Page 51 of Ravaged Hearts

Jesus H. Christ. There was an entire cartel army living underground.

Jorge hustled me up several flights of stairs, and when the door opened, giving way to blue skies and sunlight, what I saw caught me off guard.

Not narcos with weapons.

Childreneverywhere.

A dozen girls and boys kicked a soccer ball on a field while another group played tag between the arched columns of the gallery where we stood. A pair of nuns acknowledged Jorge with a nod as they walked by with two long lines of children in tow.

Why would my drug-dealing, human-trafficking father’s compound be so close to so many children?

“What is this place?” I asked through gritted teeth as my initial shock turned to anger.

“An orphanage. Built and fully funded by the Pacific Coast Cartel,” Jorge announced proudly.

Slowly, I turned to face him. “And where is my father?”

“There.” He pointed to a white wall topped with razor wire, at the far side of the soccer field. Beyond the wall lay a grove of palm trees, and peeking between the lush green fronds was a grand hacienda-style mansion. I couldn’t be certain, but it looked strikingly similar to the one I’d seen in the background of Carlos’s video calls.

Motherfucker.

The orphanage grounds surrounded the compound like a moat, which had to be a strategic move to prevent attacks, at least from anyone with a shred of decency. Other cartels might not care about the lives of orphans, but the authorities would think twice before storming in and risking so many children. I knew a certain team of mercenaries who would feel the same.

I’d made the right decision to tackle my father on my own. If I’d stuck with the team’s plan and my trackers had led them to the compound, how could they have waged war on the cartel with a hundred innocent hostages acting as a buffer?

Jorge frowned when he noticed my dour expression. “Why do you look unimpressed? I thought a do-gooder like you would approve.”

Unbelievable.

I almost choked. “Approve that my father is using children as human shields?”

“These kids would have nothing if it weren’t for this place. We feed them, provide a roof over their heads. Without us, they’d be living on the streets, doing God knows what to survive. They’re safe here.”

“Safe?” I scoffed. “Is that why there are guards with automatic rifles patrolling the perimeter?”

I could see two of them from here, but there had to be more given the size of the property.

I looked around the courtyard, surprised to find that the children appeared clean, healthy, and happy. One thing stood out, and it intensified the churning in my gut.

“Where are the older children?” I asked.

I’d heard they were the hardest to place and usually outnumbered the younger kids in an orphanage. There were none here above the age of twelve or thirteen, at a guess.

“We welcome them into the cartel. The boys get training to become soldiers.”

“And the girls?”

Jorge’s silence was deafening.

“You sell them.” This wasn’t an orphanage. It was a slave farm. I swallowed the bile creeping up my throat. “How could you? They’re children.”

“We all have to grow up one day. The sooner they learn that the world is a cruel place, the better.”

“Are you even trying to find homes for these kids?”

Jorge’s pathetic shrug told me all I needed to know.

I shook my head and lowered my eyes. “Cowering behind innocents while profiting from their misery. You disgust me.”