the truck was surrounded, and there were men with guns aimed at her.

Teresa stopped the truck, taking in gulps of air as they yelled for her to put her hands where they could see them. She did as they asked and stared at them blearily, hoping to see James among them.

But he wasn’t there.

Where is he? He has to be here, doesn’t he?  

When one of the men walked toward her and told her to get out of the truck, hand still on his gun, she nudged the door open and kept her hands up.

Teresa tried to keep herself upright as she stepped out of the vehicle, but her legs gave out beneath her. She grasped onto the side of the truck and tried to steady herself. The man who’d told her to get out grabbed her roughly, and she instinctively tried pushing him away.

“I need to speak to who’s in charge. Please?” she asked, tripping over words, sure that they thought she was drunk or high.

“You lookin’ for your coyote?” snapped the man who held onto her.

James.

Another man walked to her other side and put her arm around his shoulder, saying sharply, “That’s enough, Pete. Let’s just get her to the tent. If anything happens to this woman in our camp, the feds will shut us down for good.”

Teresa let them lead her toward one of the tents. 

Inside, the man who she assumed was the commander left, leaving her with the other man, Pete. He sat beside her on a cot and kept moving closer until he was far too close. His breath was hot against her cheek. She didn’t know what he was saying, but the moment he touched her leg, she jammed her elbow against his face and hissed, “Don’t touch me.”

He jerked away with a yelp. “Hey, bitch, you want our help or not?”

Narrowing her eyes and trying to focus on her gaze on him, she spoke with as much vitriol as she could muster, saying, “Get away from me.”  

“Or what?” He looked down at her arm and scoffed, eyeing the letters that were barely visible under the watch she wore. “You wanna get yourself killed for that guy? That’s not even his name there, is it? I’m sure you’re the type who loves that shit, but you’re mouthing off for him…”

Teresa said nothing, the man’s words beginning to lose their meaning. Instead of responding, she eyed the gun on his waistband. She wasn’t sure she could aim well now, and it might be tricky to get the gun, but at close range, she knew she wouldn’t miss. Was it a good idea? Probably not. But she liked to know her options. And she’d shoot him without a second thought if she needed to—and she kenw she wouldn’t miss.

“Pete,” snapped the man who was in charge as he walked into the tent with an IV pole, interrupting her thoughts. “I said stand down . What the fuck does that mean to you? Leave this to me.”

Teresa allowed him to put an IV in, thankful that they had medication to help treat the sting and her reaction to it. She lay down on the cot, too dizzy to stay upright, and listened to the two men yell at one another outside the tent with her eyes closed.

“Goddammit, Pete, you can’t just put your hands on any woman that comes into camp!”

“I barely fucking touched her!”

“Don’t touch her at all. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“Carl, I didn’t–” 

“Don’t. Just go look after the guy in the other tent if you can’t do your job here.”

That has to be James.

A medic shook her shoulder lightly, and she blinked open her eyes.

“You can’t sleep right now,” the medic said, handing her a bottle of water and pills. “These are antihistamines. They’ll help the reaction.”

Teresa nodded, sitting upright. She took the pills and drank desperately. Then, sitting dazedly on the cot, she waited.

In another tent, James was trying to tug off the restraints on his wrists when the asshole of a militiaman returned, ranting. James noticed a red mark on his temple that hadn’t been there before; it looked like it would bruise.

“You can barely touch a girl without some feminazi whining about harassment,” he said. “Now I got Carl giving me some crap about manhandling some bitch.”

James froze. He’d heard yelling in the distance but hadn’t been able to discern what was being said. “And what bitch would that be?” he asked, glancing outside.

“Your piece of ass. She got mouthy, and I was just about to shut her up,” Pete said with a grin. “I don’t know why the hell she’d come all this way looking for you.”

A flash of heat ran through James. He thought about Teresa and how disoriented she’d been, and he could hear his pulse pounding in his ears at the thought of this absolute prick touching her.

“You think that makes you a tough guy, putting your hands on women? You’re just a fucking coward,” he spat.

When Pete walked up to him and grabbed his shirt, James slammed his head against the man’s own, not caring about the ache that was left behind.

Fucking piece of shit.

Before the asshole could do anything, Carl walked inside, screaming at Pete—and Teresa was behind him.

Equal parts relieved and worried, James quickly gave her a once-over. She wasn’t putting much weight on her right foot still, but her eyes were clear, and she was walking on her own.

As soon as the zip ties were cut, James lunged at Pete, only stopped by Carl standing between them and shouting.

With the two men stalking out of the tent, Teresa started walking out as well, asking James quietly, “Are you okay?”

Am I okay? He stared at her in disbelief. “I thought I told you to go.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Teresa said as if he’d proposed something preposterous, limping out of the tent.

James looked at her incredulously, unsure what to think or feel. “How the hell’d you find me?” he asked.

“I followed the tire tracks.” Teresa looked at James and nodded at the men who were ahead of them, saying, “You need an army, I got us one.”

Watching her walk outside, he shook his head before trailing after her.

They led a group of men to the tunnel and started to make a plan. When Carl asked Teresa if she was single, James rolled his eyes.

When they split up, things went relatively smoothly, at least on their end. They blew up the tunnel, the militiamen got the glory of taking down some of the people from the cartel, and Teresa and James were safe.

“Let’s get out of here,” James said after they’d finished blowing up the tunnel.

The men drove them to their car, and after they’d left, Teresa and James drank from the water bottles they’d been given in silence before James started the car.

“You should’ve left, Teresa,” he said after they’d been driving for a few minutes, though his voice lacked any malice. “You could’ve been killed.”

Teresa glanced at James. “I could say the same thing to you.

He wrinkled his nose. “That was different.”

“Not really.”

James felt like his heart was in his throat when he caught her gaze. “Sure. Thanks for coming back even though you shouldn’t have. I won’t forget it.” He paused, remembering the man who’d walked into the tent and ranted about getting chewed out by his commander. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “They gave me something for the sting and the reaction, so I’ll be fine.”

“I meant…” He faltered for a moment, flexing his fingers before tightening his grip around the steering wheel. “The guy who was in the tent with me when you came in said he was getting shit for how he’d treated a woman in the camp.”

Teresa tilted her head as James hesitated. Seeing his discomfort and realizing what he was trying to ask, she gave a quick shake of her head, endeared by his concern. “He did give me shit when I got there. He stopped after I elbowed him in the face, though.” 

James sighed, nodding. “Good. He deserved it.”

“He did,” she said with a faint smile. “You okay?”

“I know how you felt after you were tased,” he said, the memory of his callousness making him crnge. “Karma, I guess.”

She stifled a yawn, saying, “I don’t think karma’s real. Do you?”

James looked over at her. If karma was real, I don’t think I’d have met you. “No, I don’t. And if it was, I’d be screwed.” 

Teresa’s expression softened. “You’re good, James,” she said, lightly touching his shoulder.

The tenderness in her voice and the gentle touch caught James off guard. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” 

As they drove, James saw Teresa’s head dip forward slightly every so often as she tried to fight sleep. Leaning over, he grabbed a jacket from the backseat and handed it to her.

She offered him a tired smile. “Thanks,” she said, folding the jacket up and putting it on the window, resting her head against it.

James’ jacket smelled like detergent, smoke, and warmth; the sound of the music and the hum of the car quieted her thoughts. After a few minutes, she’d fallen asleep.

A while later, she awoke when the car rocked back and forth, hitting a pothole. James winced, knowing he’d woken her. “Sorry. Couldn’t avoid that one.”

“‘s fine,” Teresa mumbled. She squinted, looking at the glowing clock on the dashboard. “You’ve been driving a while.”

He shook his head and smiled. “It’s fine. We’re close enough to being back, anyway.”

Teresa nodded, trying to stay awake, though she’d fallen asleep again minutes later.

When they arrived at the safehouse, Camila was waiting for them. James hesitated a moment or two after turning off the car before waking Teresa by saying quietly, “We’re here.”

Looking around wearily, she sat upright and rubbed at her eyes. “Right. And Camila’s gonna want a report on everything.”

“I can do most of the talking.”

Unbuckling her seatbelt and setting the jacket she’d been leaning against aside, she sighed, shaking her head. “I’ll be fine.”

James stood next to Teresa in Camila’s office as he explained what had happened. For some reason, he was acutely aware of how close he was to her. He noticed, too, the way Teresa kept trying to put weight on her injured foot. Probably because she thinks Camila will think less of her if she shows she’s hurting, he thought. Camila would.

After leaving Camila’s office, Teresa walked to her room, trying to push aside the thought of Guero. She wished that she could forget about him. What am I supposed to tell him the next time I see him? I’m not working with the DEA. And I can’t leave. Not without Epifano and Camila chasing me down.

Do I even want to be with him?

The unbidden question made her chest grow tight. For the first time since knowing Guero, she didn’t know the answer to the question.

After showering and changing into clean clothes, she walked into the kitchen, finding James there, opening a beer.

“How’s your ankle?”

“I’ll live,” she replied, pouring herself a glass of water.

James raised his brows and asked, “Have you heard from Carl yet?”

Teresa laughed under her breath and shook her head. “Yeah, I have. Think I should text back?”

“Mm, maybe play hard to get.”

She felt her face grow warm. Playing hard to get had never been her forte. Really, playing games wasn’t something she did when it came to relationships. Then, there’d only ever been Guero before—well, before now. At least, he’d been her only serious relationship. And she’d fallen so hard that playing hard to get had never crossed her mind. 

“Right,” she finally said, lifting her head and looking at James. “I don’t think it’d be a good match, anyway.”

“Probably not.” He finished his drink and added in a light, teasing tone, “Though he might be a good person to know. Could do us some favors.”

“I think Camila has enough people who can do us favors.” She leaned against the counter for support.

“Fair enough.” He scratched his hand, looking at it only briefly.

Teresa saw the flash of annoyance and confusion flicker across James’ face. “A cold washcloth helps.”

He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks at her comment and rolled his shoulders. “Right. Hopefully it won’t last.”

“Depends on how long the name is.”

The acknowledgment from Teresa that it was a name—or was going to be a name eventually—made it feel more real. James eyed the small mark. “I guess. I’m not twenty-one, so I don’t know if it’ll take longer. Not that it matters at this point.” When he looked up, he saw Teresa fiddling with the watch she wore that covered her own mark, gaze downcast. She probably doesn’t want to hear about any of this when hers is disappearing.

Staring at the countertop while she adjusted the watch strap, she listened to James talk. Hopefully it’s someone who doesn’t leave you. You deserve that.

Realizing that she’d been quiet and that James had been, too, she looked up and said, “I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to wait and see. It’s normal, though.”

“Except for the timing.”

“Other than that,” she agreed with a faint, tired smile. She lightly pushed herself off of the island. “‘night.”

“‘night,” he echoed, watching her walk away before returning to his room, wondering if, somehow, there was another person out there he would end up with.

As he slept, he dreamt of swirling sand, scorpions, and a name on his wrist that he couldn’t quite make out.

Chapter Text

Guero was here. In the safe house. And because of him, they’d be going to Bolivia soon.

Minutes earlier, Teresa’s skin had stung from heat when Guero started talking about getting them connected with someone in Bolivia. Of course he had an out for himself. He always did. Evidently, Camila knew who he was talking about, so it wasn’t total bullshit.

“George will help you get to Bolivia—the three of you,” Camila had said. “James, I need to talk to you in my office.”

She walked away, and when Guero followed her, Pote approached them. 

Seeing the restraints Pote held, Guero raised his brows and shot Teresa an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

“Seriously, cabrón,” Pote said flatly before Teresa could answer.

She sighed, looking at Guero. “I can’t control this, Guero. You were working with the DEA. They don’t trust you.”

“Yeah, but you do.” He paused, then prompted her, “Right?”

Teresa’s gaze slid to Pote, who was looking at Guero, eyes narrowed slightly. I’m not talking about this now.  

Less than an hour ago, she’d been with James to do a pickup when DEA agents had descended into the warehouse—along with Guero. They’d known she was there. They’d been looking for her, and she knew that she—and James—could’ve very well been killed.

Making herself look at Guero, she said flatly, “It doesn’t matter. I’m not in charge.” Teresa glanced at Pote, and she nodded for Guero to put his hands out. “You’re safe, though.”

“You sure about that?” Guero asked as Pote bound Guero’s wrists.

Teresa knew how to keep her emotions under control. But something about the question made her stomach twist, and her face grew flushed. Images of the warehouse she’d been forced to stay in when she’d been brought to America flashed through her mind. That hadn’t been safe. But he hadn’t seemed too concerned then. He’d been gone. He had been fine. Mouth dry, she turned towards her room, sure if she looked at Guero right now that she’d get swept up in her anger.

“Babe, I–” Guero cut himself off, sighing heavily. His wrists now bound in front of him, he looked at Pote and grudgingly said, “Go ahead, Pote, take me wherever the hell it is I’m supposed to go.”

James walked out of Camila’s office a while later. They’d be headed to Bolivia soon. Sooner than he’d expected. Per Camila’s request, he headed downstairs to the basement to make sure Guero couldn’t feasibly escape.

Pote gave him a nod in greeting and headed back upstairs after James approached. One of Guero’s wrists was bound to a radiator, and he sat on a thin mattress. James walked past him and towards one of the windows.

“What’s your job here? Doing whatever Camila tells you to?” Guero asked dryly.

James touched the lock on the window, testing it. “Don’t worry about what I do.” He turned back, glancing at him momentarily before checking that there was nothing Guero could turn into a makeshift weapon. “Just worry about getting us an in with El Santo.”

“I can get us there.” He watched as James continued to search nearby. “You can stop looking for shit. If I wanted out, I’d get out. But I wouldn’t leave without Teresa, so I’m not going anywhere.”

You seemed fine leaving her before. James kept the thought to himself. Once he was satisfied that there wasn’t a quick way out for Guero, he walked back upstairs. He paused for a second, lingering near Teresa’s room before heading to his room, hopeful that their trip to Bolivia would be a quick one—even though the three of them would leave together and only two of them would come back.

***
Two days later, Teresa, James, and Guero were walking into a coke bar in Bolivia, waiting for Guero’s contact to arrive.

Teresa tried to make herself relax; George had pointed out how stiff and unnerved they looked. They needed to blend in, and they couldn’t afford to scare off Leo. “You’re sure he’ll come?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. We don’t wanna spook him off, okay?” he said. “I’ll look, you guys just wait here.”

Why? Teresa wanted to ask, following James, who was only a few steps behind Guero. Though it was hard to follow too closely, Teresa watched Guero as he looked around at the people dancing, drinking, and snorting lines.

Almost everyone here wore something to cover their marks. After the heartache Guero had caused her, she couldn’t say she blamed them. Hooking up with a stranger was relatively easy if you just wanted sex. She’d never really done it before, hadn’t had the time or a reason to, but damn if she didn’t see the appeal in forgetting about someone you were supposed to be with and choosing your own fate, even if only for a night.

Minutes later, Leo had arrived, and Teresa could barely concentrate on anything beyond her anger as her pulse pounded in her ears.

Guero fucked us over, James thought as Teresa lowered her gun at the Leo—the Leo who Guero had implied was a man, who obviously had a history with Guero, who was supposed to help them.

Leo walked over to James, who held the bag filled with cash. “Show me the finder’s fee, guapo,” Leo told him.

James opened the bag, leaning it in her direction so she could see the bills. We should’ve brought fake bills. Would’ve saved us the money we’re going to lose when she runs off with the cash. 

“You’re sure this is all you want?” Leo asked Guero with an arch of her brow.

Teresa’s shoulders dropped slightly, and she swallowed hard as Guero answered that he’d told her why they were coming. You’re using her. Did you use me, too? She tugged at her sleeve, wishing she could scrub what was left of Guero’s name from her skin like ink.

Glancing at Teresa and seeing the betrayal in her expression, James felt heat rise in his face. Is he trying to fuck with her? The moment Leo walked away, he stepped forward, watching as Guero retreated. “Are you an idiot?”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell us Leo was your ex-girlfriend?” Teresa demanded.

When Guero insisted that there weren’t many options and that Leo wouldn’t betray them, James covered his mouth with his hand before shaking his head and saying, “Of course she will.” He turned to look at Teresa. “We should leave.”

“Why even come down here if you’re just gonna turn tail and run?” Guero said, sitting at one of the tables. “She’ll get us in with him.”

“She’ll get us killed,” James replied.

Teresa looked around the bar. No one was looking at them, and there were hardly any cameras. She could still sell us out. We could leave if we needed…but we'd leave without anything.  The thought of returning to Camila empty-handed wasn't a pleasant one.

“See,” Guero said a moment later, gesturing as Leo returned, “told you so.” He sat down, and Leo sat beside him, holding a bottle of tequila.

James rolled his eyes, stalking to the bar.

Joining James where he stood, Teresa looked away from Guero and Leo. “She wouldn’t come back if it was a setup, right?”

A scowl had settled onto James’ face. “She might want to see him get taken down, too.”

She cringed. “Maybe.” She leaned against a table, putting her hands in the pockets of her jacket, feeling around for a hair tie. Nothing. At least, nothing big enough for what she’d need it for. 

Seeing her look around and check her pockets, James frowned, asking, “Need something?”

Teresa paused, averting her gaze. “Nothing important.”

“What?” he asked, brows furrowed. “You still have your gun, right?”

“Yes. It’s not that.” She glanced up at him, giving a small sigh of annoyance. “It’s—I don’t want to look at my mark now. I wanted to cover it more, but it’s fine,” she said, voice low.

James’ expression softened slightly. He looked around them before removing his watch and offering it to her. “You can use this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You can give it back when we leave.”

She took the watch, which was a little too big on her, and adjusted it. “Thank you.” She looked over at Guero and Leo, then stood up a little straighter, saying, “I’ll let you know if she says anything.”

James nodded, watching her approach them.

Teresa sat down at the table. Leo downed a shot, and Guero took a small sip of tequila from a bottle.

“I love this song!” Leo exclaimed before Teresa could tell Guero that he should be sober in case they needed to flee. Leo stood, then bent over by Teresa and asked her to dance.

Teresa stood. She wasn’t sure if Leo expected her to be embarrassed or shy, but she wasn’t. What felt like a lifetime ago, she’d flirted with a girl she’d met while working as a money changer, but it hadn’t gone any farther. They were both young, had no money, and knew it was dangerous. It’d been nice to imagine at the time, though, how things could’ve been.

