Nothing sobers you up as fast as the dry click of a gun just a few inches away from your head.

It doesn't matter if it's not aimed at you, because in that split second where you're not certain whether a bullet is coming your way, your blood turns to cryogenic liquid, your brain fully resets, and your heartbeat goes from a thousand to zero, and back to a thousand again.

"Seriously Em," Juan repeated, slowly lowering his pistol as the three guys disappeared around the corner of the street. "What were you thinking?"

I hung my head in shame, glaring at my dirty, shoeless feet. My shoulders twitched and my gaze flinched upwards every time he waved his gun around.

"I think..." I stuttered, "I think I wasn't thinking at all."

"No shit," he yelled. "Like, what was your plan? Snort a line of coke, murder Pablo, and gallop off into the night at two o'clock in the morning, all on your own, wearing nothing but stripper heels and a dress the size of a motel towel?"

"Did I kill Pablo?"

"Maybe, I don't know," he cried out. "I didn't fuck around to find out, I came straight after you. I've been searching for you for half an hour, half a fucking hour, Em. They probably know you're gone by now."

"I didn't go that far," I muttered, still a little bitter I hadn't made it much further than three blocks.

"Yeah, well thank God," he grumbled, wrapping his fingers tight around my shoulder. "We might be able to make it back to the club before shit hits the fan."

He took a step forward, and I didn't follow.

"Come on, Em," he sighed. "Let's go before those three little fuckers show up with their friends and a bunch of guns."

Ana's necklace caught a burning tear as it rolled down the middle of my throat.

"What's wrong now?" Juan muttered as he turned around.

"So that's it?" I said, choking on painful words. "You're just going to bring me back to Pablo?"

His lips parted to drop a desperate sigh, and he answered with a slow shrug.

"You're so full of shit," I spat.

Juan's brow furrowed and his jaw locked tight. He squeezed the lump in his throat with one hand and nervously rubbed his elbow with the other.

"Taking you back there is the last thing I want to do, Em," he murmured, his voice softening with every word. "Trust me."

I shook my head. "I don't trust you anymore."

"Give me one good idea," he said. "One plan that can't fuck up, get us caught, and leave you worse off than if we just walk back to the club and pretend you didn't try to run away. I'll do it, right now."

My shoulders slumped, and the defiant snarl on my face soon turned into a meek pout.

"I don't know. My ideas never work anyway," I mumbled, taking out my frustration by kicking a loose stone across the road.

Juan raised one eyebrow, watching me shake my leg to dull the harsh pain throbbing at the tip of my toes.

"Think, Em," he insisted. "You always find something."

His tone was dry, toeing the line between demanding and aggressive. I didn't know if he was mocking me or if he was just that desperate. I tried to think of a plan, but my mind was blanking out. The confusing look on Juan's face was too distracting.

He tapped his feet, shifting his weight from one leg to another, while he relentlessly chewed his bottom lip. He answered my silence with a beastly huff, right before he grabbed me by the arm, and led me away.

"Wait, where are we going?" I asked him.

The more I struggled to keep up with his pace, the faster he walked. I had to grip his jacket so that I wouldn't fall by tripping over my own feet.

"My car is parked a few streets away from here," he said. "Did you bring your passport?"

"To the club?" I scoffed.

"Where is it?" he asked, still barreling down the street with no signs he'd slow down. "Did you leave it at the finca?"

"I think it's locked away in an office in Pablo's house," I mumbled.

Gravel screeched beneath his shoes as he came to a sudden halt, and spun around on his heels. He glanced up at the night sky as if he was searching for answers amongst the stars.

"Fuck," he hissed. "You know– I know a guy. I could get you another one. And then I could get a fake one too, and we'd be harder to track."

"How long would that take?"

"A week or two. Three, at most. I'm not sure."

I rolled my eyes at him. "What are we going to do for three weeks? Run around the country in a giant circle and hope they don't catch us?"

