just like heaven

The scent coming from the cartel gets stronger and stronger every day. Javier can feel it. You haven’t told him where your family has moved yet and he doesn’t think you will. Honestly, he doesn’t blame you because it’s for your safety as well; but he also doesn’t know where to find you and that worries him more.

It’s been radio silence from you since your uncle was killed and he’s getting antsy. Work keeps him occupied during the day, but at night when he’s alone in his apartment and the chaos settles, anxiety gets the best of him. He can’t sit still, sending you messages from his pager constantly, only to get no response.

He shouldn’t think about the worst case scenario, but knowing your father, who knows what he could’ve done to you by now.

Raids have become routine at this point, hitting every lab location you gave him and the ones Search Bloc found. The ambassador had the bright idea of setting up a tip hotline to gain more information as well. Sometimes they get lucky, but most of the time, people call in just to fuck with them. Specifically kids that have been given a handgun by your father.

Since the death of Jerónimo’s brother, he’s retaliated by paying more people in the city… and setting off bombs. He can’t get close to anyone of authority, so he hurts innocent citizens instead. 

It makes Javier sick to his stomach.

He keeps a cool facade at work but his thoughts are constantly whirring; causing him to act out of emotion rather than rationality. And tonight, he’s had enough.

The tip they got was useless yet again, leading them to a big empty house on a hill in Cartagena. Javier can feel his anger and frustration beginning to burn in his gut, the wild goose chase getting old and relentless. His gun weighs as heavy as his heart in his hands, searching the house high and low. The only thing they find is a maid with a bullet in her head.

“Logró escapar (He got away),” Carrillo states, referring to Sebastián Botero.

Botero is another drug lord in Colombia. He works out of Cartagena but does a lot of business with your father in Medellín. They’ve been “partners” for the longest time. He isn’t as loud and violent as Jerónimo, making him less of a threat to the government. 

To Javier, they’re all the same.

Steve believes that someone in Sombras de la Cruz is trying to rat him out and get him caught. Truthfully, Javier wouldn’t put it behind them. It would get them out of the spotlight for a little so they can slip away yet again. But apparently Sebastián is smarter than them, seeming to have escaped capture by a hair.

Javier stares at the maid’s lifeless body, his mind briefly picturing it as you instead. The thought shakes him, spreading goosebumps across his skin. It could easily be you if neither of you are careful enough. He might be unsure of where you are but he doesn’t believe that you’re dead.

At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

“Colonel!” 

Javier’s eyes snap up at the sound of Trujillo’s voice, momentarily taking his focus off of the lifeless body.

“Llamaron de un retén (They called from the road block),” he announces to Carrillo. “Al parecer, detuvieron el coche de un senador. (Apparently, they stopped a senator’s car.)”

“¿Tiene identificación? (Does he have identification?)” Carrillo asks, wondering why this is being brought up in the first place.

When Trujillo says yes, he asks what the problem is. 

“Tiene una ametralladora en el maletero. (He has a machine gun in the trunk.)”

The tone shifts immediately. It’s not abnormal for a politician to carry a weapon, but a machine gun? That is unusual. It’s usually just a handgun, not an automatic weapon.

Javier watches the two men go, eyes landing on the maid once again. He can’t understand the pit in his stomach at the sight, turning around before his emotions get the best of him. Over the balcony’s railing, he can see the man they stopped in front of the house. He’s clad in a dark suit, looking the part of a senator.

Involuntarily, his mind flashes with you again: your voice, your soft hair, your curves, your touch. Being down here in South America, Javier’s learned to turn off his feelings the best he can… until you came along. There’s an invisible string keeping him attached to you and it’s making him avoid using his usual coping mechanisms.

It may not have been said yet, but now that your feelings are out in the open, he’ll be loyal to you. It’s killing him inside to not have that physical release with the shit month he’s had, but he also understands the life you’re stuck living and the need to be alone sometimes.

To say he misses you is an understatement. And to Javier, that is absolutely terrifying. The last time he gave his heart to somebody, it was chewed up and spat at his feet. He doesn’t talk about Lorraine much. Honestly, there’s not a lot to say.

He thought it was love. She wanted to trap him in a marriage by faking her pregnancy. The night before their wedding is when he found out. He hasn’t seen her since.

