CHAPTER 19: THE FREEDOM HE OFFERED

I stood in the living room for a few seconds, not knowing what to do with myself. My face still felt warm from what had happened earlier.

I shook my head, trying to push the embarrassing moment out of my mind. I walked into the kitchen to clear my head.

The stone counters were clean, and the pantry shelves were filled with supplies. There were tins of shredded beef, bags of white rice, dried p***o beans, jars of salsa, cooking lard, and yellow cornmeal.

My stomach growled loudly.

Neither of us had eaten a proper meal since yesterday.

I lit the gas stove with a match, placed a heavy frying pan over the flame, and opened two tins of seasoned beef. I added the meat to the pan along with cooked p***o beans and a little lard. Soon, the warm smell of food filled the kitchen.

I almost forgot that I was inside a safehouse owned by the man I had spent two years trying to escape.

A few minutes later, the sound of running water stopped.

Footsteps came down the hallway, and Guillermo entered the kitchen.

My breath caught.

He was wearing the dark cotton trousers, with bare feet against the wooden floor. His dark hair was damp and pushed back from his forehead, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. A small towel rested over his right shoulder.

Under the warm kitchen light, thin pale scars covered his broad chest and stomach. The fresh wound on his shoulder was still red and swollen.

"You should have put a shirt on," I murmured, quickly looking back at the frying pan.

"I didn't want the fabric touching the wound before you bandaged it," he said, walking over to the counter.

The heat from his body was noticeable in the small kitchen. He smelled clean now.

"I'm warming up beef and beans," I said, stirring the food to keep my hands busy. "We need to eat."

He reached up with his uninjured hand and took two clay plates from the wooden rack above the sink. He placed them beside the stove. His arm brushed lightly against my shoulder, sending a small shiver through me.

"Let me help," he murmured.

"You're injured. Sit down," I said gently.

He looked at me for a moment before obeying. He then walked over to the long wooden table and sat down.

I served the food onto the plates, filled two glasses with water, and carried everything to the table. Then I placed his plate in front of him before sitting across from him.

For a few minutes, we ate quietly. The hot food tasted better than anything I could remember after hours of cold rain and dried meat.

He finished a few bites before putting his fork down and looked at me.

"Xitllali," he said softly. "I'm sorry about earlier, in the bathroom. I should have knocked before coming down the hallway."

My face warmed again, but I kept my eyes on my glass.

"Just knock next time, Guillermo," I said quietly. "I know it was an accident, but my nerves are already a mess."

"I give you my word. It won't happen again."

I set my glass down and looked around the stone room.

"Guillermo? How do you have a house hidden here? And how is there fresh food in the pantry if no one knew we were coming?”

He set his glass down.

"Three years ago, before you left, I bought this land through a private company. Every safehouse I own is kept ready," he explained. “I hired a local farmer who lives two miles up the valley to look after the place. He gets paid every month."

I looked at him. "Does he know who you are?"

"No," he said. "He doesn't know who owns the land, and he has never seen my face.

 His job is simple. Twice a year, he checks the solar batteries and water pump. Every three months, he brings fresh beans, rice, flour, canned beef, and sealed water jugs to the house.

 He takes the older supplies away to feed his livestock, so nothing stays long enough to spoil."

"You paid someone for three years to keep food stocked in a house?" I whispered.

He looked directly at me.

"When you disappeared from Guadalajara, I knew that if you didn't go north toward the United States, you might go south toward the border. Chiapas was the gateway to Central America. I kept this safehouse ready because I thought... if I ever had to come south looking for you, this was where I'd stay until I found you."

My breath caught.

He hadn't prepared this place for cartel business. He had kept a hidden house in the mountains stocked for three years, waiting for a day he wasn't even sure would come.

“When we've dealt with Severo's men, I'm going to give you a choice. I'll give you a clean passport, money, and a car. If you want to leave and start somewhere new, I'll let you go. I won't follow you."

I stared at him. "And if I don't leave?"

"Then you come back home with me," he said softly. "Not as a captive. As my wife. By my side. And you're free to leave whenever you want."

Silence filled the room. I didn't know what to say.

I stood up from the table and walked toward the medical kit Valdo had left behind. I picked it up and brought it back to Guillermo, placing it beside his chair.

"Let me fix your shoulder," I said.

He looked down at the kit, then back at me.

I opened the kit and laid out antiseptic, cotton pads, and fresh bandages. I stepped between his knees so I could reach the wound properly, just as I used to when he came home injured in Guadalajara.

"This is going to sting," I whispered.

"Do it," he said quietly.

I pressed the pad against the wound, cleaning away the moisture from his shower. His chest tightened and his jaw clenched, but he didn't pull away.

I worked slowly, applying the ointment and wrapping a fresh bandage around his shoulder.

“Thank you”, he said softly.”

“You should go get some rest now. Take the bed.”

I looked at his bare chest and the fresh bandage around his shoulder. The tired look beneath his eyes made him look like he could collapse at any moment.

"Guillermo, you're the one who's injured and exhausted," I said. "Take the bed, and I'll sleep on the sofa."

A small smile touched his lips, but he shook his head.

"No, mi vida. You take the bed."

"Guillermo, you're injured..."

"I'm not sleeping in that room while you're out here," he interrupted. "I'm staying on this couch. You take the bed and lock the door.”

I stared at him for a long moment. There was no point arguing with him.

"Okay" I whispered.

I walked down the hallway toward the master bedroom. The room was warm and quiet. The large wooden bed was covered in thick blankets and soft sheets. I turned around and locked the door.

I was locked inside a room not because someone was keeping me captive, but because the man outside was sitting on a couch in the dark, just so I could sleep well without feeling uncomfortable.