Page 7 of Broken Reign

I open the box as the door closes. “Hello, Mr. Mayor,” I say as I reach into the box, sticking my hand through his cold ass hair. His head is tough from the cold. I lift him out, glad he doesn’t stink and walk my way back toward the open cell. When I get there, the pimp is holding his head down. I raise the mayor’s head, with the blood frozen around it, eyes open and his frightful expression stiff.

“I’m not sure if we have the same high-powered friends but uh, is this who you’re talking about?” I ask, and he looks up. This man’s veins start popping in his face. I can even see his pulse beneath his pale skin. “I mean, if it’s not him, I’ve got some other friends in high places, I could go get them if you want,” I say, pointing behind me.

The man stares at me as if he’s about to faint which is strange to me because I’m sure he’s done worse. I guess his shock is more as a result of him underestimating me. I shrug. “So, this is not the friend you were talking about then?” I press as if I’m really looking for an answer. “Okay, I’ll put him back.” I walk away throwing the head up and catching it on the way back to the box where I brace myself for the freezing cold once again.

When I return to the cell, headless,Hahaha, I crack myself up, I think to myself…he’s a lot more quiet this time around. Doesn’t have as much to say.

“Okay, now that we understand each other,” I preface, “Here’s what your fate looks like. If you do what I say, you live. If you try to fight back, all I’ll say is don’t underestimate my ability to overpower you. If after I knock you into next Wednesday, you still attempt to fight back, that will be your head in my freezer, you understand me?” I ask.

He says nothing.

“Answer me!” I snap him back into this reality. He nods. “Okay, great. Fuck, was that so fucking hard? All I did was ask a fucking question? Answer when I ask you a question, fuck!” I vent, punching him in the face, breaking his nose on impact. “Okay, so here’s the thing, you along with all the guys in this cell and a few more that will be joining you soon, you’re going to make me some money, because baby, the script is flipped. You and guys like you have had us, working the streets, some of us since we were kids and to you, we’re just property that you can rent out and make money off of. You’ve given no thought to what we have to endure, what we have to go through, physically and mentally, emotionally, you don’t give a shit about that. At first, all I wanted to do was kill you fucking roaches but what happens when you kill a roach?” I ask him.

He looks at me as if he thinks this is some rhetorical question type of bullshit.

“I asked you a fucking question!” I throw another punch to his temple, stretching the skin out on his face in one direction before it snaps back into place.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to…” he stutters.

“You didn’t know nah nah nah,” I mimic him. “I don’t give a fuck about what you know or don’t know. Answer the fucking question,” I yell again, throwing an uppercut into his chin, whipping his head back and banging his teeth together. Ooh, I actually didn’t want that to happen. Oops. I reach for his lips in an instant. “Uh oh, let me see that,” I say. “Yeah, we don’t want to mess up that pretty little mouth already. I want people to pay big bucks for that mouth.”

I click my tongue. “Dang, I gotta be more careful sometimes. That’s right, where’d I get punched so that no one would see it? Mostly in the ribs,” I speak to myself. “That’s right, aim for the ribs, next time. Anyway, what was I saying?” I ask him.

He looks at me like a deer in headlights. “What did I say about me asking you a motherfucking question?”

“Uh, uh, uh!” He winces and tries to speak in a hurry. “Something about my mouth and roaches!” He closes his eyes and waits.

I look him up and down in disgust but decide not to hit him this time. “That’s right. You’re supposed to make me money, I don’t want to end up spending money trying to fix your teeth that I fucked up. Somebody’s gonna pay to have that mouth on their dick. When you smile, I want them to think about coughing up some real money. So far, I’ve broken nothing. That’s good. So yeah, roaches. When you kill one, several more come running. The more of you I killed, the more of you wanted to fight back and I ain’t got time. Listen, I soon realized that killing you predators is not the answer. Who’s gonna be sitting around trying to keep up with all the new pimps? Shit. But I figured out an answer that’ll satisfy me though, even if I can’t kill you all. I’ll turn the predators into prey. And yes, that’s you. You’re prey.” I smile at him.

“So, get some rest, I’ll take you on a little tour of the place soon. Show you the level of punishment you can expect. You better find a way to get fucking comfortable because the only way you’re ever going to leave this place is through death.”

I walk out of the cell and drag the loud grill shut behind me, locking it with a key. When I look back I notice that the pimp has gotten out of his seat. I note that even though the drugs wore off, he didn’t try to attack me while I was in there which means my conditioning is already working.