"I have friends who can hide you," he replied with a confident nod. "They'll keep you safe."

"Safe from Pablo, or actually safe?" I mumbled.

Juan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Are they good people?"

I'd learned the hard way that there were many people in the world who were just as bad as Pablo, if not even worse. Both Juan and I had witnessed a painful reminder of that fact, just a few minutes earlier.

I seriously doubted that Juan knew many virtuous people. If the Sandoval name sparked fear in the hearts of normal people, as he'd once told me, then there was a fair chance I'd just end up rooming with yet another bunch of criminals. And I would have rather stuck with the devil I knew.

Juan didn't answer my question. Not directly, at least.

"I can book you a hotel room," he said. "You can stay put, while I got back and throw Pablo off your track. As soon as we get the passports, I'll come get you and we can leave the country."

He pulled his keys out of his pocket, and his car's tail lights blinked at the far end of the street.

He kept on walking, and I slowed down. I didn't like being locked in rooms. I'd tried that before, for three weeks and even more, and each time I'd left a big chunk of my sanity stuck forever between four walls.

Though this time, Juan would be my captor, and although I was ninety-nine percent sure that he would never hurt me, I'd live in the constant fear that Pablo's men might find me.

Perhaps I could survive that way for three weeks, with a lot of meditation, square breathing and a stocked-up minibar. And that was assuming that Juan was right, and it wouldn't take more than three weeks. But Juan wasn't always right.

"Sounds good?" he asked.

I shrugged. "As long as the walls aren't painted lavender, I'll be fine."

"It'll be a nice room. The best suite in a five star hotel. I already know which one. They have amazing room service, so you won't even need to leave to get your food," he said with a smile. "I'll give you my Dad's credit card, so you won't even need to worry about how much you're spending."

"Your Dad's credit card?" I worried. "Doesn't he check his bank account?"

Juan's cheeks turned red. "I, uh– I don't have that much money in mine."

He opened the passenger side door, and I sat down in the seat. I already knew that this was a terrible idea, but I couldn't think of anything radically better.

"I'll have to stay in a cheaper hotel, then," I told him.

He stared at me in silence, his butt hovering over the driver's seat and his keys scraping against the ignition.

"Would that be okay?" he asked.

I smirked. "As long as you get me out of here."

Juan let out a breathy laugh, cut halfway through by the soft kiss he left on my lips.

"Will you have enough money for plane tickets?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "We can't take the plane. By the time your passport's ready, Pablo will have men in every airport in the country. We'll have to cross the border by land."

"And you don't think he'll have men at every border post by then?"

"He can't guard the whole thing," he mumbled, as his eager voice slowed down and faded. "It's really... long."

"Isn't it just safer if we do all that, minus the part about me hiding in a hotel for a couple weeks?" I suggested. "And we just go back to the club now, before anyone notices."

Juan glanced down at his watch. "You've been missing for forty-five minutes. I think they've already noticed."

"It's not that long," I shrugged, struggling to swallow my saliva. "I think we have better odds if I stay at the finca while we wait for the passport. It'll give us a head start to get to the border."

"We're only going to be here for another week, Em," he muttered. "Then you'll be back at Pablo's house, with his stupid army of guards, and no way to get past his security."

"I've gotten past his security before, you just weren't there to pick me up," I replied, pursing my lips as Juan pinched his.

Juan marked a pause. Sorrow twisted his traits, and his eyes began to glimmer in the faint orange glow of a nearby streetlight.

"Why do you always think I'm going to let you down?" he murmured.

"Because you've done it before."

He sighed. "Running away from a cartel isn't as easy as sneaking out of your Mom's house to go to a high-school party, you know."

"I know," I gulped. "It's just– sometimes I don't get why you'd leave behind your life, your money and your family behind just to be with me."

"What, a bunch of assholes and dirty money?" he scoffed. "You're worth more than that. Even if leaving means living off nothing but love and tap water for the rest of my life, I'd rather be with you."

