Breaking Creed

9

Amanda could smell him before she heard him come into the room — a combination of sweat and that greasy hair gel he liked to use. She was still angry with him… and maybe a bit scared of him. Right now she’d hang on to the anger. That was easier to deal with, so she kept her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, though she was far from it. Back in the hot, humid room that she called home, she hugged a sweat-drenched pillow and tried not to think of the cool tiled floor and the luxury hotel that she’d left behind.

It had been a tough trip back. The nausea continued, despite getting all the balloons to pass. She had checked each one herself, pushing Zapata away. She had touched each one, rolling and feeling to make certain none of the rubber had broken or the ties had come undone. Amanda had counted and counted again until the old woman started looking at her as if she had gone mad.

And maybe she had. Maybe a little bit, because Amanda could swear that something felt ripped inside her.

Coming back through the airport, the customs officer had scrutinized her passport for a beat too long. Adding to Amanda’s discomfort. No one had prepared her for what she should do if they detained her. There had only been warnings, no instructions.

“You just came into the country,” the man said, his eyes narrowing as he ran them up and down Amanda’s body. “What’s the rush to leave?”

Before she could answer, Zapata had laughed. A sound Amanda had never heard coming from the old woman’s mouth. It sounded so real, so genuine, so much like real laughter.

“Parents with too much money,” Zapata told the officer, as if there might be a secret bond between the two of them. “They want what they want. I just follow their instructions.”

It made Amanda glance up at the man. Her eyes caught his and she looked away. It was enough for her to see that the man might be of Hispanic origin, brown skin and dark eyes. When he spoke again, she could hear a subtle accent, thicker now, as though Zapata had given him permission. He nodded like he understood the type, while he kept examining Amanda.

That was when it hit her. As Amanda watched his eyes take in her designer jeans, the makeup Zapata had insisted she put on, the fancy jewelry Leandro had given her, and the leather handbag, Amanda realized that all of it was part of her disguise.

She had thought Leandro had given her these things as gifts because he was grateful, because he cared about her. Instead, they were only part of a costume to make her look the role she was playing — the spoiled, rich American kid whose parents could afford to have her go back and forth from their Colombian vacation hacienda to their Atlanta home.

Now she heard Leandro whisper her name in the dark. He didn’t reach for the lamp. As he made his way to her bed, she watched him through the veil of her eyelashes, not daring to move a muscle.

She felt his weight on the edge of the bed as he sat down, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Only then did she realize she had been holding her breath. He’d know for sure that she was pretending. Why hadn’t she thought to fake her breathing?

“Amanda,” he whispered again, as though he were playing along.

She felt his fingers touch her cheek. So gentle. And suddenly he was stroking her hair.

“I do not want you to think about Lucía and what you saw.”

The knot twisted in her stomach as his words immediately brought back the image of the knife in his hand. Of it plunging into the girl.

“She was not strong like you.” He kept his voice low and quiet and soft. It was the same tone he had used with her before, when he gave her the gifts and when he praised her.

“Lucía was weak,” he continued, and so did his fingers. “It is her father’s fault that she is dead. It was his debt. Instead of paying it, he sent his daughter to do what he himself would never do. That was his decision to give up his own flesh and blood. He is a small, stupid man.”

His hand moved from her hair to her shoulder, gentle caresses.

“You know how he mourned the news of his daughter’s death? A real man would put himself in place to pay off his debt. But no. You know what he did instead?”

But Amanda knew he wasn’t waiting for her answer as his fingers slid down her arm.

“He sent me yet another one of his daughters. This one is even younger than Lucía. I am told the bastard has three more at home. He is willing to run through daughters before he is willing to pay back his debt like a real man. You see what I have to deal with, Amanda? How difficult my job is?”

He shifted his weight on the bed, and now she could feel his breath on her neck. His fingers continued their familiar path, still so gentle and caressing.

“But you, Amanda. You are strong. Things will only get easier for you, I promise.” His lips grazed her ear, and despite her anger and fear, her body was betraying her, yielding to him as he whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

No one had ever said they were proud of her before, and so she let Leandro show her just how proud he was.