Chapter 4 : El Lobo's Cantina

"Once you open this door, never look back." Celeste's face looked worried, and her tone was foreboding. I knew with the look in her eyes that if I was caught, there'd be no second chances.

After running up a few flights of stairs, I was already bracing my arms on my knees, trying to regain my breath. That didn't bode well if I had to keep running to ensure my freedom.

Not that I was out of shape either. Just, I didn't have time to actively work out. My papa always told me to focus on my studies, that my education would lead me to greater places he never could have reached himself. So, my life was mostly spent in libraries or cafes reading books or typing away on my laptop.

"Why are you helping me, Celeste?" I asked knowing she was risking so much for me.

"You remind me of someone who was special to me, someone that I lost to this type of life… I don't want to sit back this time and see the same thing happen," she confessed, her eyes blank as if they were lost in a memory.

The air was silent between us for a split second until she snapped back to reality. "Oh, I almost forgot! Take this!" I was whipped back to reality when Celeste handed me a mysterious pouch which was dangling from a chain.

"Wh-wh-what is it?" I asked, not recognizing what its purpose served.

"Inside is a flask of morphine–enough to kill you. If you ever get caught, I'd recommend you take this. Trust me, it's the easy way out," she spoke solemnly, her eyes no longer the amber color as before, but rather a dark mahogany.

I grabbed the pouch hesitantly, tossed it around my neck for now, not having pockets. Her words made sense. I just prayed it would never get to that point.

"Celeste, why don't you come with me! We can escape together!" Maybe I still had too much hope left in me, maybe I wasn't realistic, but I wanted her to have her life back, assuming she ever had one at all.

She shook her head slowly. "Listen, dear, I'm in too deep. The moment I step out that door, I go back to being a nobody, an undesired outcast. At least here, I'm always wanted by someone."

I grabbed her hands as she spoke. Tears pooled around my eyes, and I felt them cascade down my cheeks. My father always told me, 'Don't judge a man based on what he does; judge him for who he is.' At this moment, his words made sense to me.

"You may not see yourself this way, but Celeste, you're truly a light in this twisted underworld. You're different; you're not supposed to be here." I tried convincing her, hoping she would follow my lead.

She giggled softly, her eyes holding back tears. "And that's exactly why I have to stay–so I can be a light to these women here. Now, live your best life out there, Catalina. Promise?"

She remembered my name. Maybe she always had, but her airy persona was a defense mechanism to fight against the horrors here.

I leaned in and wrapped my arms around her in an embrace. She felt cold, and all the warmth was coming from my body as I tried to heat her up like a soft blanket.

Now, I saw what this life could do to a person first-hand: turn the brightest of people into a hollow shell of themself. "I promise, Celeste. And I'll be back to tell you the story."

I pulled back from her, and she smiled. A single tear dripped slowly down the bridge of her nose, and she quickly wiped it away. It seemed like she had been holding back her emotions for years.

I quickly pocketed the small pouch of morphine Celeste had handed me, hoping I'd never have to use it. I put my hand on the long silver bar of the emergency exit door, and before opening it, I turned my head back to look at her one last time.

"She's up there! Hurry!" I heard a commanding, masculine voice yell from down the staircase. Celeste stood there as the last line of defense while the group of men's footsteps thundered in the staircase.

Her face was dark and defeated. She would be tortured by Efrain and Agustin once they found out she helped me escape. And she had no morphine left to end the pain on her own terms.

With that guilt coursing through me, I turned back around and shoved the door open, expecting to find freedom, but at what cost?

It was pitch black outside, and rain was downpouring onto the pavement. For some reason, I had hoped I would find an expansive pasture of tall grass, one where I could run for miles with the wind pushing me towards my goal of freedom. However, I was met with a grimy alleyway and the stench of cigarettes and piss.

Faint rays of light coming from the moon and scattered street lights reflected on the puddles on the pavement, disorienting my sense of reality. My buzzing head pain felt like a migraine, and mixed with the rancid smells encircling me, it made me want to heave.