This, though, wasn’t about flirting. Leo was proud of herself, grinning. She put her hands on Teresa’s face, in her hair, on her lips. “You think I don’t know who you are? You think you took him from me?” she taunted. ”You didn’t.” Leo looked over at him. “He didn’t care about your name on him then. He doesn’t now, either. Not if he called me.” Leo angled her head to the side, looking at Teresa’s wrists. Her face scrunched up in confusion when James’ watch slid down her arm. “Do you even have a mark?”

Teresa stared back at Leo. “I did. It was his name. He left me like he left you.” Now, she leaned closer to Leo. “And he’ll leave you again. This is business now. Just like you.”

Leo’s eyes widened, laughing under her breath. “He won’t–”

Leo’s phone rang, interrupting her, and she answered it, glaring at Teresa. She started to walk away.

“Hey,” James said sharply, grabbing Leo’s arm. “You burn us, I’ll find you.” He scowled, looking at the two of them as Leo pulled away. “I don’t like this.”

“She’ll come through,” Guero insisted. He looked at Teresa, frowning when he saw the watch on her wrist. “What’s–?”

Screaming drowned out the rest of his sentence as a flood of people rushed towards them.

Fuck, James thought as the three of them moved to the back of the bar. He picked up a pool stick and hastily lit a cigarette, hiding the bag filled with cash under the booth. He saw Guero and Teresa sit down as soldiers stormed into the room, weapons raised.

Immediately, a woman wearing army fatigues with her hair in a tight bun honed in on Teresa. George was right about us not blending in. Not that it matters since Leo sold us out.

He watched Teresa take a line of coke. Then another. 

Before the third line of coke, she glanced at him briefly. It’s too much, he thought as he looked away, not wanting to appear overly concerned despite the way his head pounded and he itched to reach for his gun.

If I don’t take this, Teresa thought, looking at the coke, they’ll kill us. But maybe they’ll leave if I do. So she put her head down again, snorting the powder. 

James’ grip tightened around the pool stick. Teresa clenched and unclenched her hands, shaking as her breaths quickened, and she looked around with wide eyes as the color drained from her face. Fuck. She’s overdosing. 

The woman told her to take another line, and when Teresa refused, she leaned towards Teresa. “I said again, mi fresa.”

Teresa gave a quick shake of her head, but the woman didn’t care. She stood, pushing Teresa’s head toward the table.

Just as James opened his mouth to speak, Guero leapt from his chair, shouting, “Wait! Wait.”

He and James both put their hands in the air, and Teresa grabbed the beer, swallowing the lukewarm drink desperately.

“We got a hundred grand. Just take it,” Guero said. “We’ll leave, you’ll never see us again.”

Crushing the cigarette under his shoe, James turned to one of the men, keeping his hands out still. “The money’s under the table,” he said, kicking it aside.

Feeling the woman’s grip on her arm, Teresa tried to push her away, finishing the beer. When she grabbed her wrist, the woman forcefully moved the watch down her arm. 

What’re you doing? Teresa thought, unable to steady her gaze, feeling as if fire ants were covering her skin.

The woman laughed after a moment. She dropped Teresa’s hand, looking at her men with a grin and saying, “It’s done.”

James’ mouth felt dry. He knew it’s done meant she’ll die. Teresa was visibly shaking now, twitching in her seat.

He kept his hands up as the group left with the money meant for Leo. Guero rushed over to Teresa, trying to draw her close, but Teresa pulled away, looking around frantically as if searching for something that no one else could see.

The moment the soldiers left, James darted over to Teresa, pushing past Guero and slipping one of her arms around his shoulder. “Get her up,” he snapped at Guero, who, for once, quickly cooperated without an argument.

They dragged Teresa to the kitchen, and James quickly laid her on the floor. “Search for something to bring her down. It’s a coke bar, there’ll be something,” James told Guero.

Teresa couldn’t tell what Guero and James were saying. I’m going to die. The thought circled relentlessly in her mind as she writhed, blinking rapidly. Even in the dark kitchen, everything was blindingly bright, and each noise, from Guero’s distant footsteps to James pouring something in a basin, crashed in her ears.

Then, James was in front of her. “We need to cool you down,” he said, helping her sit up. He held a container filled with ice water in one hand, his other resting on her back. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” she forced out.

He dumped the cold water and ice over her, watching as she screwed her eyes shut for a few seconds. Her pupils were blown, and she was trembling violently. 

James thought of Teresa throwing up two dozen bags in an airport bathroom the first time they’d met. Even then, he hadn’t wanted to see her drop dead in front of him. Now, though, this was decidedly worse. Because this was Guero’s fuckup. Teresa had taken the coke to keep them all from being taken to prison or shot. And that was only because Leo had burned them.

Teresa still felt as if flames were licking her skin, and her heart raced in her chest. No matter how many times she gasped, it felt like she couldn’t get in enough air. When she looked at James, she realized that his face was pale, and he was sweating, too. 

You’re scared. I’m really going to die, aren’t I?

“There you go,” James said, putting a hand on her neck, trying desperately to make her more comfortable. “Deep breaths, deep breaths,” 

Her nails dug into his arm, and with her free hand, she grasped onto his shirt. “James,” she pleaded.

“I’m here, I’m here,” he reassured her, forcing himself to keep his voice steady.

“Let him go. If I don’t make it out,” she rasped.

Don’t say that. “Stop it. You’re gonna make it out of here,” James insisted. “I’m here. I’m with you.”

Gritting her teeth, Teresa squinted as tears pricked her eyes. “No. Listen,” she hissed. “I-I don’t want someone else to…to die because of me. Let him go, and then…be okay, too.”

James felt as if he’d also been drenched in cold water. “What? No. You’re gonna be fine. I promise,” he said, needing her to believe it, needing to believe it himself.

“You’re…good, James. You should…” She trailed off, unable to force out the words but hoping he’d understand. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, trying to keep her talking.

Shuddering, she reached for his wrist, feeling the beginnings of a mark, some letter she couldn’t see. 

James’ throat constricted, but before he could say anything else, Guero was rushing in the room, holding a beer and pills. “Here, here, babe,” he said, kneeling beside her. “These’ll slow your heart down."

Guero put the pills in her hand and brought them to her mouth since her hands shook too badly to hold onto the pills. He handed her the beer bottle, and she drank quickly.

James moved closer to her, putting a hand on her back and swallowing his fear when he saw her struggling to stay upright. “Finish drinking that, then lay down,” he said before looking at Guero. “We need to get her to a hospital and get the hell out of Bolivia.”

“Yeah, and what about El Santo?” Guero asked.

James’ face contorted in disbelief. “It’s over!”

Guero shook his head, eyes wide. “So you’re just gonna pull the plug?”

“You failed. You almost killed her,” James spat.

“There we go. There we go. Good. That’s what this is really about. We’re gonna run out of time.”

James clenched his jaw. “We wouldn’t if Leo hadn’t flipped on us. All you care about is saving yourself.”

“That’s fucking–”

“Stop it!” Teresa yelled between gasps. Doubled over, she pressed a hand against her chest. “We need to find Leo.”

Water from her hair dripped onto James’ arm. He nudged her gently to get her to lie down. “You’re in no state, and she tried to kill you, okay?” he said gently.

“I didn’t come all this way for nothing,” she gritted out.

Guero paused before saying, “I know where to find her.”

James took a washcloth and ran it under the sink, then placed it on Teresa’s forehead. “If you want to go find her tonight,” he said flatly, not looking at Guero, “then you can go by yourself.”

“I’m sure you’d like that,” Guero said with a bitter laugh. “I know you’ve been trying to get rid of me.”

“Stop,” Teresa hissed, muscles spasming. “He’s not…” The words died in her throat, and she dug her nails into her palms and closed her eyes

Guero looked at Teresa, resting a hand on her leg. “You’ll feel better soon.”

Don’t bullshit her again . It won’t be soon, James thought as he glanced at his wrist to look at his watch, stopping himself a moment later when he realized Teresa still wore it. He didn’t reach for it, though, and said, “It’ll take some time. A few hours for the worst of it.”

Teresa shuddered, focusing on the weight of James’ hand on her shoulder. A few more hours. I can make it that long. I hope.

Two and a half hours later, Teresa felt no less miserable, but she was no longer violently shaking. She’d gotten sick a few times, though there was nothing to rid her stomach of now. Slowly, she sat upright, taking a small sip of the now room-temperature beer Guero had gotten her earlier.

James pressed his hand against her forehead. Still warm. “Look at me.” When she did, he glanced at her pupils. Still blown.

“We should go,” she rasped.

Guero sat up a little straighter, expression hopeful. James narrowed his eyes then looked back at Teresa. “You’re not in the clear yet.”

“I know,” she said, “but we’d be…more comfortable at the hotel. I don’t want someone coming back. The soldiers.”

Though he knew Teresa probably wouldn’t sleep, he also knew she was right. “You have the extra pills?” he asked Guero.

“Yeah, I do.” Guero stood, stretching with a grimace. “The car’s close, so we won’t have to walk far.”

James stood, too. “Sit if you get dizzy,” he told Teresa. “I don’t want you to pass out.”

She took both Guero and James’ hands when they offered them, stumbling. “I’m fine,” she said when Guero gave her a concerned look and James shifted his position to take more of her weight.

As they walked, Guero eyed the watch on her wrist that hid her mark. “You trying to cover up and get a date back there?” he asked, tone mostly teasing, but Teresa could see a hint of hurt in his expression.

Teresa glared ahead as they approached the car. "You're asking me if I was covering something up ?” she hissed.

Guero’s face fell, and he gave a quick shake of his head. “I was just joking, babe. Shitty timing.”

Teresa crawled into the front seat of the car, not responding to Guero. She tried jamming the clip into the belt, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

James started the car, wordlessly leaning over and clicking her seatbelt into place before he started driving.

It felt like it took forever to get to the hotel, though it was only a few minutes away. Still, after getting out of her wet clothes, making herself eat a few bites of a dry granola bar from a vending machine, and curling up in one of the beds—they’d changed rooms at the last minute, James telling Guero that they’d need to keep an eye on Teresa and offering to take the couch so they could take shifts—she felt a little more human.

Only in the early hours of the morning did Teresa manage to sleep. As sunlight filtered in through the curtains, Teresa buried her face against the pillow. Her hair had mostly dried, though a few pieces were still damp and clung to her skin. 

She could hear Guero and James walking around, talking quietly.

“...don’t think she’d run anywhere,” Guero said.

“If she’s smart, she would,” James replied, voice low. 

“She thinks we’re dead. Or at least in jail or out of the country.”

We should’ve gotten out last night, James thought as kneeled down and put on his shoes, slipping a small pocketknife in to keep it from.

Feeling something cool against her skin as she pulled a pillow closer, Teresa opened her eyes. She was still wearing James’ watch, she realized. Sitting upright, she nudged the sheets off of her.

“Hey, you’re up,” Guero said, flashing her a grin. “Did you sleep much?”

Teresa shrugged. “An hour or two.” Her voice wa hoarse as she spoke. She stood, cringing and leaning heavily against the bed for a few moments as the room tilted. 

“Okay?” James asked.

“Yeah, fine,” she said with a nod as Guero walked over to her. Sighing, she asked, “Are we ready to leave?”

“Just about,” James said, walking over to the sofa he’d slept on and picking up his gun.

“There’s a great vendor wit h pão de queijo nearby. It was one of my favorites when I was here before for Epi. We can grab some café,” Guero said, almost seeming hopeful when he looked at her.

Teresa knew Guero was trying to sweet talk her as much as he possibly could with James being here. When they’d been together, they’d talked about traveling, exploring the cities, eating food they’d never tried, and having fun.

But this wasn’t some vacation, and there was nothing fun about being here. She walked into the bathroom, picking up the toothbrush she’d brought with her and brushing her teeth. I look like shit. 

She quickly dismissed the thought, wanting to leave the hotel. The sooner they left, the sooner they’d be able to head back to Dallas.

After grabbing coffee and food at the vendor Guero had mentioned—it was good, admittedly—they started heading back to Leo’s house.

At the bottom of the long staircase, Teresa looked up wearily. James glanced over at her. “You sure you’re all right?” he asked while Guero led them to Leo’s home.

Teresa couldn’t say that she felt good, really. She didn’t. We can’t stop. She didn’t meet James’ gaze. “I’ll rest at the top. Let’s go.”

Guero moved ahead of them while James walked in step with her. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Teresa’s words last night. “ You’re…good, James. You should…” Quietly, he asked, “What you said last night—what did you mean?”

“I don’t remember much,” she replied, glancing at him briefly. “What did I say?”

James hesitated a moment, unsure how to reply. “I’m not sure. You were saying I should…do something. I don’t know what.”

Teresa squinted slightly in thought as she walked up the stone steps. She had felt like she’d been drowning, and everything had felt surreal. “I don’t remember exactly,” she said finally, “but I know I wanted you to be okay.”

He stopped a half step behind her before matching her pace again. “We’ll both be fine,” he said, his voice lacking its usual roughness.

Continuing up the steps, Teresa gave him a sidelong look. Despite her weariness, there was a glint of warmth in her eyes. “I know.”

Chapter Text

Though Teresa hadn’t really thought there’d be a chance to rest, she sure as hell hadn’t thought they’d all end up tied in chairs in a pool, the soldiers they’d encountered yesterday in front of them. 

The sound of the gunshot still echoed in the room, making Teresa’s ears ring. As she heard Leo, still tied to a chair, fall into the pool behind them, she flinched, crying out. She knew she couldn’t save a dead woman, but Teresa still tugged at the restraints.

Craning her head to look back, she saw the water growing red. Blood speckled James and Guero’s faces.

“What? Did you think the fire would be pretty, Mexicana?” asked La Capitana, wiping blood off her face.

“We don’t know how to get to El Santo. We know as much as you do,” James said.

“You think I believe anything you say?” The woman stalked around them, stopping in front of Teresa. “Which one of these machos is supposed to be your soulmate?”

Teresa didn’t move, jaw clenched. “Neither of them.”

The woman gave a bark of a laugh and walked behind Teresa. Teresa felt her move the watch up her wrist as she tried to inspect the mark. She wants to know who to kill first. She jerked her hand away as hard as she could, fingers curling into a fist.

The woman let go of her. “So you can tell the truth about that but not about El Santo.” She stalked in front of Teresa. “I guess I’ll have to kill them both then.”

Teresa tore her gaze away from James and Guero, looking up at the woman again. “It won’t get you what you want.”

For just a moment, La Capitana stopped as if she were considering Teresa's words.

Then, on her command, two men walked over to James and Guero. The men dragged them out of the room with bags over their heads. 

“No!” The plea left Teresa's lips before she could stop herself as James and Guero were forced into a room out of her field of vision, and she heard a door slam shut somewhere behind her.

Now, she was alone with this woman who was hellbent on killing her.

We’re going to die, Teresa thought, the sense of dread that she’d been feeling for hours settling deep into her bones.

“My people,” La Capitana said, taking hold of Teresa’s chair and moving it closer to the pool, “are drowning in drugs, corruption, spiritual perversion.” The chair’s legs scraped loudly against the tile floor, and Teresa felt the back legs lift up as La Capitana moved it to the pool’s edge. “El Santo is the water pouring into their throats. And they only have me to protect them. I will kill anyone—everyone—who tries to hurt my country. It’s the only home I have.”

Teresa struggled to steady her breathing as adrenaline frantically coursed through her and tears stung her eyes. “We don’t know him."

The woman paused, standing directly in front of her now. “You only have a few seconds before your men are dead. I’m sure. One of them has to matter to you, mark or no mark.” Teresa could feel anger emanating from La Capitana. “Give me El Santo and maybe I'll let one of them live.”

"I can't tell you anything," Teresa hissed. "And if we're dead—"

"Then you're not my problem anymore."

Teresa steeled herself, glaring back. Nothing she said would change the woman's mind. “Vete chingada.”

Before La Capitana could say anything more, the sound of gunshots rang out. Tensing, Teresa turned to look in the direction James and Guero had been taken, searching for them. For a moment, La Capitana looked smug—until men hurried out of the room, yelling that they were under attack.

Maybe James and Guero are—

A sudden kick from La Capitana interrupted her thoughts, causing her to yelp in pain. Then, she was plunged into the water.

As the chair sank, Teresa struggled desperately against the restraints. The chair’s legs hit the pool floor.

Seeing Leo’s lifeless form beside her, she held her breath, thrashing, knowing that she’d run out of air quickly.

I don’t want to die. Not for this.

Bullets started falling into the water, making a metallic sound as they pinged against the pool floor. A few of them fell against her, and she could hear her pulse thrumming in her ears, getting louder and louder with each passing second.

There has to be something I can do, she thought, frantically trying to loosen the zip-ties around her wrists. Sunlight filtered in through the water above her, a cruel reminder of the water’s surface only feet away.

Teresa continued to strain to get free, unable to hold her breath any longer. Liquid filled her aching lungs, burning like fire, and she attempted to pull herself away from the chair as the helpless sensation of drowning overwhelmed her. 

What’s going to happen to James and Guero? Are they dead, too? What will happen to Tony? Will someone ever tell Camila? Will she care? What will happen to me when I’m dead? 

Has any of it mattered?

Bubbles of air escaped her lips and floated to the water’s surface, and her vision began to fade. Above, a figure dove into the pool, their form shimmering in the rippling water.

A strange feeling of calm washed over Teresa, replacing the gnawing pain, and she vaguely remembered the stories her parents had told her about angels coming to take dying people to heaven or hell. Angels of death, they’d said. Please, help me, she thought as everything dissolved into darkness.

***

As soon as a group of men came in and freed them, James and Guero both gasped for air and staggered out of the room where they’d been held. James scanned the pool room for Teresa.

Maybe she ran out.

"We gotta get the fuck outta here," Guero muttered.

James took hold of a gun and started shooting at the soldiers. "Do you see her?"

Guero jerked his head, firing another shot. "Not right now, but...she's gotta be around, right?"

James approached the water where Teresa had last been, noticing that the chair she had been in was missing. Where did you go?

Suddenly, a few small bubbles of air breaking through the surface caught his attention. James squinted, feeling his heart lurch in his chest—Teresa was underwater, thrashing, still tied to the chair. He tossed the gun and turned toward the nearest fallen man, kneeling beside him and yanking open every zipper and pocket on the man’s clothes. Seeing a knife in the dead man’s inner jacket pocket, he took hold of it before turning around and diving into the water, swimming down.