Of course, you’re nothing like her and he’s grateful for that. But he’d be lying to himself if he ignored his worries of tainting your heart. The life he lives isn’t something he wants to drag you into and possibly put you in life-threatening danger. You’ve already been put in that position one too many times in your life.

He meets everyone outside, being informed that the man’s identification checks out. 

“No conozco a ese tal Botero del que hablas (I don’t know this Botero person that you’re talking about),” he claims, not convincing either Javier or Carrillo.

Horacio’s voice is calm as he asks his next question, though Javier can see right through the facade. “¿Por qué tienes un arma en el maletero? (Why do you have a gun in the trunk?)”

The man chuckles briefly, stunned and perplexed by the inquiry. “¿De verdad estás preguntando por qué un político lleva un arma en este país? (Are you seriously asking why a politician carries a weapon in this country?)” he pauses for a moment, looking back and forth between the two of them, “Es de mi guardaespaldas– (It’s my bodyguard’s–)”

“¿Dónde está tu guardaespaldas? (Where’s your bodyguard?)” Javier cuts him off promptly, feeling his nerves begin to get the best of him. 

His patience is wearing thinner as the situation goes on, everything that has (or hasn’t) been happening lately weighing down on him in full tonight. “Estas solo en el carro verdad? (You’re alone in the car, right?)”

The man steps closer. He has at least two inches on Javier, trying to seem intimidating by looking down at him. Javier doesn’t flinch under his gaze, his jaw set so tight his teeth ache.

“Escúchenme (Listen to me),” he starts, pointing at Javier.

Right there, he nearly snaps his finger like a carrot when he looks down at it. But he holds back for now.

“Te vas a arrepentir si no me dejas ir ahora mismo (You’re going to regret it if you don’t let me go right now.)”

Javier nods slightly, humming in acknowledgement and not scared of the empty threat in the slightest. The man looks him up and down before Carrillo hands him his ID back.

“Danos un momento. (Give us a moment.)”

He shoos the two of them away, giving them space to talk. Javier keeps him in his peripheral vision, biting the inside of his cheek. “No le creo. (I don’t believe him.)”

“Yo tampoco (Neither do I),” Carrillo states, noticing Javier’s fingers twitching. It’s a tick he’s recognized within his time of knowing him, only coming out when he’s anxious or fighting the urge to pull his gun. Horacio assumes the latter option.

“No puedo correr el riesgo si realmente es quien dice ser. (I can’t take the risk if he actually is who he says he is.)”

Javier shakes his head, “No, you can’t.”

Instead of listening, he pulls his gun out of his waistband, cocking the chamber and firing a shot at the man’s thigh. He doubles over, screaming out in pain as he falls to the ground. Javier’s footsteps are heavy, the built up rage and frustration boiling over.

He wraps his hand around the back of his neck, squatting and pulling him up. He speaks through clenched teeth, his voice seething with anger. “El próximo… lo meto en la cabeza! (The next one… goes in your head!)”

The guy’s “intimidating” persona drops immediately, stuttering and scrambling to give him what he wants. “¡Está bien, está bien! (All right, all right!)”

“¡Habla, malparido! (Talk, bastard!)” Javier spits in his face, shaking him by the neck like a dog.

“¡Hablaré, hablaré! (I’ll talk, I’ll talk!)”

Right now, Javier doesn’t care about the possible repercussions from shooting somebody. Because now, the fool’s admitted to lying about who he is.

The mid-December breeze passes through, rustling the trees. It’s the coldest day this year and it’s also the day of Andrés’ funeral.

None of your family have spoken to you since his death, making you feel more alone than you already felt in your own home. The whispers about you have gotten louder, they don’t hide their disgusted expressions anymore, and one of your younger cousins even went as far as to spit at your feet.

You don’t necessarily blame them, but since then, you’ve realized that his death was not your fault. You didn’t rat him out to Javier or the cops. You didn’t reveal the location of that lab because you didn’t know about it until that day.

They can believe what they want to believe. Soon enough, you’ll be rid of them for good.

Jerónimo stands next to you in the front, his head hanging low as the officiant rambles on about a man he didn’t even know. The dewy grass makes your heels unbearable to be in, poking at your feet and making you feel gross. A big pair of sunglasses sits on the bridge of your nose, hiding half of your face.

