Wrecked (Dirty Air Series Book 3)

Thirteen Years Ago

“If you’re not ready in five minutes then you don’t get a story. You may be twelve years old now, but your bedtime is still at eight.” My dad’s voice booms through the halls of our second-story house.

I rush toward my bathroom. I’m a girl on a mission, hurrying through my bedtime routine since my homework took extra long today. After brushing my teeth, I rapidly pull my wavy hair into a braid and swap out my contacts for glasses.

I make it to my bed with thirty seconds to spare, jumping onto the soft mattress with a loud thud. Papi’s footsteps echo through the hall as he pops his head in to check on me. I shoot him a large grin as I cross my legs and clasp my hands.

He opens the door wider, his brown eyes staring me down. “Should I check if you flossed?”

I shake my head from side to side while fighting a giggle.

“The payment for your next dentist visit should come out of your piggy bank.”

“I promise to do it tomorrow. I’m dying to read with you, and homework took forever. Why can’t I go to school with all my friends? They’re done with their work in an hour.”

Ever since my dad became an ambassador for Mexico a few years ago, our lives have changed. I was enrolled in a private school, we moved to a better neighborhood, and now we have money to go on a few vacations. Mami stays home while Papi travels to and from the United States, working on important things with the government.

“Because one day you’ll thank me for forcing you to attend an American school. All those hours I spend putting away bad people and fixing Mexico are paying off.”Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

“But they make me speak English all day,” I whine.

He taps my scrunched nose. “And what a great accent you have now. I’m glad the tuition is worth it. I look forward to the day you’ll walk across the graduation stage at an American university.”

He sits next to me, my bed dipping under his weight as he presses against me. He opens my copy of The Hunger Games to the last chapter we left off on, ready to start our nightly tradition. With his position, comes a lot of responsibilities, including missing our reading nights.

“Are you ready to get started?” My dad flashes me the chapter page.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

“You know the deal.” He brushes aside a loose wave, which escaped my braid.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes into the back of my head. “Yup. You start, I finish. Woo. Let’s get this going.” I swirl my finger in a motion telling him less talking, more reading.

His rough voice picks up right where we left off two weeks ago. I sit against my ruffled pillows, hanging on to every word, excited about Katniss surviving the cornucopia.

He passes me the book halfway through the chapter. My dad corrects me as I read, with my accent becoming heavier as my enthusiasm grows. The chapter flies by and leaves me desperate for more after a cliffhanger.

“One more chapter? Please?” I bat my dark lashes at him. They’re long enough to brush against my glasses, an annoying issue usually prevented with contacts.

He shakes his head at me. “I wish I could, chiquita. Mami wants me to help her with the dishes before bed.”

I cling to his side, pulling out all my stops. “But you’ve been gone forever so you owe me at least ten chapters.”

“Diez? No mames.” He chuckles as he hugs me. “How about tomorrow? I’m willing to bargain with three chapters.”

I pull away and cross my arms against my chest. “Fine. If you must.” I wave him off, sighing as I fall against my pillow dramatically.

“I knew the new school was good for you. Look at you, acting like a proper lady. Your reading has improved a ton this year. I’m very proud of you.” My dad plants a soft kiss on my forehead before he closes my bedroom door.

I turn off my lamp. My eyes shut and my mind drifts, thinking about the book and how the chapter ended. Curiosity about what will happen next eats away at my patience. Unable to fall asleep, I pull out a small flashlight from my nightstand I keep for nights like this.

I grab the book and enter my closet. If my parents found me reading this late on a school night, they’d give me a whole speech. To save us all, I hide in my usual spot behind my clothes and a couple of cardboard boxes. The flashlight casts away shadows as I open the book to the next chapter.

My finger guides me, holding my place as I practice reading. Katniss runs away from others while avoiding getting killed. She’s brave and cool.

A scream sounds from somewhere downstairs. The hairs on my arms raise from how scary it sounds. My dad’s shouting startles me, and my shaky fingers release the hardcover. It falls to the floor beside my feet with a heavy thud.

I hold my breath as I try to make sense of what I heard. Glass shattering in the distance and my mother’s faraway pleading makes me panic. My heart beats faster in my chest as my father switches from English to Spanish, begging for mercy. Strange voices shout back before something else smashes.

Papi warned me about things like this. He taught me to stay in my room and wait for one of them to come get me.

Another scream from my mother takes my breath away. I stay stuck to the carpet, my fingers fumbling to grab the flashlight.

My dad shouts, his begging carrying through my closed bedroom door. I struggle to control my body’s shaking.

The loudest popping sound echoes through my house like someone set off a firework downstairs. My dad stops shouting as my mom lets out a pained shriek.