Teresa wasn’t moving now. He hastily cut at the zip-ties, sawing at each one. Hearing the snap of the last zip-tie, James pulled her up with him as he swam to the surface.

The air bit at his skin, and he swam to the pool’s edge, pulling Teresa with him. Her head lolled forward, and he gritted his teeth as he shifted his position to keep her head above water. Clambering out of the pool, painfully aware of how still she was, James laid her on the ground.

“C’mon, stay with me,” he muttered, pressing his fingers against her neck as the world narrowed around him. He’d told her that she was going to leave Bolivia. She had to.

Before he could tell whether or not she had a pulse, James found himself being yanked back by two men.

“I don’t know if she’s fucking breathing!” he yelled, tearing away only to be forced back again. “Let me help her. I’m not armed,” he begged, trying to see Teresa.

Behind him, he heard a quiet, raspy cough. Turning, he saw Teresa spitting up water and gasping for breath. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

Thank Christ.

“Let me help,” James said again, putting his hands up and slowly moving away as the men loosened their grip on him. When they allowed him to, he sprinted toward Teresa, kneeling beside her and helping her lay on her side as water spilled out of her mouth. “Keep coughing, that’s good.”

A minute later, one of the men picked Teresa up and hauled her upright. 

“Easy,” James snapped, jumping up to follow the man.

Sputtering and struggling to breathe, Teresa looked around without really seeing, vaguely aware of someone picking her up and hoisting her over their shoulder. She felt as if she was outside of her body, floating.

Outside, there were several cars, and James followed the man who was carrying Teresa. Guero was in another car, he assumed, but he didn’t search for him. 

“Keep her on her side,” he instructed the man who was placing her into the car. Irritated with the man’s roughness, he got into the other side of the back seat, pulling her close and resting her head on his lap.

Water dripped off them both, making the car smell like chlorine. As soon as they were both in the car, the driver slammed on the gas and they took off.

Despite the high temperature outside, James cranked the heat up in the back of the car. He kept one hand on her back, the other against her head. He could feel her back move slightly as she breathed and tried to reassure himself that they’d all be okay wherever the hell they were being taken.

When the car took a sharp turn, James winced and held onto Teresa’s shoulder to keep her from falling. She was still coughing every so often, though she’d grown quieter in the past several minutes.

“You’re okay,” he said quietly, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m here. You’re gonna be okay.”

She was so damn cold. Teresa didn’t feel like she was floating anymore, though. Instead, she felt anchored in place, unable to move. Am I dead? She wasn’t sure. Everything was hazy, almost like a dream.

“Where—?” she tried to ask before dissolving into a coughing fit.

James ran a hand over her arm. “I don’t know where we’re going,” he admitted quietly.

Her fingers curled into a loose fist against his leg. “Stay?”

He gave a quick nod. “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

A while later, the car stopped. James sat upright, grip tightening around Teresa’s shoulder. He shook her gently, but she didn’t stir. 

All at once, people rushed into the car. Rough hands pulled him out of the vehicle. “Don’t—” James started to say, but someone forced a gag in his mouth and bound his wrists. He twisted back, elbowing one of the men and trying to get back to Teresa, but he was pinned against the car, unable to move.

Someone picked up Teresa, and distantly, James heard Guero yelling.

Where are they taking us? Why are they separating us?

Seeing Teresa disappear from his view, he reluctantly allowed himself to be led through buildings. Eventually, he was put inside a cell. His wrists were freed, and he bolted forward, but the door clanged shut before he could even attempt to leave.

“Hey!” he yelled once he yanked the gag out of his mouth. "Teresa? Guero?" 

Only silence answered him.

Chapter Text

Nearly two days later, after spending time in their cells alone, Teresa, James, and Guero were in another cell—but El Santo was in this one. He was refusing to talk plainly with them, refusing to deal with them at all.

Teresa looked around the room. She’d tried being polite, answering questions, not pushing back. But maybe El Santo wanted someone to play his game, she thought, heart thudding heavily in her chest. 

“We passed all your tests, or we wouldn't be standing here,” she said, studying El Santo as his expression shifted from disgust to something a little friendlier. “Right? You know the soldiers took our money. Are you just curious?”

“Perhaps.”

She swallowed, staring back at him, then said, “We'll take the ton.”

“Teresa,” Guero said, eyes widening.

She glanced at Guero and gave a slight shake of her head. Don’t argue with me. I’m keeping you alive, too. 

Then, Teresa looked at El Santo once again. “With great respect, we'll take the ton.”

El Santo looked from James to Guero, then leaned in close to Teresa. “You have a Judas among you,” he whispered, tapping lightly at her wrist where James’ watch was, where the mark was barely visible underneath it.

Teresa frowned, looking up at him. What do you mean? Still, she said nothing.

“Okay, I will consider your request,” El Santo said, moving back and speaking more loudly now. “But first, atonement is required. See, you have spilled the blood of my people when you were trying to escape. So a blood sacrifice is demanded. So I'm going to give you a choice, Teresa. One of them must be given up to the knife. You decide and decide quickly. One dies, or all of you die. Decide.”

Teresa’s face contorted in confusion. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out as she turned, watching El Santo leave. 

As James started to look for a weapon, Teresa sat on the floor. A Judas. She looked at the watch and mark. Guero and James don’t want to be here. They don’t want me here, either. Neither of them are trying to betray me.

But maybe he means Guero because Leo betrayed us. And the mark I have with his name is disappearing. Or maybe he means James because he knows he wants to kill Guero when I don’t.

She glanced briefly at Guero and James. She knew them both well enough to know they were scared; James was trying to find something to defend them with, to keep them safe, and Guero was trying to think of a way out that didn’t involve confrontation.

It doesn’t matter what El Santo meant about a Judas. Not now.

“Hey,” Guero snapped at James after he’d remarked that Guero was the reason they were there, “I will gladly trade my life for hers. What about you?”

James scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot. He’s not gonna let any of us live.”

“Stop it,” Teresa chastised them, staring at the floor. 

I need to decide what to do. They’re not going to help. But we can’t find a way out if we don’t go by his rules somehow. I’m not letting him take James or Guero, though. He’ll kill either of them. I won’t let him.

Raking a hand through her hair, she heard Guero say, “...who's the one trying to steal another man's woman? You’re just some unmarked jealous pendejo.”

“You fucking child,” James said with a laugh under his breath, lips curled in disgust. “This is business, and he pointed to your name, not mine. But I guess if you were a real man, she wouldn't have to beg to keep you alive.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Teresa saw Guero pull his arm back and swing at James. She stood as James pinned Guero to the chained door.

“Stop it. This is exactly what he wants. Stop it!” she yelled, pulling the two away from each other. She glared at them both as they stepped away from the other. “He wants us to fight.”

“What he wants is to put you in a bad position,” James told Teresa, brushing himself off.

“No shit,” Guero muttered. He eyed Teresa’s arm, his bravado slipping slightly. “You think he was talking about the mark?”

“I don’t know. His was covered with bracelets, and everyone else has their marks covered here, too. I doubt he believes in them. He just believes in…” She trailed off, frowning. “He believes in himself.” 

And if he thinks I believe in him too, maybe that’ll be enough.

The door swung open, and the three of them turned their heads. Three men with large blades entered the room. The little girl who’d freed Teresa from her cell stood behind them and asked, “Who, Teresa? Who do you give to the knife?”

She lifted her gaze and walked toward the group, hoping that if she was confident enough, El Santo’s people wouldn't question her or raise their weapons. “Me.”

Immediately, she heard James and Guero yell behind her, but she didn’t turn to look at either of them, instead taking the girl’s hand and following her down the halls.

James resisted against the men with blades along with Guero, but when it became clear that it was useless, he stilled. Hands clenched into fists, he watched as the door was slammed shut.

“What the fuck?!” Guero yelled, running to the cell door and slamming himself against it. He whipped his head around to look at James. “What the hell are they gonna do to her?”

“I don’t know. But screaming at them isn’t going to help,” he hissed.

“So you wanna sit here while they do whatever the fuck they want?”

James scowled. “Did I say that?” He forced himself to unclench his hands. Rolling his shoulders, he began to search the cell again. “Help me see if we can loosen a brick or find something we can sharpen.”

“How do we find her even if we do get out, huh?” Guero asked, stalking over to James. “El Santo said a blood sacrifice and ‘given up to the knife,’ so, what? Are they gonna stab her to death?”

James leaned down, testing the walls in hopes of feeling a loose brick or rod of metal where the bars met the stone. “I heard what he said,” James replied quietly. “She probably won’t be in the cells or outside where we were earlier if…” His mouth grew dry, and he cleared his throat. “If it’s a public ‘sacrifice.’ I don’t know what it means.”

Guero moved to kneel beside him, starting to look around, too. Glowering at the floor, he said, “If it’s anything like what he did to Epi and his guys, he’ll make sure people know about it. He wants people to see that kinda shit.”

Stomach twisting, James moved across the cell to concentrate on searching another area. She shouldn’t have gone. 

Cursing under his breath after trying to loosen one of the cell bars, Guero craned his head to see down the hallway before spitting on the ground. “Has she shown you it lately? Her mark, I mean?”

James paused for a second before shaking his head. “The mark doesn’t matter now. We need to get out.” 

“Easy for you to say, you don't have one to begin with,” he grumbled.

James bit back a sharp remark. “Arguing’s not going to get her out.”

Guero seemed to deflate slightly, and he nodded, staying silent as he moved alongside James to keep searching.

Not fifteen minutes later did they hear footsteps approaching. James and Guero both stood. James slipped a small rock into his pocket; it was the best he’d been able to find as a weapon, though it hadn’t been strong enough to break the lock.

Two children wearing the same mask and the same three men with long, thin daggers approached them, and the cell door was unlocked.

“You must witness the rebirth,” one of the children said, “if you also want atonement.”

Blinking back in confusion, James glanced briefly at Guero before looking back at the child. When she put her hand out, he took it, asking, “What do you mean, ‘rebirth’?”

He wasn’t surprised when the girl didn’t respond. Guero took the other child’s hand. Two of the men walked ahead of them, and the girls led James and Guero from the cell. One man followed behind them.

If they want us to be a part of this, why did they wait? James looked around as they were led through winding corridors. Eventually, they left the block of cells entirely. As they passed by a window, he peered out at the courtyard. Empty.

As they turned a corner, they were met by a large crowd of people. James tensed, turning toward Guero. He knew that he cared about Teresa—he just wasn’t sure if Guero cared enough to put her safety ahead of his own. If you run, you’re on your own.

Guero didn’t run, though, and neither he nor James let go of the children’s hands; they’d both learned their lesson after trying to escape without the children’s guidance earlier. They moved through the group of people. They seemed oblivious to them, all smiling and talking among themselves.

A wave of heat washed over them as the crowd began to dissipate, and they approached two heavy wood doors that were shut.

She has to be here. James willed himself to relax as one of the men opened the doors. They don’t have guns. If I can get one of the blades, we can get Teresa, and she—

The thought was lost the moment the doors were opened. Because beyond the empty pews and at the end of the long aisle was Teresa, sprawled out on the floor with her hair splayed behind her like a halo, not moving. El Santo sat on a step in front of her, his hands folded together, expression indifferent.

Ears ringing, James rushed toward the front of the room until one of El Santo’s men yanked him back, pressing a dagger against him. “What did you do?” he growled as Guero cursed loudly, also forced to still after he’d tried to run forward.

El Santo didn't look at them, though he replied evenly, “You cannot force revival. You must witness it in its own time.”

“What does that fucking mean?” Guero asked, exasperated.

El Santo didn’t respond. James wished he could strangle him.

She just overdosed on cocaine and almost drowned, what else do you need from her for her to prove herself?

From where he stood, James could tell that she was breathing. Realizing that they weren’t leaving anytime soon and that they weren’t going to be allowed near Teresa, he crossed his arms and leaned against one of the walls. It was the closest he was allowed to be; anytime he tried to move closer, he was forced back. It was better to be able to see her than be made to leave and not know what was going on, he decided. Guero sat down in one of the pews nearby, bouncing his leg up and down and looking around every so often.

In the midst of a feverish dream, Teresa was standing in the Bolivian forest, the sound of gunshots echoing in her ears.

“We need to go! He’s gonna call in reinforcements!” James yelled, running after the soldier.

Teresa bolted after him as Guero yelled her name. Guero died before. I don’t want James to die now. He can’t. They can’t get him. They can’t—

Suddenly, her vision grew distorted. Teresa doubled over, squinting. She saw a vision of herself in white, then La Capitana. Blinking rapidly, she jerked back when someone approached her. Instinctively, she raised her gun.

“Who, whoa, hey, it’s me,” James said, putting a hand in the air.

She looked around with wide eyes. Something’s wrong. “El Santo?”

James shook his head. “It’s okay, I took care of it. You’re safe,” he said firmly. He put one hand on the back of her head, steadying her.

She took a small step close, studying him. He seemed calm, confident.

You took care of it? How? 

Then, he brought a hand to the side of her face. She didn’t pull away. When she looked at his hand, she saw her name on his wrist. She peered down at her own wrist. James.

When James drew her close, she let herself lean into him. She tried to catch her breath and closed her eyes, grasping tightly onto his shirt, trembling. We’re safe. We’re safe.

“It’s all right.” James carefully put his hands on the sides of her face. Then, gently, kissed her.

And again, she didn’t pull away.

Suddenly, gunshots pierced the silence. 

When she pulled back from him, James was bleeding.

“No, no, no. James. Please.” Her heart lurched in her chest, and she helped him to the ground, pressing her hand shakily against his neck. Tears blurred her vision. “James. Please,” she said, voice wavering. “You’re gonna make it. Okay? You…you have to say it.” She tried to get him to look at her, to repeat what she said the same way he’d made her repeat his words in the desert, but he wouldn’t, or maybe he couldn’t, gasping for air. 

Footsteps made her tense, and she looked up, surprised to see Guero. Seeing him holding a gun, she recoiled. “What did you do?” she whispered, overwhelmed by the blood on her hands yet again.

“It was either me or him.”

She stared up at him in horror, shaking her head. I didn’t ask you—didn’t want you to—

Everything melted together, and this time, she was met with a vision of herself. Teresa looked around, but Guero and James were gone. Are they all right? What do I do?

“Choose.”

Choose?

Teresa knew what she was being asked—or rather, whom she was being asked to choose between.

From where he now sat, James saw Teresa move, her hands twitching into weak fists. Then, he heard her gasp as she jerked upright, and he hastily stood, making his way toward her.

Awaking with a start, Teresa stared blankly for a few moments, growing rigid when someone’s arms were suddenly around hers, pulling her close. “James?” she muttered, the images from the dream and the demand to choose still burning in her mind. She was too disoriented to see Guero frown or James’ lips twitch upwards momentarily.

James’ voice came from above her. “I’m here.”

El Santo clapped slowly and stood. “I saw you and your mark, Teresa. It is no more—a clean slate. I thought that you might just be pure of heart. Creating yourself and your destiny.”

“It was poison,” she muttered.

“Yes. But not for those who are pure of heart.” He walked over to her and placed a necklace around her neck. 

After El Santo said that he’d expect the first payment for the ton within the week and walked out of the room, she slumped against Guero, closing her eyes for a few seconds.

Finally, she sat upright, looking around. “How long have you been here?” she asked them.

“About an hour and a half,” Guero replied.

Teresa frowned. George is probably waiting for us. “We should go.”

“You’re sure you’re ready?” James asked, studying her.

“I’ll live,” she said, shifting her position. Slowly, she hauled herself upright, walking carefully ahead.

James put a hand on her back for a second before letting go.

After they’d gotten their guns and phones back, they were led outside where men were piling bags of cocaine into a large car.

Teresa stared at the car with wide eyes. It’s the same one from my dream. How is that possible?

“Here.”

She turned her head back when she heard James’ voice behind her. He held a few canteens filled with water and offered one to Teresa, which she took with a nod of thanks. 

A little while later, the truck was filled with the product. 

Just as had happened in her dream, she sat in between James and Guero, and Guero started driving. Let us be safe. Please.

As they drove down the same road they’d gone down twice in her dream, Teresa sat up a little straighter. When they stopped, there wasn’t a group of soldiers waiting for them. There was a group of people cleaning up produce that had fallen from a truck, however, and the unnerving feeling that blanketed her still refused to dissipate.

Minutes later, after shooting La Capitana twice, she’d pinned Teresa to the forest floor, covering her in blood, spit, and muddied water.

Struggling for breath, Teresa squirmed under the soldier’s weight. 

In the past months, so many people had tried killing her. She hadn’t asked for Guero to fake his death, for Epifano or his men to hunt her down, for Camila to throw her into the cartel. She hadn’t asked for the DEA to search for her, for Leo to betray them, for El Santo to test her. And she sure as hell hadn’t asked for this Bolivian soldier to track her down through the forest after the overdose and near-drowning hadn’t been enough to kill her.

It all blurred together, and suddenly, blinding rage bubbled to the surface, cascading through every part of her.

Throwing her full weight against the woman, Teresa grabbed the knife and swung. She swung again and again until all she could see was red. Finally, with trembling fingers, she dropped the knife. Bile rose in her throat, and she stood upright, staring at La Capitana. Dead. Very dead.

I’ve never killed someone like that before.

Shakily, Teresa made herself stand. She trudged through the mud, covered in blood and drenched from the shallow water she and La Capitana had wrestled in.

On the other side of the forest, James held his hand against his shoulder, glancing at Guero. He still half expected him to turn the gun on him after he’d all but growled, “You don’t deserve her,” a minute ago.

Instead, he’d killed the man who’d shot him.

“You saved me. Why?” he asked as he forced himself to stand.

Guero lowered his gun, only meeting James’ gaze momentarily. “You kept her alive when I couldn't.”

James shook his head. “She kept herself alive.”

“Hey,” Guero said, rolling his shoulders, his voice now edged with its usual unearned confidence, “I'm not saying I'm not gonna kill you. I just—I ain't gonna kill you right now.”

James examined his shoulder, biting his tongue. The bullet had gone clean through. 

Suddenly, a gunshot in the distance stole his focus away from his injury. Teresa. He instantly headed toward the forest’s edge, Guero walking beside him, their paces quickening.

When Teresa came to the clearing, fruit and dead soldiers were scattered across the forest floor. Footprints led to the other side of the forest. Her body buzzed with adrenaline, and her breaths came in quick gasps. 