I could hear distant shouting and banging from the door I just ran out of. The men were close, and I assumed that Celeste was doing her best to fight them off to give me a headstart that would cost her life. I hoped in my naive way she would be forgiven for helping me, but I knew that wouldn't be the case.

The anxiety of being chased caused my wolf to rise to the surface. I felt her urging me to shift, something I'd only done a few times since turning eighteen, since I really never had the necessity to, being focused on my academics and all.

Luckily, my wolf's pelt was an ombre color, brown with a tinge of red, so that I wouldn't stick out as badly in the shadows.

I let my instincts take over, my chest stretching tightly, my legs transforming to tendons, and the palms of my hands growing sharp claws and leather padding.

The metal door swung open and bashed against the brick wall behind it. The sound shook me to my core, and I sprinted off, dodging garbage bags, broken bottles, and empty syringes of narcotics.

"Get that wh*re before our Alpha kills our a*sses!" a voice screamed out. I jumped onto a dumpster, and saw a fire escape, which would have been impossible to climb in my wolf form. I couldn't risk shifting back because la pandilla had also shifted and was hot on my heels.

I decided to keep my high ground and leapt from the dumpster, onto a parked car, and then onto a few metal barrels of goddess knows what, before landing on the pavement again. I turned the corner, not looking back, and found myself in another alleyway, this time faced with a row of tents and homeless—Miami's version of Skid Row. I was likely out of pack territory now. I lunged through a few men who were throwing poker chips around, causing the ceramic coins to go flying.

"F*ck you, you stupid f*ck!" I heard as I blew by, and immediately, I ran into a few other squatters, one who was literally squatting–taking a sh*t on the pavement. I knocked him over by accident and may have sliced his leg with my claw in the process which I felt sorry for. Another voice shouted, "One of those magic f*cks again!"

Momentarily having my momentum stopped, I heard the wolves closing in on me, although there didn't seem to be as many as before. Had some found a different route to try and trap me? I had to be careful not to get blocked in.

At this point, I couldn't feel anything. I could hear my heart thumping through my chest, but that was it. My eyes were purely focused on what was in front of me, and it felt like my escape was being televised to me rather than living it. I'd never imagined in my worst nightmare this type of life or death situation.

However, the farther away I ran from "The Pound" the more my chest tightened. My airways seemed to shrink as well, but maybe that was from all the frantic running I was doing. Was it the fear that was drowning my lungs? Or was it something else?

'MATE!'

"MATE!'

'MATE!'

My wolf kept repeating these words to me.

'Don't leave your mate behind,' my wolf ordered.

My wolf was really trying to convince me that Efrain was my mate....Yeah, not going to happen. This fatigue, this disorientation, this tightness, it was all from the fear of being caught. That I was sure of.

The pain in my chest radiated through my forelegs and hindlegs like shrapnel; it felt like a dozen acupuncture needles piercing my nerves. It was so intense, I wanted to collapse. And paired with my blistering migraine, I couldn't focus.

I began running into more people, more walls, more obstructions as I turned corner after corner into more enigmatic mazes of Miami's underworld and alleyways. I was surprised the wolves behind me hadn't caught up.

Finally, I reached a main road—it looked like Ocean Drive—neon lights, lively bars, palm trees, and tourists. This was the part of town where the mafia wouldn't dare show their faces openly with so many eyes on them. Efrain's pandilla must have stopped as I moved out of their territory in fear of getting caught themselves.

Quickly, I shifted back to my human form, forgetting that I'd be naked after doing that. Well, for Miami, nudity wasn't that uncommon luckily, and although I loved my body and I found my raw femininity beautiful, I wasn't one to parade around in my birthday suit. Luckily, the pouch of morphine around my neck stayed with me.

I located a street vendor selling cheap swimsuits, counterfeit luxury bags, and flip flops. They were asking exorbitant prices, trying to exploit desperate tourists. Their business practices didn't concern me, but I didn't have any money with me anyway.