A single tear slips – but it’s not from the service, it’s from your Tío Luca and Tía Luciana whispering about you right behind you. You turn your head slightly to the left, making it obvious to them that you can hear them. Immediately, they shut up, focusing on the speech instead.

This is how it’s been since your uncle was buried six feet under.

You’re a stranger in your own home; being shut out by absolutely everybody and not trusted with anything. Sure, you put yourself in this situation but it doesn’t make it any less painful.

You lay in bed at night, trapped inside your mind: thinking of Javier, missing the love from your father that was supposed to be unconditional. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you’ve had to beg him to love you your entire life. Now it means nothing to you.

The trauma you went through with Andrés still lingers, waking you up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. You know Jerónimo can hear you hyperventilating at night. But does he check up on you? No.

That’s all you want. It’s all you’ve ever wanted – to be seen by your father instead of looked at like a liability.

The pager Javier gave you has been buzzing nonstop, and today, you finally build up the courage to go see him. You sit quietly in the back of the SUV as Francisco drives, wearing a black sweat set. Comfortable and expensive.

Every now and then, you can feel his eyes on you in the rearview mirror, checking up on you without saying anything. Also making sure that no one is following the two of you. Your dad isn’t too worried about where you’ve been going anymore since you’ve only left the house on occasion and you’re always with Frankie.

He’s the only one who hasn’t shut you out, and you think it’s about time that he meets the man you’ve risked your life for.

The gravel of the driveway crunches under the tires as he pulls up, putting the car in park and assessing the surrounding area. “¿Estás segura de que esto es? (Are you sure this is it?)”

You’re not. And you’re sure he’s only asking because it doesn’t look like a government-funded house.

“Es una casa franca (It’s a safehouse),” you explain, “No se supone que deba parecer costoso. (It’s not supposed to be expensive looking.)”

“Right,” he murmurs.

You move forward, slipping between the front seats to sit in the passenger’s seat. “Don’t you watch any crime shows?”

Frankie shakes his head, glancing at you sideways. “No, ma’am.”

“That is sad,” you tease lightly, your lips curving slightly for the first time in a while.

He doesn’t respond, senses on high alert. “There’s no one here.”

It’s only then that you take in your surroundings, not seeing Javier’s Jeep anywhere. You hum faintly, pulling out the pager he gave you from your pocket.

“Did you let him know you were coming?” Frankie asks, eyeing the rearview mirror as dirt picks up in the distance.

“I did,” you murmur, checking the last messages that were sent and received. 

The screen stares back at you, the only thing Javier sent you being the letter ‘K’. “Maybe he doesn’t want to see me–”

“Is that him?” he cuts you off, nodding at the car pulling up behind the SUV.

Without being subtle at all, you turn half of your body around to look out the back window, trying to make out the driver. The tinted windows are a blessing and a curse, but you’d recognize Javier anywhere.

The relief you should’ve felt when you saw him last finally washes over you, your hands moving faster than your mind to open the car door. Frankie yells after you, easily moving quicker than you and blocking your way just in case it isn’t Javier.

He turns around when the car’s brakes screech to a stop, protecting you with his body, his hand hovering over his gun. You know better than to say anything when he gets like this, considering the many failed attempts you’ve had before when it came to getting him to move. For now, you keep your place, standing behind him like a little girl.

You tilt your head to see past his brawny frame, watching Javier and Steve get out of the car. Javier’s aviators sit perfectly on his aquiline nose, his lips pursed underneath his mustache. When he sees you, the corner of his mouth twitches, extending out his hand to shake Francisco’s.

Introductions have you yawning before you launch yourself into Javier’s arms, not budging when he almost loses his footing. He wraps an arm around your waist, cradling the back of your head tenderly. 

“I missed you, too, cariño,” he whispers, intended for your ears only.

You run the tip of your nose along his neck, inhaling his scent after what’s felt like forever. Eventually, you pull back, looking up at him. Your reflection in his sunglasses stares back at you, subconsciously fixing your hair.

“They know,” you murmur, watching him nod slowly.

He removes his glasses, hooking them in the front of his button down. “I figured that when I didn’t hear from you.”