Where are they?

Immediately, her mind flashed to the dream she’d had after El Santo had forced her to eat the poisonous beetle. “Choose.” The word echoed in her mind, and she forced it away, desperately scanning the trees and underbrush.

I don’t want to choose. I can’t lose them. They have to be here.

She leaned down, picking up a discarded gun from the ground. She looked around again, hoping to see them.

But they weren’t there.

Panic began to seep into her body, choking her. The air felt too thick to breathe in. “Guero! James!” she screamed, voice wavering as she called out. A tingling numbness snaked its way up her limbs.

Hearing a branch snap in the distance, Teresa’s grip tightened on the weapon she held in one hand. Trembling, she looked in the direction of the noise. 

James wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Teresa sound so afraid as she called out their names. As they moved out from under the trees, he froze for a moment. She was caked in blood, eyes slightly glazed over. Shock, maybe, he thought, cringing as he took another step forward to stand beside Guero.

Looking them over quickly, Teresa felt dizzy with relief. They’re okay. God, they’re okay.

Chapter Text

Despite the terror Teresa had felt at the prospect of losing James and Guero and the overwhelming gratitude she felt upon seeing them both alive, there was no time to catch their breaths. They had to keep moving.

As they approached her, Teresa scanned James and Guero’s exhausted faces. Guero seemed mostly unharmed, and though James’ shoulder was clearly injured, he was able to stand and walk. George can help him. We’re not far from the crosspoint. 

Wordlessly, she walked toward the car, her boots sinking slightly with each step and making squelching sounds in the mud. 

She waited for Guero to get into the driver’s seat before climbing into the middle seat once more. James sat on her right, and as Guero started driving, she felt her eyes begin to sting.

Stop. It’s fine. They’re fine. You’re…fine. 

Maybe “fine” wasn’t the word for how she felt. It definitely wasn’t. Her nerves were beyond frayed, and she felt vulnerable and exposed. 

I’m not crying here in front of them.

Hand still pressed against his shoulder, James glanced at Teresa. He could see how tense she was; he wanted to talk to her, to ask what had happened, but doing so in front of Guero felt wrong somehow.

After she was certain that she could talk without breaking down, Teresa made herself look at James, and she asked quietly, “How’s your shoulder?”

“Hurts, but it’s fine. It went straight through. It’ll be easy to treat as long as I keep it clean,” he replied. 

Teresa gave a small nod in response, resting back and glancing briefly at Guero.

Seeing her looking at him, Guero said, “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Good.” The word sounded hollow to her even as she spoke, but she was thankful that Guero didn’t press her. She could feel James’ gaze on her, too, but she didn’t meet his stare, unsure how long she could maintain the facade in front of him.

The trip to the crosspoint was a blur, and when they arrived, Teresa was thankful to see George was still there waiting for them. She climbed out of the car, grasping onto the door for support.

“Damn, girl! What happened?” George said, staring at the three of them curiously.

“We’ll tell you later. We have everything in the truck.” She eyed the cars, knowing they’d take them to a boat, which would take them Lima, Peru. Then, a plane would finally take them to Dallas. “Do you have a med kit?”

He raised his brows. “Think you’re gonna need a little more than that to clean up.”

She shook her head. “For James.”

“Ah. Right. Don’t want them bleeding on shit,” he said, walking to the back of the car and returning a moment later, handing it to her.

She walked towards James, watching as everyone began to change cars and redistribute the cocaine to ensure it all was transported safely. “Hopefully this is enough until we get on the boat,” she said, opening the kit for him.

James took a roll of gauze with a nod of thanks. “Keeping it covered will help.” He tugged off his shirt, wrapping the gauze around his shoulder with a wince.

Staying quiet, Teresa looked at the wound briefly, trying not to stare. It’d stopped bleeding heavily, but she knew they’d need to clean it on the ship. Though she’d considered offering to help, she was covered in blood still, and the last thing she wanted was to give James a bloodborne infection.

George’s voice broke through the silence as he called, “C’mon, boys and girls, time to get movin’!”

Pulling his shirt on again, James handed her the med kit. “Do you need—”

“Hey, babe,” Guero said, oblivious to their conversation as he approached them, “George said he’s gonna be on the boat with us. He hasn’t met Camila before, has he?”

She walked towards the car, her pace matching James’. “No, he hasn’t.”

“It should probably stay that way,” James said dryly.

Guero shrugged. “Don’t think he wants to meet her, but he wanted to come back with us until we’re at Lima, at least. He said it’ll be close quarters in the boat.”

Great, James thought, approaching the cars.

“I don’t know why Camila couldn’t just send a plane here instead of having us take the boat. She knows I could fly it,” Guero added.

Teresa only made a noncommittal noise in reply. She knew Camila didn’t trust Guero enough to let him fly. That, and she was sure that taking multiple methods of transportation like this meant they were less likely to get caught—and if they were caught, they could at least ensure all the coke wasn’t seized at once. Still, just the thought of having to engage in conversation with George, who seemed to be in a chatty mood, exhausted her.

George waved them over to the car, and she sighed, getting into the middle seat in the back of the car.

“Don’t wanna sit up here with the king?” George asked, flashing her a grin. “Or do you need to babysit the boys?”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Guero said.

She was thankful that James only rolled his eyes in response. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Suit yourself.”

The ride to the border and then to the dock where George had kept his boat felt endless. The forests all blurred together, and by the time they’d arrived, the mud had dried on her boots, dry blood caked her skin, and she was stiff and sore.

“So,” George said, hopping out of the car and walking towards the dock, “we have a shower, but y’all are gonna have to figure out sleeping arrangements. We’ve got two extra beds.”

I’d sleep on the floor right now. Teresa didn’t look at James or Guero, though she could imagine their reactions would be tense, annoyed. Admittedly, she didn’t want to share a bed with Guero right now, but having James and Guero share a bed wasn’t much of an option, either. And I can’t share a bed with James. Not that I want to.

She saw herself kissing James in the forest, the image from her dream burning in her mind, and she hastily dismissed the thought as she walked onto the boat with George, James, Guero, and the rest of the crew.

George showed them around while everything was placed onto the boat. After everything and everyone was loaded and they’d started off toward Lima, she glanced at James and Guero, both of whom were standing in the small bedroom with the two extra beds. 

“You should clean off,” James said, clearing his throat and looking over at her.

A shower sounded heavenly, especially since she’d only had the chance to wash her hands thus far, but Teresa replied, “I will after you. So you can take care of your shoulder.” She caught Guero rolling his eyes and narrowed her eyes in turn, silently daring him to say something; he didn’t. Then, she looked at James again. “I’m gonna see if George has anything we can wear.”

“Thanks, babe,” Guero said.

She caught James’ gaze on the way out, and she paused for a split second. He was looking at her questioningly, brows furrowed, lips parting slightly for a moment before he pressed them together. But he said nothing, so she walked out of the room and went to find George.

Teresa wasn’t surprised to find him in the wheelhouse. “Hey,” she said, offering him a small nod in greeting, “do you have clothes we could borrow? Our things were taken.”

George raised his eyebrows. “For you, sure,” he said with a grin. He stood from where he sat and walked over to a bag that sat on a nearby countertop. He dug through it for a moment, then picked up the bag and held it out to her. “We’ve gotta get a picture of y’all wearing this before you leave, though.”

Glancing in the bag as she took it from him, Teresa snorted softly. Clothes with the words “King George” embroidered on them filled the bag. Better than swimsuits he offered us when we first met him. “Thank you.”

She set the bag down on the floor between the three of them as she returned to the cramped bedroom. 

Guero grabbed a shirt, eyes widening as he unfolded it. “No way.”

Teresa stared back at Guero a moment or two before saying, “They’re clean.”

“They could be a lot worse,” James said, leaning down and grabbing a pair of clothes with his uninjured arm before leaving to shower.

Guero sighed heavily, then picked up the bag, taking clothes from it as well. “How’d Camila get George working with her, anyway?” he asked.

Leaning against the nearest wall, not wanting to sit on one of the two clean beds with her dirtied clothes, she answered, “James and I had to meet with him first and convince him.”

“Seems like a weird guy.”

“He’s getting us out,” Teresa reminded him

She tried to listen to Guero as he spoke, but the fatigue she felt enveloping her made her feel as if she was slowly sinking into molasses. So she let herself fall into an almost catatonic state, slightly hunched over where she stood.

“...and I think she’ll want to keep me there,” Guero said. “What about you?”

Teresa blinked back slowly, shaking her head and trying to recall what he’d been saying. “Camila?”

“Well, yeah, who else?” he said, looking at her curiously.

She faltered. “I…I don’t know.”

“Hey.”

James’ voice, quiet, low, broke through the fog in her mind. He was clean and carried a med kit in his hand. 

“Nice shirt, cabrón,” Guero said dryly.

Teresa leaned down and took the last pair of clothes from the bag. This is what they had; she wouldn’t care whose name the clothes had on them right now if it meant she could change out of the blood-soaked fabric clinging to her skin.

James walked. “It’s a good thing you like it. You’ll be wearing the same thing.” 

Leaving the two to talk, she headed to the bathroom.

Turning on the shower, Teresa stepped in. The water was lukewarm at best, but she didn’t care. She watched as the rust-colored water dripped off of her and down the drain. Teresa scrubbed at her skin until it was raw, scraping the dirt and dried blood from her face, her hair, and under her nails.

Her mind was still hazy, cocooning her and making everything feel dull and distant. I’ll sleep soon, she thought, turning off the water and grabbing a towel.

Teresa pulled on the embroidered shirt and shorts. Hair still damp, she combed her fingers through her curls, wincing when they became snarled. After a few minutes, she gave up, walking out of the bathroom and returning to their shared room.

Seeing Teresa, Guero eagerly grabbed his clothes and walked straight to the bathroom to shower.

Watching Guero leave, Teresa placed her bloodied clothes in the now-empty bag with a sigh. She walked over to the unoccupied bed, pausing when she saw James roll his shoulder where he sat on the other bed, expression irritated as he tried to adjust the gauze under his shirt.

“Do you need help?” she asked, voice quiet, though they were the only two people in the room.

James hesitated for a few seconds before saying, “If you have a second, yeah.”

Nodding, she picked up the med kit that James had grabbed when they’d gotten on the boat and sat down behind him on the bed. When he pulled off his shirt, she saw the gauze was rumpled up and caught together. “It’s probably easiest to take it off and start over,” she said, carefully removing it.

He gave a nod in agreement, and he stayed still as Teresa gently pulled it from his skin.

She opened a small packet that contained an alcohol swab, frowning as she studied the injury, unable to help but notice a few faint scars and moles on his back. There wasn’t much blood around the injury, but she knew that getting shot was painful. She wiped the small cloth across his shoulder. Moving to sit in front of him, she ran it over the entrance wound, noticing that the bullet had managed to bypass his tattoos. Seeing him wince, she murmured, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly

Setting the alcohol-soaked cloth aside, Teresa picked up a fresh roll of gauze. “I assume Guero didn’t shoot you.”

Unsure whether she was joking or not, he replied, “No, he didn’t. He could’ve. But he didn’t.”

Unrolling the gauze, Teresa began to carefully wrap it around the front and back of his shoulder, mindful to keep it tight but not so much so that it’d make it impossible for him to move. Her hands shook every so often, and she made herself pause before continuing. “And you didn’t shoot him either.”

He could smell the shampoo—vaguely floral and warm, like sandalwood—on Teresa’s damp hair as it brushed against him when she leaned close. He tapped his fingers lightly against his knee. “No, I didn’t.”

“Camila didn’t want him to come back.”

“No,” James said, “but that’s how it is.”

She looked momentarily at his wrist, the skin still flushed. “Your mark’s slow coming in.”

James glanced at his wrist, too. “At this rate, I’ll be dead before meeting them,” he said dryly.

Teresa raised her brows, a ghost of a smile tugging on her lips. “I doubt it. You’ve made it this far.”

She tied off the gauze finally after dressing the wound, moving back to inspect her handiwork. Don’t stare. Teresa made herself look away, heat dancing across her skin. “Thanks. For not shooting Guero. And I’m glad he didn’t shoot you.” She removed a packet of ibuprofen and offered it to James.

“Sure. I’m glad he didn’t, either.” He took the ibuprofen and swallowed it dry. Hearing her shut the box that contained the kit, he said, “Thanks.” 

She nodded, avoiding his gaze for a moment as he pulled his shirt on before looking over at him and saying, “You’re welcome.”

“I meant to ask you—”

“Babe!” Guero called from down the hall, voice distant.

For a second, Teresa simply closed her eyes, kneading her temples with her fingers before standing. She didn’t know if it was the ship rocking or something else that made her sway slightly on her feet, but she felt a spark of electricity run through her when James’ hand found her back.

“You all right?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” Teresa replied automatically. “Just tired.”

Frowning, James followed her as she went to investigate what Guero was yelling about.

“Well, don’t y’all look like you’re out of a fucking fashion catalog,” George greeted them with a laugh. He held a bottle of beer in his hand and waved them in his direction. “Figured you’d be tired of eating whatever shit the old creepy crawler gave you. I had a few of my guys stock up some things for us.”

“Thank you,” Teresa said, offering him a weary smile. The mention of food made her aware of the pangs of hunger in her stomach. She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. The morning we went to find Leo, I think. An image of Leo dead in the pool flashed through her mind, and she tried to shake away the thought.

Guero offered Teresa a plate, which she took with a nod of thanks. She wanted to take everything, but she knew it’d make her feel sick to eat too much at once, so she took a sandwich, a cup of peaches, and water.

She sat down and started to eat, chewing the sandwich slowly. It was plain, the bread dry, but right now, it tasted like the best thing she’d ever eaten.

“So, what was the place like?” George asked.

“It was a fuckin’ cult,” Guero said in between bites of food. “They had us locked up in cells. El Santo wanted ‘atonement’ or some shit, and he wanted to kill one of us.”

George raised his brows and looked at Guero and James. “Coulda taken a two-for-one deal and had you both.”

“Hey, you better be glad he didn’t, else you wouldn't be getting any flake from us,” Guero said, pointing his fork in George’s direction.

James sat down at the table. “El Santo took a liking to Teresa. That’s why we got out.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” George said, giving Teresa a grin.

Teresa shook her head. “We were lucky.”

“Hey, luck, charm, whatever it was, you did a damn good job.” George stood, grabbing another bottle of beer and opening it. “You think you’re gonna be able to sell it all?”

For a moment, Teresa’s gaze met James’ before she answered, “Yes. We’ll have to.”

George sat across from James and Teresa. When James reached for his drink, George asked, “You get a spider bite there, Big Peach?”

James blinked back before shaking his head, and before he could reply, Guero said with a smirk, “He’s just getting a mark.”

George raised his brows and grinned, looking James up and down. “You’re some kind of late bloomer, huh?” 

Guero and George laughed, and Teresa looked between the two of them. James was good at keeping a stoic face, but she knew the comments had to bother him, and she wasn’t in the mood to hear them give him shit about something like a mark after the day they’d had. She said flatly, “It would be better if we all got them later. Or maybe it’d be better if we didn’t have them at all.”

Guero’s laughter faded quickly, and he leaned towards her slightly as if he was waiting for her to keep talking or say she was joking, but she didn’t elaborate. 

“Hey, I’d be for that,” George agreed, taking a swig of his drink. “Y’know, I had a friend who tried getting a tattoo over his to see if it’d make it fade. He thought he was being smart, getting this black band, but really…”

Teresa’s thoughts wandered, too tired to focus on the conversation. She sat quietly for the remainder of the meal, moving only to eat and once to silently slide a cup of peaches to James when she couldn’t tug off the plastic covering, her hands unsteady. He removed the cover, splashing a bit of juice on the table before wordlessly sliding it back across the table to her. 

When she finished eating and nearly everyone else had dispersed—George was showing them around the boat, though she’d opted to stay where she was for now—she made herself a cup of tea, surprised to see that George had any at all here. Though she drank coffee for the caffeine, it was never as comforting as a mug of warm tea. And right now, she’d take any scrap of familiarity and comfort she could get.

She dunked the bag of tea into the hot water, holding the mug close. She leaned against the counter and closed her eyes. For a few seconds, she could pretend the world was a little more peaceful.

A door closing made her snap her eyes open. Seeing Bilal, she relaxed and gave him a nod. She finished her drink, then washed the cup by hand in the sink. Glancing at her phone, she squinted, looking at the time. Though it was hardly past 8:00, it felt much later.

Walking into what would be their bedroom for the next few days, Teresa was relieved to find the room empty. She crawled into the twin-sized bed that James hadn’t occupied earlier and curled up close to the wall.

As exhausted as she was, though, Teresa couldn’t sleep. Her eyes ached, but every time she felt close to drifting off, she saw La Capitana, dead in the forest, Leo being shot, or James or Guero dying from her dream. A few times, her limbs would jerk, and she’d jump up with a start, convinced just for a few seconds that she was swinging around in one of El Santo’s cells again.

A while later, the sound of quiet footsteps entered the room. She listened, hearing the bed on the other side of the room squeak quietly. Then, she felt the bed she lay on move. Guero. Feeling his hand on her shoulder, she shifted her position closer to the wall.

James wasn’t sure why he felt almost nauseous seeing Guero climb into bed next to Teresa, nor was he sure why his lips twitched upwards slightly when he saw her move away from him, forcing Guero to pull his hand back from her.

I want what’s best for her. That’s not Guero. That’s it.

Guero had asked him in the forest hours ago if he deserved her—and in earnest, he didn’t know the answer. Maybe neither of us do. But I want to protect her and keep her safe.

Rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, he sighed, thankful that sleep found him quickly.

As hours passed by, Teresa grew increasingly unsettled. Guero was sprawled on the bed, the sheets tangled around him the same way they were every night in their old bed in Sinaloa. Except now, it wasn’t funny or cute. This wasn’t home. She wasn’t safe. She had no desire to curl up next to him. And even in the darkness, she felt like the room was closing in on her. 

Deciding that she needed fresh air, she slipped out of the bed, crawling over Guero, who remained asleep. Tiptoeing, she walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her and making her way up onto the deck of the boat.

The night air was cool, a welcome change from the heat that clung to her. She walked to the railings, fingers curling around the metal. After momentarily peering down at the ocean, Teresa screwed her eyes shut. She’d always loved the sea, but right now, looking out at the water paralyzed her with fear. All she could think of was the damn pool. Opening her eyes again, she exhaled slowly, taking a step back and staring instead at the sky. It was a cloudless night, and stars dotted the sky, glittering.