When the man was busy bartering prices with a tenacious customer, I popped around the corner of the alley and snatched the closest piece of apparel to me—a one piece neon orange bathing suit—and scurried off before anyone noticed. I reasoned what I was doing wasn't that bad because the man was illegally selling counterfeit items, and I was taking one more piece of stolen goods off of the streets.

I walked off barefoot, trying to blend in with the shameless Spring Breakers who were wearing much less clothing than me. I slipped the bag of morphine into the bathing suit's breast padding so it wasn't so obvious, but did make my cup size increase. Not that I'd complain.

My breathing steadied, however the pain in my chest only worsened. My stomach simultaneously grumbled and I thought maybe some food was what I needed, although I hardly had an appetite. Also, I didn't have any money, but I figured I could sweet talk some lustful man to buy me a meal, using my long, tan legs as a weapon. My papa always told me that a woman's body was the easiest way to render men powerless.

I walked a couple blocks trying to find a cantina to grab a bite to eat at. It was hard finding a bar that didn't have too many witnesses inside who might be suspicious of me whilst also not being too secluded where I could find myself in another precarious situation.

"El Lobo's Cantina" seemed perfect, as it was the only bar that looked meticulously maintained—the white stone facade was bright and welcoming, and the smoke from the fajitas actually made my mouth water. I took a seat down at the bar and a female bartender asked me if I wanted anything to drink.

"I'm just here for some finger food, believe it or not," I told the bartender whose name tag said 'Cinnamon.' Her name told me she had another job after this one finished.

She took my order—just a basic nachos supreme—and I waited while my food came out.

"Darlin', I'd love to get a taste of what you're offerin'," a man, middle aged and down the bar, said with a lascivious tone as he bit down on his cigar.

Although he repulsed me, I knew he was my ticket to a free meal. "Maybe I'll reward you with a taste if you pay for my meal, huh?" I offered.

"That's all it'd take, darlin'? You's is too easy. I like when tha girls are hard to git," he replied, his lips curving in a devilish smile as he took a puff of his tobacco.

"Easy to get, hard to keep," I joked, sliding down a few barstools closer.

"Is that right, huh?" the man smirked. Now that I was closer, I noticed the weasel of a man's features: short, bald, and his skin torched from the sun. He looked like a man who came to bars with the sole purpose of finding some young girl to pick up.

Cinnamon returned with my nachos and placed them down in front of me. The beef was sizzling, and the cheese looked thick and creamy like fondue.

"Hey, Cinnamon," the man yelled firmly and the bartender quickly straightened up and hurried over to the man. "Get this fine lady a Mojito on the house."

On the house?

How did he have the authority to order drinks on the house? He looked like a vagabond, not a business owner.

"Yes, sir." She submitted and made the drink so quickly, it felt like she used magic to conjure it up.

She slid it in front of me as I took a bite of my nachos. The bald man next to me watched me as I took a bite.

"Yummy, huh?" he asked, his eyebrow raised.

I ignored his question and asked one of my own. "You come here often?" I interrogated, noticing how Cinnamon reacted so anxiously to the man. My stomach started feeling unsettled, and I wasn't sure if it was from the nachos or the man next to me.

"You could say that." He let out a low chuckle as he gulped the rest of his whiskey.

"Food isn't that good though to come that much," I said, blatantly honest after tasting the nachos.

"People usually don't come here for the food," he winked and nodded to Cinnamon, the stripper behind the bar.

"El Lobo, how we doing tonight?" a group of men walked in slapping the man's shoulder next to me in a brotherly type of way. The man next to me gave them all a quick fist bump..

El Lobo? As in THE guy the cantina was named after?

"You own this place?" I asked him after the group of men moved past him and headed towards the back of the restaurant.

"Indeed I do, darlin'." He paused, took another puff of his cigar, and continued, "I own a lot more than just that." He released a low growl and laughed wickedly. "And now I own you."