I walk away feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Chapter 4

Jaya

Asarecruitundereighteen, I get the jobs that are “less dangerous” or whatever like driving or my job today working border control. I drive into California where I work along with other recruits at the Mexican border. I can’t take my weapons with me so I lock them up in the truck. The only thing I take with me are my fighting skills and a bunch of magnetic chips that we attach to cars or pedestrians’ bags if we suspect the person entering California is a trafficker. There are certain tell-tale signs that we pick up on, having been through it ourselves.

It’s not the most fun job in the world for me, unless someone tries to get physical and I can pull out some of my training but the most I can pull out in those moments are mild, unimpressive skills since we have to try our best not to come across suspicious. The reason it’s not the most fun is because during the day, the lines of cars that we’re dealing with areHELLAlong. Like, I mean, so fricking long and you’re on your feet constantly. The most exciting times though are when you catch someone and you can tell they have no clue that you know what they’re up to. That’s super cool because it’s always so satisfying to see them at the facility, knowing I did that. I got their ass there.

Here’s the thing, traffickersLOVEMexico because people are often desperate for a “better life” in the U.S. and this is like where the traffickers have their whole game-playing shit on point. Because, look, if there’s one thing they excel at, it’s talking mess, fucking with your nerves though for real. And you really buy into that shit they’re selling you, about how if you come into the U.S. and shit, you’ll be making thousands of dollars a week. Doing what though? They don’t tell you that part and you have mothers trying to feed their kids, people trying to escape violence, teens trying to eat and create a better future for themselves. So they tell them, all you gotta do when we get to the border is pretend we’re together or some shit, right? Like “I’m your man” or “I’m your woman” type shit or “hell, I’m even your father,” they don’t care.

So these poor people who don’t know what they’re getting themselves into end up lying when they pull up to the border but you can always tell. Shit, I know what to look for. It’s kinda hard to miss for me. But some of these people working border control? They just want to hurry up and get through the hundreds of cars as fast as they can. Listen, I get it. I won’t lie. I have my moments where I’m wanting to do that too but I know that I’d never be able to forgive myself if I let someone slip past me, just like I could’ve if Julissa didn’t come into my life like some sort of superhero. Because they want to get it done as fast as possible though, they don’t do the most routine checks and they ask questions that are the bare minimum, like “where are you going?” or “what’s the purpose of your visit in the U.S?” What kind of questions are those?! So many traffickers just slip through right under their noses and they couldn’t care less. They’re just trying to do their job and go home.

But my job is to make sure that traffickers pay their toll for the things they’ve done to us and people like us. My job is to trap and capture them. So unless I do that, my job isn’t done. And while they’re focusing on doing their jobs, I’ll do mine—as mentally and physically taxing as it is to deal with miles long traffic that takes too long to assess and complete, especially when you’re not just asking basic ass questions and you’re doing a proper inspection.

There are some moments when border control can get super exciting for me. And it looks like one of those moments is about to arrive. I’m looking out my window, waiting for the next passenger to pull up and what do I see but a girl dressed in a white spaghetti strap turned beige by overuse, with her head lowered and her hair pulled forward, covering her face. She’s in the passenger seat, next to a man with a strained smile trying to appear normal. Bet. What do we have here? They’re about two cars down. My own engines within me start revving and I’m all excited but I have to make sure that I stay focused on the car in front of me. It has a baby in the backseat and a couple in the front. From first glance, they seem normal enough but I can’t let myself be distracted by the car that I know for sure has a victim in it and lose sight of a potential threat before me. After what we’ve seen, no ma’am.

I ask the couple for their license and registration, their passports, their baby’s birth certificate and I use a light to test the holographic feature on all the IDs and then I proceed to ask them questions based on the information on the documents which they should know if the document belongs to them. The couple appears to be salty but that’s not a bad sign to me. I’ve learned that some of these people are only p.o’d because they’ve been waiting in the line for hours and when they finally get to the front, they’re looking to be yoinked on through since that’s what they’re used to but not with me. I’m thorough. I find the ones who are always smiling and way too chill more shady. They’re always like “hey, take your time,” kinda pushing the whole “nice guy” act way too far. But sometimes I’m wrong and it flips.

After I confirm that they know their baby’s information and they’re the parents and owners of the vehicle and shit, I send them on through and do the same to the car behind them and then it’s the car I’ve been waiting for.

This man’s smile is mad fake, I can smell it. “Good day, sir. License, registration and passports, please.”

“Oh, shit. You’re asking for all that now?” he says with a big old grin. I don’t give his cheesy ass a smile back. I take the stuff into my booth and run the girl’s passport through a database and I realize that the barcode isn’t adding up even though whoever made this passport did a great job at the whole hologram feature and everything. I don’t want to make any assumptions. He could be helping her escape although by the looks of it, she doesn’t seem to want to be in the car next to him.