I looked up at him, a shy smile drawn on my lips. "Just promise me you won't coward out this time."

"I promise."

He lifted his little finger, which I crumpled in my fist.

"Not a dumbass pinky promise, a real promise," I spat.

Juan's eyes widened. "What, like a blood oath?"

"No, not a blood oath. Fuck it," I groaned. "Let's go, we're just wasting time now."

Juan nodded, but didn't move out of his seat. With slumping shoulders and his head bowed down, he stared at me in silence. He only pulled the keys out of the ignition once I stepped out of the car. He walked three paces behind, and only caught up with me once I had reached the club's door.

His hand weighed down on my shoulder as I reached for the handle. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"It's just safer," I mumbled.

"Really? Because Andrea told me what he did to you."

I brought my hand to my neck, and tried to pretend I was only tangling my thumb around the chain of Ana's necklace.

"I'll be fine, we're past that," I told him.

"She also said he'd do it again."

I shook my head. "It's too late now, Juan. Let's just get back inside."

"It's not. Car's over there, all you gotta do is hop in," he said, pointing over his shoulder. "Unless you're cowarding out."

As I opened my mouth to protest, the club's doors swung wide.

"Where were you guys?" asked Oscar.

I jumped back one step, and walked two more, almost falling off the sidewalk. A hellish wave of heat crashed over my body, and shame rushed up to my face. Sweat boiled off the skin of my burning cheeks, and my voice sputtered out like steam from a pressure cooker.

"I needed some fresh air," I lied. "I feel sick. I think it's because I took a sip from Pablo's drink."

Oscar raised his eyebrows, and turned to Juan.

"She's been puking like crazy," he replied, his face twisted in a grimace. "I'm just here to keep her safe from all the shady guys out here."

Oscar's eyes scanned the ground, his brow as tall as my tales. His gaze swept up and down the street, searching for something else than a puddle of rainwater, unfortunately to no avail.

"Where did your shoes run off to?" he asked me through his gritted teeth.

"I, uh, I think I left them around the corner," I stuttered. "I'm not sure."

"Well, we're about to leave, so let's go get them," he mumbled, grabbing me by the elbow. "Juan, go help your Dad carry Pablo out of the bathroom."

In the past few hours, I'd endured enough shaking, dragging, and shoving for a lifetime, let alone a single night. I started to feel sick to my stomach, so much that it made me retch.

"Nevermind, just leave the shoes," I said weakly. "They're probably covered in vomit anyway."

Oscar heaved a heavy sigh, but didn't let go of my arm. His fingers sank deeper and deeper into my flesh, as if he was trying to crush my bones between their tips.

"Is Pablo alright?" I asked him.

He answered curtly, without even looking down at me. "He overdosed."

"Shit, I'm sorry," I muttered. "Is he going to be okay?"

Oscar shrugged, inhaling a shaky breath as he scratched his hand across his tousled hair.

"You know, Emilia, I like you. You're a nice girl, and I would never harm you," he told me. "But blood is thicker than water."

"What do you mean?" I answered. My voice sounded like a rat's squeak as it forced its way past the thick lump in my throat.

"You gave my brother that drink, and then a few minutes later, he's choking on his own tongue on a bathroom floor," muttered Oscar, cocking his chin at me. "How did you know it was spiked?"

"I mean, I didn't know, I just assumed–" I stammered. "I started feeling weird at the same time he did, even though all I did was take a small sip. And I know how it feels. It's happened to me before, remember?"

I crossed my arms high up on my chest, hiding trembling fingers from his guilting glare by tucking them under my armpits. Oscar answered with an unimpressed "huh".

"Where would I even find drugs?" I added, shaking my head as if he'd just stated something crazy. "I don't have a phone, or money, or anything."

He stared at me for so long, I started to wonder if I was supposed to drop down to my knees and either beg for forgiveness or plead for his mercy.

