It’s been an hour since thatputoPatricio had me locked up. Fabricated a story about me stealing money and supplies from the hotel. My first call was to Vidal, the only man who still has the guards here wrapped around his fingers.
Another hour passes before I’m dragged into an empty holding cell. Patricio sits at a small metal table like a king. Legs crossed. Back straight. Rolex gleaming under fluorescent lights. The DNA results I sent him are clutched in his hand. Beside him stands Dr. Gael Aguilar, Enrique Consuelo’s partner. Both men are still in their wedding attire.
The guard shoves me forward. I drop into the chair.
“Where is she?” I demand. “Where is Alma?”
Patricio doesn’t flinch.
“Maybe she ran away?” he says mildly. “Rejection hurts.”
My pulse spikes.
“Get me the fuck out of here,” I growl. “Now.”
“Who the fuck are you to give me orders?” he snaps.
Gael opens a medical bag and pulls on latex gloves. Two cotton swabs. A vial. I recognize the kit immediately.
“I already gave you proof of DNA.”
“The timing is oddly suspicious though. It’s dated seven months back, and you wait until now to give it to me?” Patricio remarks.
“I wanted to forget you existed!” the reply rips out of me.
He chuckles, unimpressed. “You’re not the first one to show up claiming I’m your father.” He tosses the report onto the table. “But please. Amuse me.”
Gael approaches. There’s something apologetic in his eyes as he tilts my chin and swabs my cheek. I don’t fight it.
“I wouldn’t want to claim you as shit,” I say, never breaking Patricio’s stare. “But you are going to let me out of this cell.”
“It’ll take twelve hours,” Gael says quietly. “Rush order.”
Patricio nods. “Put him back until we know who he really is.”
“No,” I snap. “I don’t have twelve hours.”
The guards grab me. I shrug one off, punching him hard enough to drop him, and disarm the other. Then I raise the gun.
“The summer of 2002,” I say, pointing the gun at Patricio. “You were wandering in Tijuana. Heartbroken and Drunk. You met my mother.”
He laughs sharply. “The only women I knew in Tijuana were escorts. And I never went without protection.”
“She was an escort,” I cut in. “Yourescort. For months. You paid her to live with you. To fuck. To get high. You told her about your inheritance. About the cartel. Then your father came, and you disappeared.”
His smile falters.
“She found out she was pregnant,” I continue. “And she came looking for you.”
“You’re lying,” he says, but doubt cracks his voice. “Someone fed you this story to destabilize me.”
“Patricio,” Gael interjects quietly. “Look at him. He looks exactly like your father when he was younger.”
“I don’t see shit,” Patricio snaps. “Just hurry the results.”
I laugh under my breath and cock the gun.
There’s only one card left.