The crease between his brows deepens, brown eyes roaming across your face like he’s memorizing your features for the last time. You know his mind is running a million miles a minute, trying to figure out a way to get you out of this.

You cup his cheeks, feeling the rough stubble beneath your palms. “No intentes ser un héroe (Don’t try to be a hero),” you murmur softly.

Your love for Javier hasn’t been the thing ruining you.

It was hope.

It’s not what you want – you want to be with Javier. But it’s not worth it if he tries to sacrifice himself for you and both of you end up dead. The two of you were never going to end up together and it was foolish of you to believe so.

You wish things were simpler, you do. But it was never meant to work out. He had one mission coming here to Colombia: to get Jerónimo and move on. That was before you came along and made things ten times more difficult. 

“What?” he whispers, his hands tightening on your waist, keeping you from moving. “What are you talking about?”

Silence washes over the two of you, your eyes discreetly falling on Steve and your bodyguard. Javier understands easily, taking you by the hand and dragging you inside the house. The feeling of your hand in his feels perfect: gun-calloused but always so soft with you.

His boots are heavy on the hardwood floor, leading you towards the back of the house. He pushes you inside the bedroom, closing the door behind himself. It takes him a minute to turn around and face you, eyes red-rimmed and exhausted.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Mimi?”

You have to make it hurt. Make him hate you so he doesn’t get himself killed over you.

“My dad wants you dead, Javier,” you admit, already feeling your tears prick your eyes. “I cannot be the reason that you die.”

He shakes his head, averting your gaze and putting his hands on his hips. “You should’ve thought of that before you made me fall for you.”

You’re taken aback by that, “I didn’t make you do anything.”

“All those things you told me,” he starts, taking a slow step closer to you but stopping when you take one back. “Your dreams, the life you’d rather live–”

“Yeah, and you were lying to me the entire time,” you bite back, starting an argument that neither of you want to have right now. “You have all the information you could ever need about my father. Why do you still need me?”

“You know why,” his voice rises, patience finally snapping. “I know what I did wrong, you don’t have to keep throwing it back in my face!”

“How can I not when our whole relationship is built on a lie?” you match his tone.

“I’ve already apologized for that shit,” he spits, “I’m not doing it again just because you’re afraid of how this will end.”

A scoff leaves you at his words, running your hands through your hair. “You said it yourself, it’s too dangerous for us to be together. I didn’t want to believe it but now I have to.”

“Why?” he asks, clenching his jaw twice. 

“They’re blaming me for my uncle’s death–”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he cuts you off, telling you what you’ve already concluded.

You take a quiet deep breath, “It doesn’t matter. To them, I’m a rat that got her own flesh and blood killed. It’s only a matter of time before they…”

“Before they what?” he asks when you trail off, though he knows exactly what you mean.

It means that you’ll be killed by your family. “An eye for an eye,” is what they call it. In this world, it’s normal for people like them to ‘take care’ of the threats that come their way. Unfortunately, you’re now viewed as one and Javier refuses to let anything happen to you. Regardless of if he can lose his life in the process.

You’re too precious for this world. You’re too precious to him.

You clasp your hands together, holding them in front of your mouth. “We can’t be together, Javier.”

“You don’t think I know that?” he queries, taking a cautious step forward. It’s more obvious than it should be to him that your resolve is crumbling the longer you stand in front of him. “I’ve been fighting with myself for months. I know I’m no good for you, I know this can end badly. But I can’t stay away from you.”

The tear finally falls and Javier wraps his arms around you, pulling you in close. He rests his forehead against yours, breath mingling with yours.

You can deny it all you want, but you know he means more than he should to you. A shuddering exhale escapes through your lips, your hands gripping his biceps. “We should’ve never gotten involved with each other,” you whisper, closing your eyes. “That would make this a whole lot easier.”

He doesn’t answer, pressing his lips to your temple instead and letting you fall apart in the safety of his arms.

For the third time this week, you’re out on the balcony smoking. The city twinkles, mocking you and your lack of freedom. Seeing Javier was nice but you couldn’t stay long.

The sliding door behind you opens slowly, not even needing to turn around to know who it is. This will be the first time he’s even acknowledged you since that night, and you almost consider walking right past him and into the house.