"Right. You're right, I'm sorry," he sighed. "I get paranoid when I'm nervous."

"Pablo does the same thing," I said with a nervous chuckle. "When you take a helicopter, for example. He gets all weird, cranky and murder-y."

"I'm not murder-y," he retorted as he wrestled a cigarette out of an old, crumpled pack.

"You did just kind of threaten me," I mumbled.

"I didn't mean it that way."

He took three puffs from his cigarette, checked the time on his phone's screen, and looked over his shoulder. He repeated the same series of gestures, over and over for what felt like forever.

"I know how you feel," I said, trying to ease up the atmosphere. "My Mom's overdosed a couple times, you know, but she's still kicking."

"How's she doing?" he asked nonchalantly.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her in six months."

"True. I keep forgetting about that," he gulped.

We were both just as tense as before my stupid attempt. Oscar must have noticed it too, because he handed me a cigarette. I hardly had time to finish it before the others finally walked out of the club.

The car ride home felt strange. Oscar and Andrea were eerily quiet, their faces frozen in blank expressions, as if they were trapped in an old portrait.

They'd laid Pablo down across the back seats, with his head resting on my lap. He felt limp and heavy, cold and clammy, just like Oso did when he was bleeding out in my arms. The white of his eyes peered through the slits of his half-shut eyelids, and a foul stench rose from his open mouth with each of his shallow breaths.

Pablo let out a ghastly moan when the car hit a pothole, followed by a terrifying gargle.

Oscar glared at me in the rearview mirror. "Keep his head titled to one side."

I obliged, resting Pablo's head on the palm of my hand. He tried to squeeze my arm with what was left of his strength. I didn't know what to feel, or even how I felt in that moment, other than there was a painful pinch in my heart.

Hernan's medics carried him away as soon as we arrived at the finca. Even with Pablo gone, people still stood around in silence, motionless and emotionless, stuck in a stupor with their minds adrift. It was as if we'd all died and ended up in Purgatory, and were now waiting for the gods to decide of our fates.

Oscar walked up to me, and spoke in a whisper so quiet I could hardly hear him above the cacophony of singing crickets.

"Emilia, I'm going to make some coffee," he said. "Do you want some?"

"No, I think I'll try to get some sleep," I answered. "I'm not feeling really well."

"Are you sure? I think you should stay out of the way until they get Pablo sorted out."

"She can sleep in a spare room," said Juan. "Come, Em, I'll show you where they are."

He waved me over and walked me across the field, down to the house's dependency.

"I know where the spare rooms are, you know," I mumbled.

"Shut up," he murmured.

"What?"

"Are you that drunk?" he chuckled.

"I've sobered up a little. I'm just tired, that's all," I sighed, swatting a bug away from my face.

Juan raised one eyebrow. "Oh, so you're just mad at me again."

"Why would I be mad at you?"

He replied with a lop-sided shrug. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you tonight, Em."

"You saved me from those three guys," I said.

He stopped outside the bedroom, and pressed his finger on the switch. The patio lights flickered on and off twice before he gave up.

"I meant, to leave this place," he sighed.

"I know," I mumbled. "But I was the one who cowered out."

"Cowarded," he replied.

"What?"

"It's cowarded out."

"Cowarded isn't a word, Juan."

"Is it not?" He frowned.

I shook my eyes and rolled my head. "No."

"Oh. Whatever," he groaned. "Words aren't my forte."

"That's why you need to talk less, and act more," I snickered.

"Is that what you think?"

"I'm just joking," I sniffed. "Sorry. Long night."

A funny smirk played at the corner of his lips, as he nibbled the nail of his pinky finger.

"Well I'm not teasing you, Em," he murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"My tongue can do way more things than just speak," he whispered in my ear.

I let out a nervous chuckle, and my eyebrows scrunched up as his hand brushed past my hip.

"Still don't get it?" he asked, reaching behind me to open the bedroom door. "Take off your dress and I'll show you."