My fingers gripped the worn stones of the house at the corner of the street, so hard they left three thin lines in the aging, chipping paint. Any second now, someone could grab me by the shoulders and drag me back into the club.

I took a quick look over my shoulder. The street was empty, save for the club's bouncer, staring at me out the corner of his eye. He didn't try to stop me, nor did he run toward me, he only turned away when he noticed me staring back.

The blinking neon sign above the club's door faded into the foggy night. Soon, the whole street dissolved into darkness, vanishing like a nightmare I was slowly waking up from.

Silent storms flashed in the sky high above, and their raindrops fell one by one. The puddles strewn across the deserted streets slowly filled up, shivering as I stepped over them.

I was ready to fight if I had to. This time, if someone came to get me, I wouldn't give up so easily. I'd planned my defense, and rehearsed the moves a dozen times in my head by the time I made it across the block.

I'd slip my foot out of my shoe and stab my attacker with its pointy heel. I'd aim for their eye sockets and then kick them right in the manhood. I'd wrestle them to the ground, pry a rock out of the cobblestone sidewalk, and bash them on the temple. I'd leave them to bleed out and then I'd run, as far and as fast as I could.

Boiling drops of sweat rolled down my forehead, and I clenched my jaw so hard I could have knocked out a tooth, and yet, I didn't feel nervous.

I was confident that this would work, certain that this wouldn't be another failure. Somewhere beyond those lightning-streaked clouds, my stars had aligned, and this was the night that I'd finally make it out of here.

I strutted down the street with my chin held up high, walking at a steady, fast pace. I figured if I ran I'd stand out more, and be easier to notice. I was better off blending with the shadows, and the small handful of other people walking around this sleepy town.

As soon as they noticed I was gone, either Pablo or Oscar would send a bodyguard to go search for me. Probably a bunch of bodyguards, actually. At first, I walked in a straight line, thinking I'd get away faster that way, then I started taking a few turns, so that I'd be harder to track down.

I felt smart. I was smart. Pablo had always told me I was a clever girl, and I'd just proven it. It wasn't just luck, and I never needed any help from a stupid, sex-obsessed manchild. I was bold, quick-thinking, brave, and proactive. Maybe I should put "escaped from a dangerous cartel all on my own" on my resume. That feat alone was enough to impress anyone, even the world's most blasé HR representative, and in a few days, when I'd be back in Goose Creek, perhaps I'd finally find a real job, and not a dead-end gig.

I was the shit. I was amazing. I rehashed every single moment of my escape, from my last fight with Juan, down to the very step I was taking. Everything had fallen into place so perfectly.

How I'd finally let go of Juan, my last tether to this forsaken place, how the spiked drink had fallen into my hands like a gift from the heavens. How even the adrenalin coursing through my veins had turned me from a brainless drunk to a sober, clear-headed genius.

My eye stayed caught on an old, red pick-up truck, parked halfway under a flimsy web of scaffolding and twisted tin that held up a crumbling wall, and a moldy green door. It looked familiar, but I didn't know why.

I've been here before, I thought. I just didn't remember when, or why, or the meaning of it all.

So I kept walking, carefully choosing which streets I turned on. Always the darkest ones, where there weren't as many lamp posts, and I was less likely to get caught. I walked past old houses, most of which didn't seem to be inhabited. There wasn't a single light shining through a window, not a single sound in the neighborhood, and yet I still felt like I was being followed.

I glanced over my shoulder every other second. All I could hear were the echo of my footsteps, and the growing whisper of my own breaths. I thought I saw shadows darting back and forth, but those were only branches swishing around. I thought I felt someone running up towards be, but it was just a gust of wind.

I saw a red pick-up truck, stuck under a pile of rusting metal, next to a green door. I stopped for a second. Again? How weird, I thought.

I was starting to feel cold, and wished I had stolen someone's jacket before I left the club. Just a minute ago, I was sweating like I was standing under the midday sun, and now my bare arms felt like they were turning to ice.

I strolled around for what felt like a minute or two, and there it was again. The same truck, next to the same door, under the same scaffold. Fuck.

I'd been running around in circles, and now my head was spinning, and my stomach churned like someone had stabbed a soup blender through my guts. I was fully sober the last time I walked down this street. Why did I feel drunk again?

It's just the nerves, I told myself. I need to focus. I took a deep breath, counted to four, and let it out. I did it again, and again, and again. I'd be fine, if I would just control myself for a while. I couldn't be my worst enemy now. Not today.

Turning another corner, I noticed a blinking neon halfway down the street, the distant murmur of some tacky club music, and a bouncer in a nice suit, staring at me.

Jesus, Mary, and the understanding boyfriend. I was right back at the club.

I should have taken someone's phone before I left. Or at least someone's map. Does anyone even use maps nowadays? And a coat. Definitely a coat. God, I was freezing. Icy gusts of wind were crawling up and below my dress. I was going to catch a bad cold, or piles, or pneumonia or something worse.

Running seemed like a better idea now. It would warm me up a little, and help me get away faster.

I didn't make it far enough. My high heel got caught in a crack on the sidewalk, hidden in a dirty puddle, and I tripped and fell to the ground with a loud splash.

My reflection in the murky water seemed terrifying. My makeup was smeared all the way down my cheeks, glittery rills carved on my skin by rolling sweat and tears. My pretty bun now looked like a bird's nest that had been attacked by a starving raccoon, and I had a wild curl stuck to my chapped, bleeding lips.