Almost.

Jerónimo plants his forearms on the railing, leaning against it and watching a shooting star in the sky. “Sé que no he sido un padre perfecto (I know I haven’t been a perfect father),” he starts, clearing his throat, “Tu madre se sentiría decepcionada por cómo te he tratado toda la vida. (Your mother would be disappointed at how I’ve treated you your whole life.)”

You shake your head slowly, taking a drag of your cancer stick until your lungs burn. “Dejaste que todos creyeran que su muerte fue culpa mía (You let everyone believe that his death was my fault),” you meet his gaze head on, keeping your cool, “Andrés was an idiot that got himself caught, but all of you have been too airheaded to realize that. I didn’t even know about the lab.”

He doesn’t entertain that with a response, looking out at the view. “Hice todo lo que pude (I did my best),” he claims, “Lo hice. Lo intenté. (I did. I tried.)”

You stay quiet, unsure of where he could possibly be going with this. To you, he’s lying through his teeth. He never tried to be a father to you. He threw money at you and expected you to obey his every command like a well trained puppy. The one time that you don’t, he drops you like you’ve never meant anything to him at all.

Jerónimo sighs, almost dramatically, before he continues. “Puedes salir por tu cuenta, tal como quieres. (You can go out on your own like you want to.)”

That gets your attention but you don’t look at him, realizing that he’s trying to get a reaction out of you to see if you’ll admit to playing both sides.

“¿Crees que el mundo es tan terrible conmigo en él? (You think the world is so terrible with me in it?)” he asks, taunting you, shifting closer to you. “Wait until you see what it is like without me.”

He almost walks away to leave it at that but you open your mouth to say something. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you stand up straight, deciding to speak about everything that’s been bothering you. “You’ve trapped me here. You were never a fucking father to me and it baffles me that you even think that you gave any effort at all.”

“I did–”

“I’m not done,” you cut him off, stubbing out your cigarette. “I have always been a disappointment to you. It doesn’t matter what I do.”

“You didn’t want me in the first place and it’s been obvious my entire life,” your voice wavers, making you take a deep breath to keep your emotions from spilling over. You refuse to cry in front of him because he doesn’t deserve your tears. He’s not worth the emotional toll to cry over.

“I have had to beg you to love me constantly, and for a long time, I thought that was okay. I took whatever you gave me because I thought that was your way of showing that you care. But I’ve been wrong. Again and again, you’ve proved me wrong.”

The lack of emotion on his face makes you want to slap him, but you keep your calm. “A parent’s love is supposed to be unconditional. I shouldn’t have to beg to even get you to look at me. I didn’t want all the expensive things your blood money could buy, I wanted my father to see me and appreciate me and love me.”

You shrug, shaking your head. “You never did any of that because you never saw me as yours.”

“¿Y crees que esos estadounidenses pueden? (And you think those Americans can?)” he opens his big mouth again, making your anger boil over.

You scoff, shaking your head. “God, you really can’t see the issue here, can you?”

“What I can see is that you’re willing to destroy everything that I’ve built for you over an American,” disappointment drips from his words, trying to make you feel bad. “I am building an empire for you.”

You shrug faintly, pressing your lips into a thin line. “It’s not for me. It’s always been about your legacy.”

Jerónimo clenches his jaw, towering over your frame. “Eres una mocosa malcriada y desagradecida (You are an ungrateful, spoiled little brat),” he spits, voice seething with fury. “Y quiero que te vayas de esta casa. (And I want you out of this house.)”

You don’t flinch under his gaze, looking up at him with a defiant glint in your eyes. “No.”

“No?” he raises his brows, a disbelieving chuckle leaving him. “Puede que tu madre haya aguantado tus pendejadas hasta que murió, pero yo no lo haré. (Your mother may have put up with your bullshit until she died, but I’m not.)” 

He steps closer, leaning down to be eye level with you. His lips twitch underneath his thick mustache, “You are no longer my daughter, and I will not protect you.”

“All because you believe them and not the person you had a hand in reproducing?” your voice is low, tired of the circles all of you keep running around. “You can believe what you want but I’m not going anywhere.”

Not until he’s dead.

part 7 - series masterlist - main masterlist

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