When she heard footsteps minutes later, she expected to see Bilal or someone else who was acting as the ship’s captain while George slept, but when she turned, she saw James.

“Did I wake you up?” she asked quietly.

James shook his head, walking up beside her, footsteps light and cautious. “I was already up.” He leaned against the rails. 

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I slept a little earlier, but I keep hearing things.” He looked over at Teresa as the warm lights from the ship and moonlight washed over her. He wanted to reach for her, but he didn’t move. “How are you feeling?”

Teresa shrugged, averting her gaze for a moment. “Tired, but I can’t sleep. And…” She trailed off, looking up. “Numb, I think.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“We all have,” she said.

James made a small noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head once again. “It takes a while to get over an overdose or a near-drowning, and who the hell knows about the effects of the beetle.” He scowled. “Did you know it was poisonous before you took it?”

“I wasn’t sure, but he told me to have a ‘good death’ right after. I didn’t have time to think about it. I was dizzy, and the next thing I remember was…dreaming, I guess.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, the residual spark of fear when he’d walked into the sanctuary with Guero and had seen her sprawled out on the floor still stinging him. Waiting, watching for some sign of life from Teresa, had felt torturous.

“I’m sorry,” James said finally, “for not doing more. You shouldn’t have had to go with him.”

Nose wrinkling, Teresa said, “You two shouldn’t have argued, but I wasn’t going to let him kill you either.” 

James looked over at her, brows knitted together. “Neither of us deserved that from you.”

She shivered as a breeze caused her hair to tickle her face. Finally, she felt cooler. Calmer. “Maybe. But neither of you deserved to die.”

“And you?” James asked.

“I can take care of myself.”

He laughed humorlessly under his breath. “I know you can, but you don’t have to take risks all the time.”

She stared at the waves lapping at the side of the boat gently before glancing at James. “I know. But he was trying to force me to make a decision on his terms. I knew he trusted me more than he did you two.”

James was quiet for a minute before saying, “Thank you. Just don’t do something like that again.” His gaze softened. “I want you to stay around.”

She gave him a tired smile in return. “Me, too.” Her elbow brushed against his, and after a few minutes, she lightly pushed off the railing, walking to one of the chairs.

James followed, sitting beside her. “When we get back, you should let up on things a little,” he said. “Enough to recover from all this shit.”

Leaning back in the chair, she tilted her head and asked, “And who should I put in a request with for time off?” 

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him, genuine this time. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”

Despite the cool breeze, her skin prickled with heat when she heard James laugh. “Oh,” she said a moment later, reaching into the pocket of her shorts, “I forgot that I still have your watch. I don’t know if it works still.” She examined the scratched, slightly waterlogged watch, tapping it lightly and pressing it against her ear, listening for the rhythmic sound of the watch hand.

James shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I can always get another.”

She shook the watch from side to side, smiling when she heard the quiet, steady tick, tick return. “Here,” she said, leaning towards him and extending the hand.

His hand brushed against hers as he took the watch. “Thanks.”

Seeing James’ gaze linger momentarily on her mark, Teresa looked down at her wrist. She turned it over, still leaning towards James. “La Capitana was trying to read it and figure out if she should’ve killed you or Guero first. She couldn’t tell what it said.”

James squinted, looking at the soulmate mark. Unlink the single letter of his, hers was barely raised, and it was almost as if it was being absorbed into her skin. “Maybe it bought us a little time.”

“I doubt it,” she said with a sigh, peering up again. “I know El Santo said I didn’t have one. And I guess it looks like that in some lighting now.” She drew her knees close to her where she sat. “I’m trying to just…ignore it.”

He hesitated before saying, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m doing the same with mine.”

Whoever has your name on them is lucky to have someone so loyal. She forced the thought away. “You don’t have to stay out here,” she said.

His gaze met hers, and he replied, “I know.”

Teresa looked back at him for a beat longer than necessary before looking up at the stars shining brightly in the dark sky. It’s always hard to see them in Dallas. It was in Sinaloa, too.

“In the forest,” James said, “I’m assuming you saw La Capitana?”

Teresa nodded, absentmindedly tracing the letters on her shorts. “Yes. I shot her. I fell, though. She tried to choke me. I took her knife and…” She grew silent, pressing her lips together. “I’ve never done something like that.”

James listened, studying her expression. Teresa could kill people, he knew, but still, he’d see guilt flicker across her expression from time to time, and it’d always made him pause. Sitting upright a little more, he said, “It happens sometimes. You make a mistake, something small, and when you’re in danger, you go into overdrive to make sure you get out alive.” Seeing the questioning, almost skeptical look in her expression, he added, “I saw it a lot in Afghanistan. Happened to me, too.”

Somehow, Teresa couldn’t imagine James ever being a panicky, young, inexperienced soldier. Still, she knew he hadn’t always been a skilled sniper. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah. When I first deployed, I was nervous as hell. I’d shot people before, but after I’d been there a few months, we were ambushed. I got cornered and just kept shooting. Nearly shot one of my own guys.”

She listened intently. “You’re used to it now, though.”

“I am. When it’s really life or death, you do what you have to do. You don’t think.” James waited for her to look at him before saying, “You shouldn’t feel bad about it. You got out. That’s what matters.”

She sighed, nodding. “I know.”

He smiled faintly. “You’re a good person. That’s why it feels the way it does. As long as you can do it when it counts, that’s okay.”

I don’t feel like a good person. I don’t feel anything. “Thank you.”

They settled into the silence together, and after several minutes, she felt her eyelids begin to grow heavier. Though it was cool outside, the thought of returning to the little bedroom didn’t appeal to her. And she knew why.

James looked up at the sky, stars twinkling like Christmas lights. “Do you—?”

He stopped himself a second later. Teresa blinked open her eyes for a moment, gazing at James through half-lidded eyes before closing them again. He was sure it had more to do with her exhaustion than him, there was something about the half-asleep glance she’d given him that warmed him like sunlight dancing through stained glass. She trusted him, at least a little. And damn if he didn’t want every night to be like this one.

He stood and walked into the bedroom, grabbing one of the blankets from his bed. He returned to the deck and lightly set the blanket over her before sitting down in the same chair he’d been in earlier.

And though he told himself repeatedly that this meant nothing as he fell asleep, it felt like it did.

Chapter Text

The quiet creaking of the boat woke Teresa just before sunrise. The blanket over her was James’, she realized. Seeing that he was still asleep, she hesitated a minute before standing and slipping the blanket over him where he sat on the chair beside her. Rubbing her neck, she walked to the dining room, sitting by a window.

James woke a short while later, surprised to find his blanket covering him. He walked into the bedroom and made his bed quickly, his shoulder stiff.

“You gotta wake up so fucking early?” Guero grumbled from his bed.

“Go back to sleep if you want.”

Reaching across the bed, Guero opened his eyes and frowned when he found the bed empty. “Where’s Teresa?” he asked.

Not looking at Guero, James shrugged. “I don’t know. She wasn’t here when I woke up.” That much was true, at least.

“Hm.” Guero frowned and stood, shuffling out of the room and grabbing his gun on the way out. 

James felt for his own gun out of habit—still at his side—and finished making his bed before walking outside and into the dining room.

“Y’all get your beauty sleep?” George said as he walked in at the same time as James.

Holding a mug of coffee, needing the caffeine to wake up, Teresa shrugged, standing from where she sat. “It was better than where we’ve been for the last few days.”

“Low bar,” Guero said. “Anything’s better than sleeping on concrete.”

Teresa set her mug aside and opened the small fridge. “At least you were on the ground,” she muttered. Seeing the looks Guero and James shot each other and immediately deciding that she wasn’t interested in talking further about El Santo first thing in the morning, she looked at George and asked, “Have you had chilaquiles before?”

George shook his head, grinning. “Nah. You gonna be the ship’s chef?”

“No,” she replied, though she offered him a faint grin, “but I’ll make breakfast. Once.”

Guero’s expression brightened. “Teresa’s the second best at making chilaquiles,” he said, “because she thinks chilaquiles rojos are better than chilaquiles verdes.”

“Because they are,” she insisted. Looking at James, Teresa asked, “Have you had them?”

“I don’t think so,” he said with a shake of his head.

She gestured at a bag of tortilla chips on the table across from her and asked, “Pass me those?”

James handed her the bag, and Guero picked up a jar of salsa.

For the first time since the two had met—at least, as far as Teresa knew—James and Guero didn’t argue or shoot one another suspicious or irritated looks. Instead, they helped her cook.

Listening as Teresa explained how to properly make the recipe, James noticed the warmth in her eyes and the slight lilt in her voice that she sometimes had when she wasn’t overly guarded. This Teresa seemed happier, more at ease than the version of herself she normally presented. 

I wish I could see more of this side of you.

After they’d finished eating and cleaned up, Teresa found herself alone with Guero in the kitchen. 

“Can we talk?” he asked.

Teresa hesitated before nodding in agreement. “Sure.” She knew by his tone and the hopeful look in his eyes what he wanted to discuss, so she led them to their collective room, not wanting to have a conversation somewhere so open. Not that the cramped, quiet room felt particularly safe, either. Then, nowhere had felt safe in a long time.

“I wanna know if we’re okay,” he said before Teresa had even shut the door.

“Okay?” she echoed.

Guero nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” He took her hand.

Teresa resisted the urge to jerk away, allowing him to look at the mark. “It’s not like I can control it,” she said, hating the hint of shame that seeped into her voice.

“I know. I just don’t get why yours is like this when mine’s not.” He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “You think it has something to do with…” 

When Guero trailed off, Teresa raised her brows and crossed her arms. “With you leaving?” 

He nodded, rolling his neck from one side to the other, a nervous habit of his. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen people break up or have their partners die, like Brenda and Chino, and she didn’t lose hers. No one loses theirs.”

Guero nodded slowly. “Yeah. And you’re not…I don’t know, I know you can’t control it, but you’re not trying to make it go away?”

A flash of heat spread across her face. “Of course not,” she snapped, eyes narrowed. 

“Hey, I just had to ask. I’m sorry,” he said hastily. He took a step closer. “Forget about that. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Guero looked at Teresa, her piercing gaze fixed on him. “You think we can have things like we were before?”

Her mouth suddenly felt dry, but her answer was automatic. “No.”

James walked down the hallway, freezing when he heard Guero’s voice in the room, saying, “Then tell me how to fix things.”

I shouldn’t listen. James took a step back, but he couldn’t quite make himself move, either.

“I don’t know how.” Feeling pressure behind her eyes, Teresa swallowed hard. I don’t think you can.

Guero was silent for a few seconds before moving closer and hugging her. She briefly returned the embrace before stepping back, and he looked at her with a frown, lips pursed. “I’ll try, babe. I promise.”

A thousand thoughts swirled in her mind at once. I love you. But I can’t trust you the way I did. “Trying can’t change what happened,” she whispered. The floorboards creaked as she shifted her weight. Overwhelmed and struggling to keep her emotions tamped down, Teresa walked to the doorway and slipped out of the room.

Guero stood in stunned silence as Teresa left, only moving when he saw James enter the room a moment later. His expression hardened, and he glared at James.

Not looking at Guero, James opened his bag and removed the anti-inflammatories he’d been taking for his shoulder. I guess I’d be pretty fucking upset if I were you, too, James thought as he glanced at Guero and swallowed the pills.

Hearing the bottle cap snap shut, Guero looked into the hallway before he eyed James up and down. “Did you say something to her?”

“About?”

“About her being with me.”

James shook his head, setting the pill bottle aside and zipping his bag up. “No.”

Guero’s shoulders fell slightly, and he refused to look directly at James. “Good. Don’t.”

“Didn’t plan on it,” James replied, his tone perfectly level and his expression indifferent. “She wouldn’t take my advice, anyway.”

“You don’t need to be a smug asshole,” Guero said, still scowling.

He looked at Guero. “I’m not. If I wanted to be a real asshole, I’d have killed you before we got on this boat.”

Now, Guero looked at James. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because you didn’t shoot me. And I know she cares about you.” James paused, adding, “We’re even now, though.”

“Yeah, I know she cares about me,” Guero said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence and bravado. “Don’t expect any favors outta me.”

James nodded, walking past him. “Same to you.”

Teresa stood on the deck of the boat, looking at the ocean. The skies were gray, and she imagined what it’d be like to sink into the depths of the sea. Not to drown, just to ignore the rest of the world for a little bit. Because she knew that the moments she had to herself to just exist in the quiet were fleeting. Soon, she’d be back at the safe house, working for Camila.

I wonder if it’ll ever end. For a second, she thought she saw her reflection in the water. Except, it didn’t quite match her; it was a version of herself in white once again. Are you safe? Happy? 

Of course, the vision didn’t reply, and when she blinked, it was gone, only the blue-gray mist in its place.

Chapter Text

Standing in the safe house beside Guero and Teresa, James listened as Camila spoke. They’d only just arrived from Bolivia yesterday with the product, and Camila wasn’t wasting any time putting them to work. They had a metric ton of cocaine to sell, after all.

“James will arrive first on his own to meet with the buyer. You'll follow,” Camila said, looking at Guero and Teresa. 

“I bet we could all show up at once and it’d be fine,” Guero remarked.

Camila raised her eyebrows and said flatly, “Perhaps my husband asked you for his opinion before you stole from him. I did not. You’ll go with Teresa.”

James glanced at Teresa, whose arms were crossed loosely. Dark circles still hung under her eyes, and he could tell that she was jumpier than normal. Not that he could blame her for it.

Really, all of them could’ve used extra rest. James’ shoulder still ached, though the wound was healing well enough. And as much as he disliked Guero, he was certain that he was tired, too.

But that wasn’t the way Camila worked.

Listening silently to Camila as she continued to tell them how everything would work, Teresa tried to ignore the pulsating pain in her temples. She’d hardly slept over the past several days; every time she did, she dreamt that she was in a cell in Bolivia or drowning or being strangled by La Capitana. 

The only reason she had to drive with Guero, she knew, was that Camila didn’t trust Guero to go on his own, even though El Santo, who had technically been his contact, came through.

“...and we’re not risking that. Understood?” Camila said, tone clipped.

Though Teresa hadn’t heard exactly what Camila had said, mind still clouded with fatigue, she had a good enough idea, and she nodded, waiting until they were dismissed before walking to the garage with James and Guero.

“I can drive, babe,” Guero said, swinging the keychain around his fingers. “I’ll just have to slow down so James doesn’t take for-fuckin’-ever to catch up since he has to get there first, apparently.”

She saw James roll his eyes, but she only nodded for Guero to go ahead.

“Stay behind me. Call or text if there’s a problem,” James said, meeting Teresa’s gaze as he opened the door of his car. “We can still get out with the product if there’s trouble.”

“We’ll let you know if anything seems off,” she agreed, climbing into the passenger’s seat. James left in his truck, and as Guero started driving, she watched the safe house disappear from view.

Going for a drive with Guero used to be one of Teresa’s favorite things in the world to do. When he got back from flying someone or something God knew where, they’d go out for dinner and drive for hours, talking about a future where they’d live together on a beach somewhere beautiful without having to worry about anything. The closer they got to home, the more Guero’s hands would be on her rather than on the wheel of the car, and Teresa would only think about him—not the danger that came with him working in a cartel. The rest of the world hadn’t mattered then.

But that version of herself had died the day she’d gotten a phone call saying Guero was dead. And right now, she just wanted to get the job done and go back to the safe house to sleep. Guero, though, seemed to want to act as if nothing had changed between them.

“I think Camila’s pretty damn glad I came back,” Guero said with a grin. “Obviously, she’s happy with you, too, even if she likes to act like a hardass.”

“It’s not an act,” Teresa said, looking out the window. “And just because she’s fine with you now doesn’t mean that won’t change. If you give her a reason to question you, she will. She barely trusts me.”

Guero huffed, touching Teresa’s shoulder. “She definitely trusts you. I mean, look at what we brought back from Bolivia. She might not act like it, but she owes you.”

Teresa shook her head. “She doesn’t think of it that way.”

“I know. But I’m just saying,” he said, glancing at her and squeezing her arm, “that we—especially you—have done plenty for her.”

Teresa resisted the urge to move his arm from her shoulder. “It’s still dangerous to trust anyone too much,” she said quietly.

“I know that, babe.” He changed the radio, finding a station that was playing a once-familiar song, though Teresa couldn’t recall the words anymore. “That includes James?”

She blinked back, mind stalling for a moment. “What?”

“Not trusting anyone here much.”

Teresa wrinkled her nose, glancing at Guero briefly as he pulled his hand away from her before looking away.

She remembered the dream—or vision or hallucination or whatever it’d been—in Bolivia; she’d been told to choose.

It wasn’t real. It didn’t mean anything.

Forcing the thought away, she said, “He’s helped me when it didn’t benefit him.”

“Yeah, but that could’ve been an act,” Guero said with a shake of his head. “You never know.”

Though she felt a spark of anger, Teresa stifled it. Focus on the job.

Guero pursed his lips. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke again. “What d’you wanna do after this?”

After? You know people don’t just leave cartels. Not alive or free, at least. That’s not how things work.

Before she could answer, Guero suddenly swerved and cursed loudly at the car that passed them. “Guero!” she snapped.

“He cut me off!” Guero insisted, flipping the driver off.

Teresa narrowed her eyes. “Do you need me to drive?” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said hastily.

Scowling, she replied, “We’re not supposed to attract attention. I’m driving if you can’t focus.”

“You won’t need to.” He cleared his throat and said, “Anyway, I was asking what you’d wanna do after all this shit if you could. If you’d wanna go, y’know, with me somewhere still.”

You remember what I said on the boat. How many ways do I need to say it? But the look in his eyes was still so damn hopeful, like she hadn’t already admitted that things had changed, like he could charm her into believing him the way she once had. And despite all that had happened, she couldn’t deny that she still cared for him deeply.

But caring for him before had ended with her life being shattered. “What I said the other day, I meant it. I can't pretend like nothing’s happened,” she said, voice quiet. “Things are different now.”

“Well, yeah,” he said dismissively, “but it doesn’t have to stay that way between us. Right?”

Brows knitted together, she was silent for a few moments, trying to untangle the thoughts swirling in her mind. If I love you but can't trust you, what does that leave us with? She didn't have an answer. But she did know that he couldn't change the past. Not the past months, when he'd left her, not the past week, when another woman had claimed to be his previous lover. 