Someone laid their fingers on the back of my shoulder.

I turned around and the man yanked his hand away, as if my sharp gasp had slashed his arm.

"¿Estás bien?" he asked.

Are you alright?

I shook my head. The man stared at me with his eyes and mouth wide open, scrunching his eyebrows with worry.

I'd never seen that man before, at least not while I was conscious enough to remember. He seemed to be in his early fifties, closer in age to Hernan than to Pablo. His eyes were as dark as Juan's, his hairline as far back as Gustavo's.

"Do you speak English?" he said, and the accent in his voice reminded me of Beto's.

My answer was cut and dried. "Yeah."

"Do you live nearby?" the man asked, as he picked me up off the floor. "I can walk you home."

I didn't need this man to walk me anywhere. I didn't need a man at all. Men were nothing but trouble, and I'd never trust another one. If he wanted to help me, he could give me his nice, warm-looking jacket and let me go. Nothing less, nothing more.

"I don't live here," I told him.

"Oh, uh, should I call someone?"

"Don't call the cops," I spat back, whacking away the gravel stuck to my knees.

The man took a wary step back, and replied with a curt nod.

"Just go away," I hissed at him, and he did exactly as I said.

I limped in the same direction I'd been running in. My ankle hurt, and the pain throbbed all the way up my leg. I must have rolled it or something, and I prayed I hadn't broken a bone.

I made it around the block, before I saw them again. The same pick-up truck, the same fucking green door, the same dumb tower of corroded metal.

Defeated, I slouched against a wall, letting its cold stone scrape my cheek. A woman on the other side of the street threw shy glances my way as she shuffled past me.

"Hey, Ma'am?" I called out, rolling my back across the wall. "I need help, please."

She didn't answer. She just frowned and walked faster.

A taxi drove by, just two blocks away, and I thought I had an idea until I remembered I didn't have a single penny with me. I'd given that idiot at the club most of my change, and left the rest on the table.

What was I thinking? I didn't know where I was going, or what I was even doing. I could barely speak a few words of Spanish, and didn't own anything but the mini dress on my back and the heels in my hand.

I couldn't trust strangers, I couldn't trust cops, and I couldn't trust Juan. I was all on my own, in a foreign land, with no passport, no money, and no brain, apparently. And soon enough, I'd have a horde of narco hitmen chasing after me, leaving not a single pebble unturned in their attempt to find me.

I was fucked. So fucked.

I wished the guy who picked me up off the ground would show up again. Everyone else who walked past did their best to avoid me, as if they could catch the plague, rabies or leprosy just by walking on my side of the street.

My eyes fluttered shut as I sat down on a curb, and my head slumped down between my knees. I had to keep going, but I didn't even know where to go, and my head was throbbing so loudly I couldn't even hear my own thoughts.

I pried my eyelids open, and bright streetlights stung my pupils, making my headache a hundred times worse. At this point, I'd be better off if Pablo showed up and shot me on the spot.

Three silhouettes stood in front of me, laughing as they stared down at me. They were three guys, about my age, maybe a little younger. One of them kicked a rock, that hit my shin and landed on my foot. Another looked like he was speaking to me, in what sounded like a language I didn't even know.

"I didn't understand a single word you just said, dude," I drawled.

He spat out an answer, and I thought I recognized a few words he said, but either he was speaking too fast, or I was too drunk to make out even a piece of a sentence.

"Seriously," I muttered. "I have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

He pointed his finger at me. "You come."

"Come where?" I asked.

The guy replied in gibberish that sounded very vaguely like English, with a strong, mocking Southern twang. His two friends howled with laughter.

"You know what?" I huffed as I stood up. "Let's go. Get me out of here."

I was about two feet taller than the shortest one in the group, but the one who'd been doing all the talking was just about my height. The way he licked his lips as he stared at me gave me nausea, or perhaps it was all the liquor I drank earlier that night.

We made it two blocks away before the taller one's arm slithered around my hips, and I changed my mind.

"You know what?" I said, my words slow and slurred. "On second thought, I think I'll just go home."

"No," he answered, as his nails dug into my wrist. "You come."

I tried to wrestle my arm out of his grasp, but he wouldn't let go.

He stretched out his open hand. "Phone."

"I don't have a phone," I mumbled. "You know, 'cause of the 5G waves and all that."

"Give me phone," he insisted.

"You can ask all you want, they stole my phone, like, months ago," I groaned. "What are you going to do next, kidnap me? How fucking original."

Their childish snickers stopped, and their gazes turned evil. His friend pinned me against the wall, pressing the side of his arm across my throat.

The tall guy patted me down, grabbing every curve still hidden by my dress– my waist, my stomach, my breasts.

"You're not going to find anything, you fucking idiot," I hissed through my teeth.

He stuck his hand between my legs, and I flinched hard enough to push his friend away, only to fall on top of the third guy, who held me up by a handful of hair. He raised his hand and I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow to strike my face. 

A gun cocked behind my head.

"Suéltala."

Let go of her.

The boys ran off before the look on their faces could change.

My whole body began to tremble, and now it wasn't because I was freezing. A hellish fever took over my entire body, my teeth chattered uncontrollably, a high-pitched ring filled my ears, my legs shook and shivered as I slowly rose up to my feet, and turned to the source of the deep voice behind me.

Behind the barrel of his gun, his dark eyes glared at me.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Em?"