Page 4 of High

Thiago Reyes-Montero

Four years, three months, three days, and twelve hours—that’s how long it had been since I last heard Manny’s voice. I knew because I’d kept count of each hour that went by, hoping my father would change his mind and allow me to rescue Manny from his gilded cage, but every time I’d asked, Papá would shake his head and forbid it.

Now, four years after the fact, I stood at an altar of lit candles, a picture of Santa Muerte in the center, and my mother on her knees, praying. I kneeled beside her and curled my arm around her shoulders.

“Mamá.” I kissed her cheek and she leaned her weight on me, wiping at tears that slid down her face.

“I’m fine, hijo.” She turned to me, streaks of mascara trailing where the tears had tracked, and smiled sadly. “Your papá would be proud of you.”

“I know.” I leaned my forehead against hers and closed my eyes. She hadn’t been handling his death well, but I didn’t expect any less. They’d been hopelessly in love for over thirty-five years, swept up in a teenage romance that resulted in me and my younger brother, Arlo. She stood at his side while he took on the biggest, and most dangerous, business of all: drug trafficking. And she was the perfect wife for a cartel boss. Fearless. Ruthless. The men respected her as much as my father. “Mamá, I wanted to tell you that I’m finally going to get Manny. I know Papá forbade it, but I’m in charge now, and I’ve waited long enough.”

She cupped my cheek and smiled. “Oh, Thiago, I’m not going to stop you. I begged your papá to let you go for him, but he refused. He worried that you’d be caught between his and Antonio’s war. But I love Manny like my own, and I support you in bringing him home. He spent more time here with us than he did with his own papá.”

“I left him there too long. He probably hates me.” I squeezed my hand into a fist on my thigh. We’d spent long years together with the same tutors, and I’d kept him as safe as I could from the outside world, but I never suspected there’d be a time where he wouldn’t have me. I didn’t even know if he was alive and well. The thought made my stomach clench in out-of-control anger. I wanted to kill and slaughter, but I’d already done that this week with a mule who thought he could steal from me, as though I wouldn’t notice the missing heroin. He’d had a friend who made off with more of our drugs, and he also wasn’t long for this world once I found him.

“Manny will never hate you. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.” She attempted to stand, and I hooked a hand under her armpit, helping her. Turning to me, she shook her head and her dark curls bounced. Her round cheeks were flushed red as she patted down her blue-and-pink floral dress. “When are your men going?”

“A week from now. We’ve been planning it for months, and I’m going with them.”

“Mijo, you can’t go! You’re the jefe of the Reyes Cartel now. It’s too dangerous for you. Let your men handle it. That’s why you have them.” She grabbed my shoulders, kind brown eyes pleading. Mamá had always looked like a soft woman, someone who would allow herself to be used, but she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the epitome of dangerous. She had controlled Papá more than anyone realized.

“Mamá, I don’t trust anyone but myself for this job. He’s important to me, to all of us, and I won’t let anything happen to him.”

“Don’t take the risk and give your enemies a chance to hurt you. Antonio will not hesitate to put a bullet in your head if he sees you. And let’s not forget about the Killough Company. They are our enemies, and Sloan Killough will skin you alive if he catches you.” She gripped me tighter and tilted her chin back, staring up at me. “I can’t stop you. You’re no longer mi bebé, but be safe, Thiago. Bring Manny home.”

I tugged her into a hug, and she hooked her arms around me, holding firmly. I was much taller than her, and wider, too, but she still gave me a comfort that only a mother could. “I promise, I’ll be safe.”

“Are you taking your brother?” she asked when she pulled away, turning toward the altar again. She went to her knees, but I didn’t follow her down this time. Mamá had always been religious, a Catholic who believed in Santa Muerte and any other saint she thought would help us. Even when Papá moved us to the United States when I was barely five, she never let go of her beliefs. I grew up with a mixture of American and Mexican culture, and while at one point I’d been embarrassed by my heritage, I’d quickly learned to embrace it because I wanted to set a good example for Arlo and Manny.

“No, Arlo needs to stay here in case it doesn’t go as planned. Someone needs to take care of this family.”

She shook her head and bowed closer to the ground. “Your brother is a smart man, Thiago, but he’s no jefe. Not like your father trained you to be.”

“I know.” I sighed and stared at the picture of the saint. She stared back as though seeing through my very soul. I picked up the cross that dangled from a gold chain against my chest and kissed it, mostly because I knew it would make her happy. “The plan is ready. By this time next week, he’ll be home with us.”

She turned her head to stare at me. “I will pray to Jesús Malverde for your safe travels, as I’ve prayed for your papá’s ascent to heaven. He will guide you over the border and to Manny’s home, I am sure of it. He is always there for protection, remember that.”

I bowed my head. I’d been raised to be Catholic, but I didn’t have the type of commitment she did. “Thank you, Mamá.”

“Go. I know you have work to do. I don’t want to hold you from it.”

I saw the lines of distress on her face, and how she dropped her head, and I knew she needed me now more than ever. It’d been four months since Papá’s death, and she grieved as only someone who’d been in love would.

I crouched beside her again and reached for her hand, entwining our fingers. “Let me pray with you.”

She smiled through her tears, her bottom lip wobbling. “Gracias, mi amor.”

I sat there through her prayers, listening to her whisper to the Patroness of Death until she was finished, then helped her stand and blow out the candles. She left a single red pillar candle burning next to Papá’s photograph. We headed out the door of her altar room, and I made sure she found her way to a comfortable seat before I stormed down the long corridors of the mansion, heading to the meeting room where I knew my right-hand men already waited.

As soon as I entered, everyone stood respectfully, and I nodded at them each in turn. The meeting room was a long space consisting of a custom-made polished dark wood dining table lined at the edges with gold. There were brown wooden floors, like the rest of the mansion, and the white walls were decorated with an authentic Jackson Pollock painting that hung to the right of the door.

Arlo and our cousin Rafael stood on either side of my black executive office chair, and they smiled at me when I sat down, following by taking their own seats. I glanced around the table at the other men again. They consisted of blood relatives and friends. Rafael and Tadeo were brothers, the sons of my father’s sister Yolanda; and then there was Ricardo, my friend since we were three; Marcos, a man whose family had been loyal to the Reyes Cartel since the beginning; Isaac, my right-hand man when it came to getting drugs over the border, and Axel, who I considered my weapons expert.

“Are we ready?” I asked, leaning forward on the table and staring in turn at the nonchalant faces of the men surrounding it.

“As ready as we’ll ever be, Jefe,” Rafael answered. He looked very much like his own father with his strong jaw and narrowed brown eyes, taller than me by a few inches but a lot wider, with bulging muscles that strained against his white dress shirt. There was a reason I’d made him one of my most trusted men. Other than being my cousin, he liked to get his hands dirty, and he had the strength to do it, too, which was the reason he was coming with me to get Manny.

Arlo cleared his throat and leaned closer, eyebrows furrowed in concern. When he looked at me like that, he reminded me of Mamá, even though he could have almost been Papá’s twin. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? If you’re caught, Thiago, everything we worked for could be at risk.”