“You can't undo what happened. I still…” Teresa trailed off, unsure how to string together the right words. Her head ached dully.

He huffed, turning down a small dirt road that would eventually lead them to where they were supposed to meet with the buyer. “We can talk about it all later. Now’s not the best time, anyway, after all the shit that went down.”

I’m not going to change my mind later. Still, she nodded. Guero wasn’t the best at dealing with rejection, and now was no different. “That’s fine,” she agreed.

“I’d still think about it, though. Getting out.”

Y ou think you can get me out when you’re the one who got me into this? You’re stuck here, too, now. She could feel anger that she’d felt in Bolivia beginning to bubble up in her again. “If it were that easy, neither of us would be here right now,” she said flatly. 

He cringed and changed the radio station again, turning up the volume instead of responding directly to her words.

She looked out the window as Guero began to speak again, though this time, he was talking about their time in Sinaloa, reminiscing about their favorite restaurants and bars. Mostly, he was trying to fill the silence, a nervous habit of his. She didn’t stop him.

“You ever wanna go back?”

Teresa considered the question. Sinaloa had always been home to her. It’d made her who she was. So much of the place was painful, though. A church would remind her of her parents being killed, a house of her distant relatives who made her leave their home at fifteen, a street where she’d nearly been killed as a money changer. And that had all been before Guero had left, before Brenda had died. She wasn’t sure that Sinaloa could ever feel the same now.

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “We’re here now.”

When they pulled up at the meet point, James was already there, walking to Veloso, their buyer, and his men, who stood by their vehicles. Teresa got out of the car, and Guero trailed close behind her.

James looked over at them, giving a slight nod in acknowledgment. “We were discussing the increase in product availability,” he said.

Veloso, a hardened man in his fifties with sun-weathered skin filled with faded tattoos, stared at the trio. Glancing at James and tilting his head toward Guero and Teresa, he asked, “This your backup?”

“We’re here to facilitate a deal,” Teresa answered smoothly. “We just returned from Bolivia with the product, and we can guarantee the quality ourselves. With your margins now…”

James watched as Teresa spoke to Veloso, seeing the way she subtly positioned their product as a solution to his problem. She was good at this, negotiating, making deals. James interjected only occasionally, along with Guero, to his annoyance. Still, Guero seemed at least a little more subdued than normal, though whether it was from their recent trip or due to a conversation he hadn’t been privy to, he wasn’t sure. Doesn’t matter as long as he’s quiet.

After half an hour standing under the blazing sun and dust-covered earth, they’d come to an agreement.

Teresa quickly counted the cash and lightly tapped her fingers three times on top of the bills as she stacked them neatly, a silent go-ahead signal she and James had come up with on a previous job to indicate that everything was okay. James walked toward their cars to retrieve the packages of cocaine, nodding for Guero to follow him.

“I knew this would be easy,” Guero muttered as he lifted a package from the trunk. “We deserve that after all the shit—”

“We’re not done yet,” James interjected in a low tone.

“Didn’t realize you were superstitious.”

James only shook his head in response, concentrating on the task at hand rather than the thought that he’d momentarily been tempted to voice—y ou don’t let your guard down too soon. You should know what happens when you do.

They continued loading the product into Veloso’s vehicles until everything had been transferred. They all shook hands, Veloso telling James that he’d talk to him soon.

As they walked to the car, James sent a brief text to Camila, and he received a quick response. “She wants us to meet her at the bar.”

Teresa took the keys from Guero, getting into the driver’s seat. James watched as Guero slid into the car beside her, talking about God knew what. He climbed into his car, and as Teresa turned her head back to glance at traffic, through her mirror, her gaze caught his. The shared glance lasted a beat longer than necessary before she looked away and pulled onto the main road.

When they got to the bar, they moved to the back where Camila sat. She looked at them expectantly. James and Teresa gave a brief report, with Guero interjecting occasionally. 

“Veloso agreed to the updated delivery schedule,” Teresa said. “Same route as usual to start, but he’s interested in expanding Arlington and Denton with the increase in product. If he does, we’d need to change the routes to be more efficient.”

Camila nodded, replying, “I’m meeting with Veloso’s associates tomorrow. James, Guero, you’ll go make a pickup in Denton. Teresa, I need you to talk to Juarez. Show him how to spot fake bills.”

James noticed the guarded expression Teresa wore, the way she frowned slightly at the mention of Juarez. Juarez was usually more of an enforcer than an operator, strong but not the most observant. Even though he collected cash sometimes, the idea of having to teach him how to differentiate between legitimate and fake currency didn’t seem like a fun task. Then again, spending the day with Guero was hardly James’ idea of enjoyable.

“We still have a lot of product to move,” Camila said, voice low as she stood. “Teresa, come with me. El Santo is contacting us, and he requested your presence on the call." It was evident by her tone that Camila wasn’t appreciative of El Santo’s request, but they weren’t in a position to oppose whatever he required.

James watched Camila walk ahead briskly, and Teresa looked briefly toward Guero and James, giving them a slight nod in parting.

“Guess we’ll be partners for a little bit,” Guero said dryly.

James lit a cigarette, glancing at his phone and responding to a few texts. “For now.”

“Hey, I get shit done, and Camila obviously likes that,” Guero said, waving over a waiter and asking for a drink.

James didn’t respond. They would be civil because they had to be, but that didn’t mean they had to be friends.

Guero took the bottle of beer from the waitress with a smile and took a swig of his drink. Eyeing James, who was still answering a text, he said, “You ever loosen up?”

“That’s not what we’re here to do,” James said, exhaling.

Guero raised his brows and grinned, saying, “It’s a fuckin’ bar. Camila’s gone, and after she talks to Teresa, she’s gonna go bitch at Epi about DEA shit. Same as always.”

Staring back, he said, “Do what you want. Just remember your role here.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“Doing what you’re told and not getting anyone killed.”

Laughing, Guero bumped his shoulder against James’, a bit too hard to be just a friendly gesture. “Just because I’m not Camila’s lapdog doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m gonna enjoy the night off. You have fun doing whatever the hell it is you do.”

Guero’s bravado caused James to reflexively tense, and a barely audible crack met his ears as his arm knocked against the edge of the nearest booth. He looked down briefly, lips twitching slightly in disdain. Instead of saying anything to Guero, James flicked his cigarette into a nearby ashtray and made his way out of the bar.

At the safe house, he found Teresa and Pote in the kitchen.

Teresa glanced at James, seeing the way his jaw ticked as he removed his watch. The light glinting from the overhead chandelier caught on the shattered watch face.

“You talk to El Santo?” James asked.

She sighed, absentmindedly cleaning a bowl in the sink. “For about two minutes. He doesn’t operate like other people Camila works with, and she doesn’t like the lack of control.”

“She doesn’t like that he wants to go through you,” Pote remarked.

“El Santo doesn’t work like the other suppliers. She knew that going in,” James said, pocketing his watch.

Teresa dried off the bowl she’d cleaned and wiped off her hands. “Food’s in the fridge if you want any,” she told James as she padded toward her room.

“Good luck with Juarez tomorrow,” James said. For a moment, he thought about reaching out to her, but he curled his fingers at his side instead, acutely aware of Pote’s presence.

She snorted softly, gaze softening slightly. “Good luck with Guero.”

James gave a quiet huff in response. “Thanks.”

***

A few days later, James entered the safe house alongside Guero. Drenched from the rain that had soaked them after they’d chased after a contact who had refused to answer their calls and pay what was owed. They’d tracked him down, and though they’d gotten things sorted out eventually, they’d returned to their car to find the tires slashed. It had been a long walk to the nearest bus stop.

Setting his coat aside and taking off his shoes, James walked straight to his room, water clinging to his hair and dripping to the floor, leaving a trail behind him.

As soon as he got into his room, he stripped off his clothes, taking his gun and setting it on his dresser. Changing into clean clothes, he noticed that his pillow had been moved slightly from where he’d placed it. Eyes narrowing, he reached for his sidearm, looking around the room. It seemed like nothing else had been touched. He checked the window and his closet. Nothing.

Camila doesn’t normally come into our rooms, and she’s out of the house. Guero’s been with me, and Pote and Teresa would’ve let me know if they needed something.

Cautiously, James nudged the pillow back. Whatever he’d expected to see, it wasn’t a small black box. Brows furrowing, James set his gun aside. He opened the box, still careful, and inside, he found a watch. It was similar to his previous watch—sturdy, not too flashy but nice enough to wear to the black-tie events they went to on occasion.

As he removed the watch from the box, a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He leaned down and picked up the scrap.

James immediately recognized the handwriting as Teresa’s. The note read, “To replace the old one.” 

He blinked back in surprise, warmth swept over him unbidden. Hearing the familiar sound of her down the hall, James turned to the door. By the time he’d opened it, Teresa’s door was just shutting.

The next morning, James got ready for the day, carefully placing the new watch on his wrist. It covered the mark on his wrist if he positioned it accordingly, and it was comfortable. Then, even if it wasn’t, he was sure he’d have worn it.

That afternoon, he arrived at a new warehouse and was met with the sight of Teresa and Pote prepping the space for a large shipment. James didn’t say anything, didn’t want to in front of Pote.

But Teresa noticed the way he nudged open the door for her as they brought equipment inside, the way he wordlessly tossed her a water bottle before grabbing one of his own. She noticed, too, that for the first time since the watch had broken, he wasn’t wearing long sleeves in the Texas heat to hide the mark.

And to her, that was enough.

Chapter Text

“You have a call from an inmate at—”

“Shit,” James muttered under his breath, stepping out of his car and waiting for the message to finish before he was able to answer Camila on the other line. 

He knew what the call meant—Camila knew something, likely about Teresa. “Hello?”

“We’ve located Teresa.” Camila paused before saying a moment later, “Alive.”

He drew in a slow, controlled breath, willing his quickening pulse to slow, grateful Camila couldn’t see the relief that flitted across his face. James locked the car door behind him as he walked toward the safe house. “Where?”

“A cabin,” Camila remarked, “with the lawyer’s wife and her godson. They won’t be a problem. Pote, if he’s there, will be.”

James frowned, entering the keycode into the house. She didn’t mention Guero. I’m sure he’s around, though. A bitter taste filled his mouth at the thought of Guero trailing after Teresa. “Let me go to the cabin then,” he offered. “I know how Pote operates, and Teresa—”

“No,” Camila interjected, voice sharp. “You had your opportunity to kill her before, James.”

He gave a slow nod, knowing that snapping or being too defensive wouldn’t help. Instead, he kept his voice even as he answered, “I know that. But she wasn’t alone.”

“She’s not alone now, either. That shouldn’t matter, though. Or are you telling me you suddenly forgot how to shoot?” Camila challenged him, and he could hear the edge in her voice, daring him to lie to her. “You expect me to believe you couldn’t kill that girl if you wanted?”

James stayed silent, knowing there was no justification he could provide. The truth was that he hadn’t wanted to hurt Teresa. 

She’d raised her own gun at him, too, expression guarded. If they’d both taken a step forward, they’d have been close enough to touch each other. Despite the tension that had practically rippled off her in waves, he’d known she hadn’t wanted to hurt him. He’d seen it in the way her hand had trembled slightly. Though they hadn’t spoken, in that moment, he felt like she was questioning him somehow, silently saying, “Come with me.”

Firing the weapon—not at her, well above her head—had been his reply of “I can’t.”

Nothing he could say now could dispute what his actions had already shown, though. He’d done what Camila had asked, at least in part, preventing her from stealing the coke, but he wasn’t going to kill Teresa.

When he didn’t respond, Camila said, “I have people taking care of it.”

He stiffened, grip tightening around the phone. “Now?”

“Yes. Since it’s not your concern anymore, you need to deal with the shipment in Lochwood and call Andres to confirm the route we’re taking for next week’s shipments.”

“Right.”

“James?”

He clenched his jaw as he stepped into the safe house, knowing that he wasn’t going to get away without being chastised one more time. “Yes?” he answered.

“You’ve always been my best because you don’t let emotions cloud your judgment. Don’t start now.”

Alone in his room minutes later, he removed his gun from a drawer and holstered it, preparing to drive to Lochwood as Camila had told him. When he looked up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and he quickly looked away, a rush of shame flaring through him.

He’d told her not to leave, that he could protect her if she stayed. But she hadn’t stayed. 

Really, he couldn’t blame her. After all, Camila had been willing to take Teresa down, to blame her for something she had no part in. Teresa had never asked to be a part of this world; trust didn’t come easily to her as it was, and this was how Camila repaid the unearned loyalty Teresa had offered her. 

What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t go with her.

He kept remembering the way she’d looked at him in his car, sitting in the passenger seat, rain-soaked and so certain of herself, so damn confident that it’d shaken something in him. 

“You know Camila's not just gonna let you walk away,” he’d said, searching her gaze, hoping to see some hint of hesitation. 

Teresa hadn’t wavered. “There's another set of documents like this with her name on them. If she comes after me, they'll go straight to the DEA. Tell her that.”

“Wait, look,” he’d interjected when Teresa glanced out the window as if she were about to leave, “we both know Camila has made some mistakes. But if you come back with me, I can fix this. I'll protect you. She doesn't even have to know.”

Her face had screwed up, and she’d shaken her head. “No, James. She’s going to know. She needs to.”

He’d lowered his voice, saying, “You know what she’ll do to you.”

“So I just stay and wait until she does something else that ends up killing me?” Teresa had demanded. “Because she will. She doesn’t care what I’ve done for her. She doesn’t care what you’ve done for her.”

James had given a frustrated laugh under his breath. “I don’t need her to care, Teresa; neither do you. But you don’t want to be her enemy. You still have a chance to avoid that.”

She’d looked out the window again, shivering. The car waiting nearby hadn’t moved, but the person in the passenger seat was still looking over at them, though James couldn’t make out their face.

“I’m not letting anything or anyone else control my life anymore," she'd said resolutely. "Not Camila, not Guero, not a mark.”

“I get that, Teresa. But that doesn’t mean running will be safe.”

“Nothing about this is safe,” she’d replied, gesturing vaguely between them. "This isn't just about safety."

He’d opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself. She was right. 

Teresa had studied him carefully, tilting her head slightly to get a better look at him. Droplets of water dripped from her hair and onto the car’s upholstery. “You think things have to be this way. They don’t,” she’d said softly.

James had seen the way her eyes had glistened with a tinge of something dangerous—hope. He’d sighed heavily, feeling as if he were trying to grasp onto grains of sand that were slipping through his fingers. “I know you don’t like it. I don’t, either,” he’d admitted, voice low. “That’s how things work in this world, though. I told you that from the beginning.”

Wrinkling her nose, she glanced around—making sure no one else was coming—before looking at James. She’d no longer looked hopeful; she’d looked resigned. Quietly, she’d said, “Just promise me, if she sends someone after me, promise it won't be you.”

He’d stared at her with furrowed brows, wanting to take hold of her, to somehow make her understand that he wanted to help her. He wanted to tell her she was making a mistake, but for some reason, he couldn’t. Instead, he’d only been able to say, “Teresa.”

“Promise,” she’d whispered.

James had hesitated before reaching out and gently squeezing her arm, a silent gesture that he hoped communicated all the things he couldn’t say. Teresa had looked down at his wrist and at the watch she’d given him. She’d squeezed his hand gently.

“Take care of yourself. Really,” she’d said.

And then, she’d left.

Where will she go after the cabin? Assuming she makes it out. He knew that she’d meant it when she’d said that she wanted to do things differently. And God knew that she’d try. She’d proven that already, trying to steal what she’d thought was cocaine.

It’d been a good attempt. He’d still hoped that Teresa might change her mind, might still let him help her. But she hadn’t. She’d run.

I should’ve told her that it wasn’t just about the job, or Camila, or anything else.

Her absence stung far more than he expected, and he couldn’t help but hear a whisper of guilt in his mind when he thought about her getting hurt because of something he’d done.

She’s smart. She’ll be okay.

Still, the guilt didn’t fade.

Camila, back at the safe house and out of prison, at least for now, called James into her office the next day. She wasn’t happy. Evidently, Teresa had made it out of the cabin. Alive.

A dizzying wave of relief washed over him. Where will she go? If she has that many people with her, it’ll be hard, but—

“There’s been no further signal from her godson’s toy?” Camilla pressed, snapping James out of his thoughts.

Clearing his throat, James shook his head, trying to ignore the heaviness of remorse that clung to him. “No. Nothing after the initial signal.” He lightly tapped his fingers against the table he leaned against. “Did they give you details about what happened?”

“Apparently, you’re not the only one who struggles to kill an inexperienced girl,” she remarked, voice laced with aggravation.

James simply said, “She’s good at making getaways.”

“Getaways?” Camila leaned forward in her chair, staring at him from the other side of the table. The air in the room suddenly felt thick. “You know why I didn’t send you, James?”

He knew why she was bringing it up—to point out yet again what he hadn’t been able to do. “It was your decision. I respect that.”

“That wasn’t what I asked. You haven’t been letting that,” she said with a nod at James’ wrist, “distract you, have you?”

A prickling heat washed over him, and he was grateful that his mark was covered by the watch Teresa had given him. “No. Of course not.”

She arched a brow. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” he said firmly, his gaze unwavering. 

Camila stared him down before replying, “Don’t let it start. You saw where focusing on matters of the heart got Epifano.”

You’re making him out to be a martyr and Teresa a cold-blooded killer who broke up the perfect couple. 

But Teresa was the only one who was real.

Her voice sharpened slightly as she said, “Marks are nothing but trouble, James, and getting one now won’t make your life any better.”

“It’s not an issue,” he said dismissively.

She stood, her heels clicking against the floor, signaling that their conversation was over. “If you get a signal, let me know. She’ll try to escape until she can’t. I knew she was a runner as soon as she tried to leave the warehouse when she first arrived.” 

James’ stomach twisted. The first time he’d seen Teresa out of the corner of his eye, someone had been carrying her into the warehouse after she’d tried to escape. He hadn’t thought much of it then. Now, the image that flitted across his mind filled him with regret.

He stood alongside Camila, following her out of the room. Without consciously making the decision, he knew that he was going to leave. If Camila knew that he was leaving to track down Teresa, though, it wouldn’t work. He’d need an out—a legitimate one. The timing has to be right. Devon Finch is still in the game. Maybe—

“James,” snapped Camila, waiting until his gaze finally met hers. “If they can’t handle it, you’ll need to deal with her. Soon. And this time, you’ll do it the right way.”