My fingers tremble as I shut off my flashlight. The clicking noise sounds too loud, breaking the silence as darkness hides me. More pops happen, cutting off my mom’s cries, sending a chill up my back.

One. Two. Three.

My eyes water as I struggle to breathe, the whooshing sound of my heart messing up my hearing. Deep down, I know something is wrong, with my parents not crying anymore. I shake my head as if the movement can erase the worry from my brain. The thought of something bad happening to them is too much for me.

I suck in a sharp breath as my door creaks open.

This is it. They’re going to find me.

The closet door muffles the sound of footsteps. I pull my body into myself in an effort to disappear into the smallest corner of the closet. Boxes and racks of clothes hide me.

I’m no Katniss Everdeen. I’m a faker, hiding away, fear making me curl into a small heap of nothing. My closet doors open, and acid crawls up my throat at the noise. I don’t dare swallow in fear of the stranger hearing me.

Some hangers rattle and my shoes are pushed around. I hold back the urge to breathe as something thuds against the box in front of me. As quickly as the unknown person came, they close the closet door.

“His daughter isn’t here. Maybe she’s with another family member? Or should we check all the rooms?”

I cover my mouth to prevent any sounds from escaping. Tears splash against my fingers, but I stay silent.

“Olvídalo. We got the job done. El jefe will be proud of us and he’ll have to promote us after this. Eduardo has been a pain in his ass for years.”

I fight with everything in me to not get sick and give myself away. Katniss wouldn’t be crying. She would have marched out of the closet and done something. Anything.

I’m a weak, pathetic coward who barely catches my breath as I fight back the need to throw up.

A door slams somewhere downstairs.

Mami and Papi will come for me. They’re okay. Maybe a little hurt, but they will come.

Minutes pass yet I don’t hear any sounds in my house. More tears run down my face as I pray for Papi to come find me and carry me to bed.

I don’t move for hours, afraid to step outside. My eyes adjust to the dark as I rock myself back and forth to calm down.

Eventually, I crawl out of my hiding place, my stomach dropping as I push the closet door open. I stop, listening for anyone who might know I’m here. Minutes pass before I think it’s safe to move again.

Taking a deep breath, I open my bedroom door. It groans like one of those Scooby-Doo episodes. My heartbeat speeds up as I let out a shaky breath.

I hate the dark. My house feels creepy, with the lights all shut off and shadows lingering in the blackest of corners. The skin on the back of my neck tingles. My feet carry me down the stairs as I clutch my flashlight in my hands, desperation giving me the strength to keep moving.

“Mami? Papi?”

Silence. Pure silence and darkness make the vein in my neck pulse. I fight back the craving to run up the stairs and hide beneath my covers. Katniss would be brave in the dark—strong and unafraid.

I trip over something blocking my path into the kitchen. My head drops on its own. “No! No no no no no.”

The flashlight drops with a thump by my feet before rolling away. My legs give out as my knees hit the floor, my fingers clutching onto my mother’s hand, cold in mine and feeling all wrong.

Tears flood my eyes, running down my cheeks before landing on her. I crawl over her body and tug her into me. “¡Mami! ¡Despiértate!” My trembling fingers brush her hair out of her face, my heart squeezing at her empty eyes staring back at me.

Cold, lifeless eyes without any sign of her warmth.

“Mami, ¿qué pasa? Regresa a mi.” My hands become slick as I lose my grip on her. I check out my fingers, but the lack of light makes it difficult to see what made them wet. Tears mess up my vision as I move toward my flashlight. The light lands on my dad, lying next to my mother, a trail of blood following him.

A sob breaks free as I crawl over to Papi, hugging him as I press my ear against his chest, hoping he’s still alive. I can call a doctor or Abuela to help me.

“Por favor, Papi, no me abandones.”

Silence.

No heartbeat. No breathing. Nothing.

“No, no, no.” Pained sounds escape me. I cry into his chest, losing control of myself. He smells all wrong. My fingers grip his suit, shaking him as if he can come back to life.

To come back to me.

“Don’t leave me.” My broken voice croaks.

No one responds. No one hears my cries. No one can save my parents. They are gone.

Dead.

Murdered.

My hands shine in the poor lighting, bloodied and slick. A wave of nausea hits. I barely make it a few feet before my dinner makes its way back up my throat, my body heaving until there is nothing left.

I place my shaky hands on the hardwood floor. A shard of glass impales my finger, the sharp pain pulling a hiss from me. Blood pours out of me as I rip the thick piece from my middle finger.

Tears run down my face before landing on the floor, disappearing into the blood trail my father left behind.

I lay on the slick tile, pulling my knees into my chest, wishing the killers had taken me too. My body shakes as I rock myself back and forth. I shut the flashlight off and allow the shadows to creep in, surrounding me, the silence tearing at my last bit of calm.