James gave a quick nod. “I will.”

Alone later that evening, he made a call. Dealing with Devon was hardly ideal, but it’d give him a reason to leave Camila’s organization without Camila tracking him down. Devon was power-hungry, but he was strategic enough to know that having James on his side was a good thing. 

I can look for Teresa after doing a few jobs for Devon. She’ll take care of herself in the meantime. He paused as he walked down the hallway, peering into the room that had been hers. He stepped inside; the room still smelled a bit like her somehow. If Camila asked, he’d say he was making sure she’d left nothing that could help them behind, though he knew the room had been searched by now.

Would she want my help anyway? Would she want to be found? He wasn’t sure. But knowing Teresa, she was going to fight like hell to create something of her own and keep the people she cared about safe. And maybe, if he was lucky, he could be one of those people again.

Chapter Text

Walking through the streets of Malta, Teresa looked around. Pote was at the apartment they were renting for a few days. It was just the two of them now.

As much as she’d wanted Guero to come with her, he hadn’t. It shouldn’t have surprised her, really, but it’d still stung. 

Maybe he’s somewhere in Spain, drinking sangria with someone else. Even though the thought made her heart sink, she wanted him to be okay.

After thanking an elderly woman who’d insisted she take a tarot card, Teresa walked into a cafe and set the card on a table, looking at it. La Ermitana.

Eyeing the card, she sat down. Her gaze moved to her wrist. All traces of Guero’s name were gone. 

Maybe I am meant to be alone. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing.

A waiter set a glass of water on her table, and she looked up, offering him a brief smile and nod of thanks. As he walked away, a man wearing a leather jacket caught her eye from across the cafe, and she felt her pulse quicken, a rush of hope flickering throughout her before disappearing as reality settled in.

Couldn’t be him.

She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back in the chair. Teresa had spent most of her life alone, so this shouldn’t have felt different. She was grateful to have Pote with her now. He could’ve easily stayed behind. And despite how difficult it’d been, she was moving product and making more money than she’d ever made before.

A strange hollowness still filled her, though. 

I’m just worried about Camila. That’s it.

When she’d first arrived at Malta, the swirl of emotions she’d felt had nearly overwhelmed her. Mostly, she’d been so damn angry. Angry that Camila had found it so easy to discard her, that she’d been forced to flee from a place where she’d just gotten her bearings. Angry that Tony had been involved and put at risk. Angry that she’d been dragged into this world by Guero to begin with and that he hadn’t had the decency to follow her as he’d promised. Angry that James, who she knew could be better, could be good , hadn’t helped her.

Now, though the anger was still there, it wasn’t the deafening roar it first had been. It was quieter, like the distant sound of ocean waves that she could seemingly hear all around Malta, no matter where she went. Still there, but far enough away that it became background noise.

And it was better this way. Because letting emotions take over was dangerous. Teresa knew that she could drown herself in her feelings if she let herself, but she was going to hold onto the control she had. She was going to build something that was hers.

As Teresa picked up the glass of water to take a sip, a motorcycle pulled up to the cafe, tossing something inside before speeding off.

She couldn’t explain it, but with startling clarity, she knew that she was in danger. Dropping the glass, Teresa darted for the exit, yelling for everyone to get down. Seconds later, she felt a wave of heat at her back, and an explosion rocked the ground around her, knocking her over. Ears ringing, she blinked rapidly to clear her vision before pushing herself upright, wiping her bloody palms on her pants and rushing to the street, only to be forced to stop when a car careened towards her, turning seconds before hitting her. Dazed, she could only stare at the driver.

"Get in!" James yelled, shoving open the passenger door.

For a second, Teresa only stood, peering at him with wide eyes.

“Teresa, get in!” he repeated as gunshots began to ring out.

This time, she listened, jumping into the passenger seat and slamming the door shut.

Why are you here? Teresa ducked her head, taking the gun James handed to her as he continued to weave through the streets, crashing into food carts and slamming into cars.

The back window exploded into shards of glass as a bullet tore through the headrest where her head had been seconds ago.

You wouldn't be running if you worked for them, would you? Teresa gritted her teeth, waiting until there was a pause in the gunfire before firing several shots out the window toward the men zipping towards them on motorcycles. 

But you put a tracker in Tony’s game. That almost got us killed.

“Teresa, get down!” he yelled over the gunfire.

Pressing herself as low as possible, she barely had time to brace herself on the dashboard as James took a sharp turn, the front bumper clipping another car.

I can’t trust you. Not yet.

Hours later, after seeing James jump through a window to take down a man who was ready to kill her and sitting with him in the back of a police car, Teresa had made her decision; James could stay.

As they finally made their way into the apartment, James followed Teresa after hearing someone groaning from the bathroom. He grabbed his gun, but he stilled seconds later when he caught sight of Pote.

Kneeling beside the bloodied sicario, Teresa looked at him over hastily, seeing him protectively hold his hand—the one he used to shoot. Her throat burned, and she gently held his hand, tears welling up in her eyes. This is my fault. She bit her tongue hard, steadying herself. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

Slowly, she helped him upright, encouraging him to lean on her and leading him to the room he’d been staying in. Looking at James, she said, “Can you get the med kit and a damp towel?”

James nodded, heading to the bathroom and returning a minute later. He noticed Pote staring at him with narrowed eyes, suspicious.

“I’ve got this,” Teresa said, helping Pote onto the bed and taking the kit from James, who took the hint and ducked out of the room.

She sat beside Pote, taking the towel and starting to carefully wipe away the blood from his face. “I’m sorry, Pote,” she said, voice low. “I should’ve been here.”

“It’s not your fault,” he managed to force out.

I should’ve known and warned you sooner. Teresa pressed the cloth lightly against his temple, moving her hand a second later and making sure the wound wasn’t still bleeding. “I have something for the pain, okay? I’ll give it to you once we’re sure you don’t need to go to the hospital.” 

At the mention of a hospital, Pote gave a quick jerk of his head.

“I know you don’t want to go. But I want to make sure you’re okay.” Teresa moved to the other side of his face and cleaned it as well.

After she glanced at his injured hand, she asked, “Can I see it?” Seeing his hesitation, she added, “I’ll be quick. I promise.” She put his uninjured hand in hers. “Squeeze my hand, okay?” Then, she started to remove the blood and grime from his wounded hand, biting her tongue when he grasped her hand so hard that her skin turned bright pink. She clutched his hand in turn, disinfecting any open cuts before grabbing gauze and wrapping it around the injury.

“I’ll be back in a second. I’m just getting the medicine.” Teresa waited until he nodded before briskly walking out of his room. She bypassed James and filled up a small bag with ice from the freezer. Then, she went to her bedroom, removing two pills from an orange bottle.

Standing in the kitchen, James listened to the quiet noises that came from the bedroom. Though he couldn’t hear what Teresa was saying, he could hear the soft, soothing tone of her voice and occasional whimpers from Pote.

Camila’s not going to stop coming for her, he thought as he pulled a towel from a cabinet and soaked it in water. He walked to the restroom and set the towel on the floor, scrubbing at the stained tile. And if they did this to Pote, they’d do it to her, too.

The thought sent a stab of fear and anger through him, and he forced it away when he heard the bedroom door shut quietly, followed by Teresa’s footsteps. Seeing Teresa in the doorway, he asked, “How is he?”

“He’s resting now,” she said. “I can’t tell if his hand’s broken. There’s ice on it now, but…” Teresa trailed off, moving toward the door that led outside, nodding for him to follow her. 

They walked onto the rooftop balcony. The city spanned around and beneath them, tan buildings and blue ocean water.

Sighing, Teresa crossed her arms, looking around and shaking her head. “They tortured him like an animal, but he didn’t give me up. I feel like I should’ve been here.”

James listened in silence. “You and I both know he wouldn’t have wanted you to be here,” he said. “And he knows you’d do the same for him.” 

“I’m not that strong.”

“Yeah, you are,” James replied, glancing down at the city before looking at her. “Men like Pote follow strength. You’re as strong as they come.”

Face reddening, Teresa pressed her lips together. “Why did you come back? Really?”

James hesitated. I don’t want you to think less of me for what I did. And you will. You should. Clearing his throat, he decided that telling Teresa the truth didn’t have to mean telling her everything.

She listened as James started to explain how he’d worked for Devon. It’d worked well, he said, until they had issues with their supply, and it’d led him to standing in a house, staring down a little girl while her father lay on the ground, injured.

“When I looked into that little girl’s eyes…” He trailed off, frowning. Teresa’s gaze was piercing, and he couldn’t make himself look at her for a moment. “You always said there was a different way. I never believed you. But now…I wanna do things differently. So I’m asking you—please, let me in.”

Teresa studied James. She knew where the soft, pleading undertone in his voice came from, especially after she’d worked for Camila. They’d both seen more than their fair share of bloodshed and cruelty. I said last night that I didn’t really know you. Is this you showing me?

“If we do this, it’s not a partnership; you work for me,” she said, wanting him to understand that this business was hers, that she didn’t want someone to push her around or make demands.

He smiled, nodding. “You won’t regret this.”

She couldn’t help but smile in return. “You might.”

He snorted softly, shaking his head. He lit a cigarette and waited a few minutes before following her inside.

They both began cleaning the bathroom, kneeling beside each other.

After several minutes of amicable silence, she said, “I’m calling a doctor after we clean this. We need to know if Pote needs surgery.”

James paused. “Is it a doctor you can trust?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve paid him to be on standby.”

“If he needs surgery, it’ll take time to recover,” he remarked. “Time we don’t have.”

Teresa watched as the crimson slowly lifted from the floor, tinting the cloth. “He won’t want it.”

“He may not have a choice.” Scrubbing the tiles next to her, James asked, “What’s your plan after this?”

She chewed the inside of her lip. “I want to go back to the U.S. Not Dallas, but there are other markets. Phoenix, maybe.”

“If that’s where you wanna go,” he said, “then I’ll be with you.”

Teresa paused for a moment and looked over at him. “I can’t promise that there won’t be more of this.”

James tilted his head toward her, brows creasing slightly. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I know you do. I just want to make sure you’re willing to do it all with me.”

He didn’t quite smile, but his lips did curve upwards slightly. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, Teresa.”

Teresa returned the same half-smile before continuing to clean the porcelain, saying quietly, “Then I think we’ll be okay.”

Chapter Text

Several days later, Teresa and James were walking through the sun-baked streets that were growing cool as twilight descended. Pote was recovering—he’d refused surgery despite the doctor saying it might be helpful—and now, Teresa was in the process of buying a location in Phoenix that would be turned into a winery.

“If we do things right,” she said, walking next to James, “in around three months, we’ll be making around twenty-five million.”

James raised his brows, glancing at Teresa. There were marks on her face that were still healing from the other day, when she’d managed to free a group of girls who were being used the same way she’d been when she’d first been taken to the warehouse in Dallas. Drug mules. He hadn’t wanted her to help them; she’d done it anyway, and he admired her for it even though it’d scared the hell out of him. 

“That much?” he asked, tilting his head.

She nodded, a hint of pride in her voice as she answered, “Yes.”

“That’d be pretty damn impressive.”

“It’d be a good start.”

Movement out of the corner of his eye made James pause. A woman wearing a hat was staring at them a little too long. The warmth of their conversation disappeared instantly, replaced by concern, and James took hold of her hand, pulling her close. “Keep your head down.”

Teresa didn’t look back, ducking her head. They quickened their pace, weaving past small groups of people. Up ahead, a band played in the streets, and a crowd had formed. 

We’d get her attention if we run, she thought, tugging James alongside her and stopping in the midst of the sea of dancing and laughing people.

Swaying to the music, Teresa tied her hair up into a loose bun and took off her jacket, putting it around her waist in case the woman had already seen her and was looking for her based on her outfit. As a slower song began to play and couples began to dance together, she took James’ sunglasses from the top of his head, then wrapped her arms loosely around his neck.

Shifting his position so he could keep an eye on the woman who was circling the area with narrowed eyes, James rested his hands lightly around Teresa’s waist, one hand close enough to grab her gun.

Dipping her head, Teresa resisted the urge to search for the woman in the crowd. Is she the same person I saw the other day? She wasn't sure. “James,” she said, keeping her voice low, “we have to get to the apartment.”

His nose wrinkled slightly, and he gave a small shake of his head. “That’s the first place they’ll look.”

She glanced up at him. “I can’t let them get to Pote again.”

Though her eyes were hidden behind his glasses, James could still feel the intensity of her gaze. “Once she’s gone, we’ll find somewhere else to stay and get Pote out. But we can’t rush out of here.”

“Okay,” she agreed, moving closer to James as people pressed against them. She leaned her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating steadily. Hearing the rhythmic noise, she willed herself to relax. We have to blend in. We couldn’t do that in Bolivia, and it almost got us killed.

Slowly, they made their way to the edge of the crowd. 

James looked at a nearby alleyway. The woman was on the other side of the throng of people. Leaning down to make sure she could hear him, he said, “We should be able to get out that way.”

Teresa nodded, inching past others. She took James’ glasses and slipped them into his jacket pocket, wanting to ensure she could see well in the darkened alley. 

Finally, they managed to slip away, and James moved his hands from her waist, and Teresa withdrew her hands from his neck. There were a few people smoking and a handful of couples making out nearby. James looked each person up and down as best he could, surprised when Teresa’s hand found his. Still, he didn’t pull away.

She hadn’t thought much about reaching for him, wanting to stay close. Teresa looked up at a circular mirror at the end of the small street that showed traffic around the corner, listening to the sounds of their shoes against the cobblestone.

James was walking faster when Teresa abruptly stopped beside him. Seeing her stare ahead, he glanced in the same direction. Though he couldn’t make out the details well enough, in the small mirror, he saw what looked like the woman approaching.

Teresa glanced at him, knowing he was thinking the same thing she was— she’ll start shooting if we run. They’d lead a sicario straight into the busy streets, and she wouldn’t care if she shot innocent people if she was pursuing them. 

Making a split-second decision, James pulled her close, then pressed her against a brick wall to his left, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her.

Teresa tensed, stunned, before softening against him. She tugged lightly at the collar of his shirt, opening her eyes briefly. She didn’t see the woman, though she saw a glimpse of a mark on James’ wrist before closing her eyes again.

James withdrew only to draw in a few breaths and glance around, head downturned. The woman they’d seen was approaching them. He slid his hand down to Teresa's hips, close to his own weapon, while Teresa moved one hand behind her back.

When the woman walked by, brushing past them, Teresa slowly brought her hand away from her gun. The stone she leaned against scratched her skin, and she closed her eyes, kissing him deeply.

Feeling her fingers ghost against his collarbone, his cheek, his hair, heat snaked its way down James’ body. He ached to touch every inch of her flushed skin. Focus, he told himself.

Breathless, Teresa turned her head, body buzzing with electricity. “She’s gone,” she whispered, dropping her arms at her sides.

Clearing his throat, James gave a quick nod, turning to the main road with Teresa at his side.

They made their way back to the apartment in near silence, only peppering the quiet with questions or comments about logistics and where to go next. 

After clearing the apartment, finding another one to rent temporarily, and helping Pote to the new place, the three of them sat at the small kitchen table, eating the food they’d ordered from a nearby restaurant.

“We’ll need to leave soon,” Teresa said, setting her glass of water down. “The woman we were with earlier, Kelly Anne, is going to help us in Phoenix.”

James frowned, leaning back in the chair he sat in across from Teresa. Beside him, Pote scowled as he struggled to properly grip his spoon, pausing before setting it aside and tearing off a piece of the large loaf of bread and dunking it into his bowl.

“You’re sure we can trust her?” James asked.

Teresa nodded, not looking at Pote; she knew the reason he’d stopped for a second when she’d spoken hadn’t been because of his hand. She’d seen the name Kelly on his wrist a time or two before, though she’d gotten a better look at it after tending to his injuries. She hadn’t asked about it, and she also hadn’t seen the mark on Kelly Anne’s wrist. Her husband had made her tattoo over it since the name wasn’t his. 

“He thinks—thought—he owned me,” Kelly Anne had said, mascara running down her face in the cabin as she’d sat on a chair, wrapped in a towel. “It’s stupid, too, because he said he didn’t believe in them, and the letters still come through the tattoo eventually. Not like I really believe in them, either. But I was dumb enough to agree to the tattoo, y’know?”

Teresa had carefully handed her another towel, grateful that the other woman hadn’t accidentally drowned herself in the bathtub that had overflowed. Quietly, Teresa had replied, “You were doing what you had to to survive.” 

Teresa wasn’t sure what name peeked through Kelly Anne’s tattoo. As for Pote’s mark, she supposed that there were plenty of people with the name Kelly. Pote hardly seemed the type to care about such things. Still, Teresa knew better than to bring it up.

“We can trust her at least as much as we can you,” Pote grunted.

Ignoring the comment, James said, “I just want to make sure we know who we’re dealing with. Especially since Camila’s likely to show up again once we’re in the States.”

“Kelly Anne helped me before,” Teresa replied. “When we were leaving after she killed her husband, an officer pulled us over. He would have arrested me if I had been by myself, but she thought up an excuse that he believed.”

“I’m sure she was trying to protect herself, too,” James pointed out. “Camila would’ve killed her without your help.”

She stood and brought her dishes to the sink. “I’ve talked to her a few times since I’ve been here, and she’s helped us with some of the accounts,” she said, washing the bowl in sudsy water. “I have a few other connections I’ve made who are willing to meet.”

James joined her. “Good. We’ll need any connects we can get.”

Finishing his meal, Pote hauled himself upright with a grimace. Teresa turned, taking the plates from him before he could insist that she not bother with them. James knew it was something Pote wouldn’t let anyone other than Teresa get away with.

“And we shouldn’t expect Guero to show up?” Pote asked, skepticism leaking into his tone.

She hesitated before setting Pote’s dishes on top of James’. “No,” she said quietly, “I don’t think so.”

Taking the plate she’d just finished cleaning, James began to dry it. He’s good at disappearing when it’s convenient. Deciding to change the subject, he asked, “Have you looked at flights yet?”

“Yeah.” She glanced at Pote, who leaned heavily against one of the kitchen walls. She knew not to ask him, especially in front of James, if he’d be feeling well enough by then, so instead, she said, “We should be ready in three or four days.”

Pote nodded, saying, “I’m ready when you are, Teresa.” 

Teresa offered him a small smile. “Good.” She glanced at James, raising her brows. “You?”

He met her gaze. “I’m ready.”

After they’d cleaned the dishes and made sure the apartment was secure, Pote went to his room to sleep. While James finished his drink, she sat down at the table again, running her hand through her hair. 

Kissing James hadn’t been like the dream she’d had in Bolivia—they’d kissed to keep themselves safe. But he’d felt safe, too. 

He just got here. And he’s not looking for that. I’m not looking for that.

No matter how much she repeated the thought, her body wouldn’t let her forget how it’d felt.

“Did you get a tattoo?”

James’ question pulled her from her thoughts. She followed his gaze and looked at her arm briefly before shrugging lightly. “I was shot when we were trying to get the delivery to Devon. Pote and I couldn’t go to the hospital, so we went to El Santo’s people.” She touched the black letters that spelled “moyocoyotzin.” “They helped, but when I woke up, I had this. Said something about fate leaving a mark of its own.”

Wincing, he said, “Where were you hit?”

“My leg.” 

James frowned, shoulders falling slightly. He looked down at the table, mouth suddenly dry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Teresa paused, studying James. She’d hardly had time to be angry, not since he’d jumped through a glass window to save her from being killed, even after she’d forced him in the trunk of the car he’d driven. He came here knowing Camila was after me. He wouldn’t have done that unless he wanted to help me. Finally, she said, “I know.”

Silence filled the house, save for the sound of traffic or groups of people talking outside.

Shaking the memories away for now, she changed the subject, saying, “I saw your mark has another letter or two.” Teresa momentarily extended her arm, saying, “Mine’s gone.”

James looked at her wrist, seeing she was right; there was no trace of the name that had once been there. He glanced at his own, shrugging lightly. “There’s definitely an ‘r’ and an ‘a’ now, and maybe a ‘c’ coming in. But I’ve stopped trying to guess what it’ll be.”

Teresa tilted her head, leaning forward. “That’s half the fun. Like a puzzle.”

He snorted softly. “I guess.” 

She squinted, looking at the letters. The skin around the ‘r’ and ‘a’ weren’t pink or inflamed-looking any longer. “Crista? Cristal? Though I’m not sure ‘c’ will be the first letter.”

Though thinking about the mark usually frustrated him, he humored her. “Doesn’t look like it.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips, staring intently in thought. “If ‘c’ isn’t the first letter, Lucrezia might fit.”

He laughed under his breath. “You’re good at this.”

Resting back in the chair, she said, “I was a money changer when I got mine. Most of the girls were around my age, and we’d use markers and write down different names and see what fit. It helped pass the time.”

“Were you right very often?” he asked.

“No,” Teresa replied with a faint smile, brushing her hair back, “but it was something else to think about other than where we were.” 

Hearing loud footsteps outside, she and James both stood, James reaching for his pistol, Teresa looking out the window with narrowed eyes. A couple walked together, hands intertwined and laughing as they crossed the street. 

Turning away from the window, Teresa sighed, looking at James again. Though the relaxed atmosphere had dissipated, they still stood close, shoulders almost touching, “I’m gonna head to bed. See you tomorrow.”

“See you then,” he replied.

In his room alone, he dug around in the bag he’d brought with him. Without opening the pen, he pressed the cap lightly against his skin. It felt childish. Silly. But he did it anyway, seeing, like she’d said, what fit.

And he’d never dare to tell her that the name he checked for was hers.

Chapter Text

Phoenix was somehow exactly and nothing like Teresa had imagined it’d be. She’d hardly slept since they’d arrived at Phoenix a few months ago. There’d been so much to do. In addition to figuring out transport, making contacts, bringing on new people, and dealing with La Comisión, the wine had to be good, too.

And that—the wine—is what led her to sit with Kelly Anne and a sommelier who talked about wine with a reverence one might speak about God. And while it was interesting, there was so much else to be done. It pressed heavily on her. Listening to the man discuss oak barrels and jammy notes, Teresa was grateful that Kelly Anne had taken an interest in this side of the business. 

Still, she trusted the people around her—was trying to, at least—to help her build this. She didn’t have a choice.

Meanwhile, driving on the interstate, James frowned as he caught sight of blue and red lights flashing behind him. He waited for the police car to pass them. 

It didn’t.

“Gonna stop?” Javier asked, looking back at the Ford.

James eyed the vehicle. The plates were legitimate, and since they’d already dropped off their shipment, there was nothing to find in the truck. “We don’t have a choice. We don’t want to create enemies right now.”

Javier held onto his sidearm. “Think it’s someone with La Comisión?” 

“Possibly.”

“Has to be unless there’s something wrong with the truck.”

James shook his head, putting the truck’s flashers on to indicate that he was going to pull over. “It’s not the truck.”

Teresa had been meticulous about ensuring that everything was entirely up to code and above board. She didn’t want to leave anything up to chance.

“I know there will be issues,” she’d said, “but it’s not going to be because we’ve missed registering something or haven’t filed paperwork.”

So now, James knew there was no expired tags or plates, no headlights out. One of the members of La Comisión or their associates could be stopping them just for the hell of it. To intimidate them, to put them in their place. They’d already tried, and Teresa hadn’t bowed to them.

Pulling over, James kept his hands steady on the wheel. He stared in the rearview mirror. Watching. Waiting.

Officers stepped out of the car, walking up to the truck. Their hands were close to their sidearms, but they didn’t seem too tense.

Not until the man approaching the passenger’s side of the car removed his weapon from his holster, at least.

Cursing under his breath, James grabbed his gun and yelled, “Get down!” seconds before bullets shattered the glass around them.

Javier ducked, twisting in his seat. “Fuckin’ knew there was something wrong!”

James swung open the car door, and in one fluid movement, he positioned himself behind the front bumper. He could hear Javier firing back from the car, and then, he heard his footsteps as he hopped out of the vehicle, too.

“C’mon, Valdez, thought you were supposed to be a good shot!” laughed the man dressed as an officer who was now closest to him. “You gone soft workin’ with that Mendoza bitch?”

Aldana. One of Camila’s lieutenants. Jealous. Eager to please in front of Camila but a shit-talker who thought he knew best. Not a bad sicario, but too proud.

Javier bumped up against him, panting. “There might be more coming,” he said.

James didn’t respond, only peered beneat the truck to briefly gauge where the men were. “We won’t give them time to call anyone else. Cover me.”

James knelt down, waiting for a momentary pause in fire from the man opposite him before moving out from behind the truck. The other man was too focused on Javier, and he noticed James a second too late. James pulled the trigger, and the man fell, dead.

The second shot at Aldana made contact, but it was caught by his bulletproof vest. The man faltered but pulled himself to the ground quickly.

James didn’t hesitate, moving around tot he back bumper, Javier flanking him. He expected the man to be holding a gun, but instead, he was reaching for something else in his pocket.

He wasn’t going to wait to find out what Aldana was reaching for. Firing twice, James reached into Aldana’s pocket moments after Aldana hit the ground, dead. 

“What was he reaching for?” Javier asked, catching his breath.

“I’m not—” James cut himself off when he saw a faint flashing light. A small explosive device. The kind he’d seen Camila use before. It’d been triggered when Aldana had fallen.

“Run!” James barked, turning and running in the opposite direction.

Javier sprinted alongside him, and the ground rocked behind them as the explosive detonated. Flames unfurled into the air around them, and heat blanketed them. Both men skidded to the ground on the pavement, covering their heads.

Ears ringing, James lifted his head, pulse racing in his chest. There was little left of the truck, just flames and metal and debris.

Hauling himself upright with a grimace, James swiped his hands against his pants, blood from his palms dampening his jeans. He looked around the arid landscape. There wasn’t anyone else around, at least for now.

“Some sicario he was,” Javier said with a grunt as he stood, brushing debris off.

Rolling his shoulders, James reached in his pocket. His phone screen was cracked, but the phone was still functional. “We need to leave. There might be more of them.” 

He dialed Pote’s number, and half an hour later, after he and Javier had walked over a mile away, ensuring they were out of sight if Camila’s men circled the area, he was sitting in the backseat of a car while Pote drove. He sent a quick text to Teresa.

“We ran into two of Camila’s sicarios. The product was already delivered. Nothing was taken.”

James started to type the words “be safe,” but he hesitated. Teresa doesn’t need to be told to be careful. He deleted the last part of the text.

When he received her reply—”I'll take precautions. You okay?”—he quickly replied that they were fine.

When they arrived at the new house two hours later, Teresa was standing in the living room, talking with Kelly Anne. James saw the way her gaze flickered between him and Javier, her brows knitting together slightly.

“You boys all right?” Kelly Anne asked, tilting her head.

“Camila decided to send her dogs after us. Not very good ones,” Javier replied.

“They were enough to blow up a truck,” James said with a scowl. “The car was legitimate, and so were their uniforms and plates. We figured it was La Comisión. I shouldn’t have stopped.”

Pote stepped inside behind them, shutting and locking the door. “Lucky the truck’s all they got.”

“We can’t rely on luck,” Teresa said, loosely crossing her arms. “Camila had connections with local cops in Dallas. She obviously knows someone here, too.” 

“Then what do we do?” Javier asked.

Teresa looked at them both and shook her head, saying, “She figured out our routes. We’ll scrub all electronics, change our routes, and get a better in with the police here.”

“Well, sounds easy enough,” Kelly Anne said with a sigh and a rueful grin.

“Getting here hasn’t been easy, but we’ve done it,” Teresa reminded them. “Right now,” she said, turning to James and Javier, “you two clean up. Wipe your phones and laptops using the protocol we talked about before. We’ll talk about changing routes tomorrow.”

As James walked to the bathroom, he heard Teresa telling Kelly Anne to implement software reset protocol and Pote to check the cars for bugs.

He showered, scrubbing off the dried blood and dirt, then roughly bandaged his hands, which had been scraped raw by the asphalt. He joined Pote outside, and after checking the cars and making sure the car Javier was going to take was clean, he walked back into the house. 

Kelly Anne’s laptop sat on the kitchen counter, closed; she’d been able to secure their electronics fairly quickly with help from a tech contact. The soft glow of the lamp in the upstairs loft space told him where Teresa was. He walked into the makeshift office space, finding Teresa staring at maps and spreadsheets, eyes narrowed, her knuckles pressed lightly against her lips.

Hearing the floor creak, she glanced up at him. “Hey. You okay?” she asked, moving to make room for him beside her on the sofa.

“Fine,” he replied, taking a seat beside her. “Planning on changing all the routes?”

“Probably. But between La Comisión and Camila, we need an in with law enforcement, at least until we have La Comisión on our side. And that’s just one part of it.” 

He nodded, scanning the maps. “We can look at offshoots of Grand Avenue.”

Teresa was quiet for a moment before saying, “We need better delivery and transport methods.” She rubbed her neck, trying to ease the stiffness. “We can have some buyers come to the winery for now.”

“Maybe, but it’s not a long-term solution,” James said, glancing over at her. Voice lower, he said, “She may not send someone else for a while, but eventually, she will.”

Teresa leaned back against the sofa, staring at the maps as if they may hold some answers she just had to squint hard enough to see. “I know.” She looked at James, glancing away before returning her gaze to him, brows furrowing. “You’re bleeding through the gauze.” 

Before he had a chance to reply, she stood, nodding for him to follow her.

Wordlessly, he did. Teresa went to her bathroom and returned a few seconds later with a small med kit that held cotton pads, gauze, and antiseptic. They walked into his room and sat on the bed.

James began to unwrap the gauze that he’d hurriedly covered his hands with. Teresa dampened a cotton pad with antiseptic and cradled his hand, palm side up, in hers.

He sdidn’t withdraw despite the sharp sting of the antiseptic. Teresa dabbed the cotton pad against his hand with a gentleness that almost surprised him. Her movements were slow, methodical, like she was handling something made of glass and not his calloused hand. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so gentle with him. Her gaze wandered briefly around his room before she returned to the task.

“You know what will help you heal faster?” she asked, turning to the med kit and removing a small pair of tweezers.

“What’s that?” he asked.

She tilted her head toward his bedside table where a pack of cigarettes sat and turned the flashlight on on her phone to better examine the injury. “Not smoking.”

He gave a small huff, a dry smile tugging at his lips. He winced slightly as the tweezers clasped onto a small shard of glass from his hand. “Didn’t know I’d signed up for DARE.” 

“Hm?” she questioned, brows knitted together as she picked the glass from his skin. She set it on a tissue and tossed it in the trash before returning to sit next to him on the bed.

“It was an anti-drug program we listened to when we were kids in school,” James said dismissively. “Told us not to drink, smoke, do drugs, that kind of stuff.”

She met his gaze, eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement in a way that made him feel lighter, like she was sharing something precious with him. “How’d that work out for you?” 

He couldn’t help but return her smile, laughing under his breath. “Not too well.”

She wiped his hand once more with disinfectant, then picked up the fresh gauze, wrapping it methodically around his left hand first. Then, she did the same to his right hand, though there wasn’t any glass in it. 

James noticed that she momentarily looked at his mark—it remained mostly covered by his watch, but underneath, it was clear that the “c” they’d talked about before was actually an “e,” and now, the beginning of what looked like another was starting to form—but she didn’t mention it. After she finished covering his hands, she held them in hers before dropping them to her lap and putting everything back into the med kit aside from the tweezers and trash. He lightly touched her arm, giving it a small squeeze, a silent thanks.

Teresa hesitated a moment, leaning slightly against his touch before stepping back. “Night,” she said softly, padding toward his door.

“Night,” he echoed.

Even when the door clicked shut, James still felt as if the room was filled with warmth.

***

He couldn’t sleep. A few nights after the incident with Camila’s people showing up, though it was quiet and calm now, and the day hadn’t been particularly stressful, James still couldn’t rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined the house exploding. When he dreamed, he could never run quick enough to get the house. But sometimes, it wasn’t the house in the fancy neighborhood in Texas; it was this house in Phoenix. And it wasn’t the little girl standing at the doorway, either. It was Teresa.

He stood, throwing on a shirt and shorts and padded toward the living room. He paused, however, when he heard a quiet, repetitive thud-thud-thud-thud of someone jogging on the treadmill in the half-finished workout room. It was on the other side of the house from the bedrooms, and he knew it wouldn’t be Kelly Anne or Pote.

James nudged open the door and walked into the room. The glow of a lamp cast her face in a warm hue, and her breaths came in rhythmic bursts.

She tensed momentarily, eyes sharp, before relaxing slightly. “Didn’t wake you up, did I?” she asked.

“No. I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d check the house like normal and maybe get a drink or something.” He eyed the timer on the treadmill that recorded how long she’d been going. 31.22. 31.23. 31.24. “Not quite as productive as you, I guess.”

She gave a little huff in response and lowered the speed on the treadmill. “A drink doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

He raised a brow and asked, “Want me to get you something?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be in the kitchen in a second.”

James nodded, gaze lingering a bit longer than needed before he walked to the kitchen. He grabbed two small glasses and looked at the liquor shelves. Mezcal, whiskey, tequila, and a variety of other bottles sat neatly in rows.

“I found the single malt Scotch you’d been looking for,” Teresa said quietly as she entered the kitchen, voice low so as not to wake anyone.

He paused, grip tightening slightly around the glasses as he turned to face her. He’d mentioned wanting to try the drink last week when they’d been looking into competitions for the best wines in the region. Teresa thought theirs was good enough to enter. Their conversation had turned toward their own favorite drinks as they’d driven home. He’d mentioned liking whiskey, and she’d talked about seeing her family drink mezcal on special occasions when growing up. In passing, he’d said that there was a particular Scotch he’d wanted to try for years, but he’d never been able to find it. Really, he’d never been able to justify the price. Not working for Camila. Besides, buying it for himself would’ve felt like a waste.

“I wasn’t—you didn’t—” he started, feeling heat bloom across his face.

“I know,” Teresa said simply. She brushed past him, reaching into the cabinet. She got onto her tip toes and grabbed the bottle. Turning, she handed it to him. 

Wordlessly, James took the bottle. He opened it carefully, sure not to spill it. After removing the cork, he poured two glasses.

Teresa picked up her glass, clinking it against James’ with a quiet “Salud” before they both tasted the drink.

It was smooth and tasted of oak and nutty caramel, and he gave a nod of contentment as it left behind a pleasant burn. 

“Good?” Teresa asked, leaning slightly against the bar. A few strands of hair spilled out of her bun, and a hint of amusement glinted in her eyes.

He laughed under his breath. “Yeah. Pretty damn good.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be disappointed after you’d wanted to try it for so long,” she said with a teasing lilt in her voice.

James shook his head, replying, “No. It’s perfect.”

Teresa took another sip of her drink, though James could still see the smile on her lips, even as she tried to hide it behind the glass. “Good.”

For a few minutes, they drank in comfortable silence. Then, Teresa, staring at the glass, asked, “You don’t regret being here?”

Surprised at the question, he shook his head. “No. Why would I?” 

“I know this isn’t the same as working with someone like Camila or Devon. I don’t want it to be. But I know it’s different.”

“That’s the point. I knew that coming in.” He studied her as she untied her hair, curls resting loosely around her shoulders, sticking slightly against her sweat-dampened skin. There was a shadow concern on her face, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Do you regret me being here?”

Now, it was her turn to shake her head. “No. I just didn’t know if you’d stay. If anyone would.”

The whiskey almost tasted bitter on his lips suddenly. Her expectation that no one would want to stay because no one had before made something in him ache. “I want to be here, Teresa. So does everyone else.”

Teresa rested her cheek on her palm, fingers lightly resting against her cheek. Her shoulders fell slightly. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for.”

They finished their drinks in relative quiet. It was comfortable. Easy. 

When they’d eached finished, James reached for her glass to place in the sink, his fingers brushing against Teresa’s. She didn’t pull away, and he carefully took empty glass.

“I’m gonna try to get some sleep,” Teresa said, propping herself up with a sigh.

James washed the glasses in the sink. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Anytime.” She hesitated a moment or two before lightly touching his back, allowing her hand to rest there for a moment before saying, “Get some sleep, too.”

He smiled. “I will.”

After listening to her padding to her bathroom and finishing cleaning the glasses, James returned to his room. Though it still took time to fall asleep, and though he still had dreams of the house in Texas, for once, the fear wasn’t quite as loud.