The Moral Dilemma (War of Sins Book 5)
The Moral Dilemma: Chapter 26

RAF WINCED as the car rattled to a stop. He’d been awake for a couple of hours already—long enough to rationalize where he was and what was happening to him.

His mind was still foggy and he had the barest recollection of what had happened. Yet he knew one thing for sure. Lucero had helped him escape.

If he tried hard enough, he could almost make out her form in front of him, her voice whispering in his ear as she told him to leave—go get help and come back for her.

He’d promised her he would return—of that, he was absolutely sure. But how he would go about that, he did not know. Especially as he had no idea where he was.

He was in the trunk of a car. Lucero had helped him hide there, hadn’t she?

Raf frowned as he couldn’t properly recall whether that had happened or if the image of her helping him had just been a product of his imagination. There was also a vague recollection of him picking the door to his cell—but with what key?

His mind was too confused to make out the details. But his purpose was clear.

He would get back home, get his rightful place, after which he would return to help her.

Nodding to himself, he searched in the darkness of the trunk for his water bottle, sloppily bringing it to his lips and drinking what was left of the liquid. The moment he’d woken up, he’d been incredibly parched—a thirst he didn’t seem to be able to quench.

A loud noise startled him, as well as movement right next to the trunk.

His eyes flared open as awareness seeped in. He was going to be discovered!

Someone fidgeted with the lock of the trunk just as the seconds stretched into an infinity for Raf. He was frozen to the spot, his body languid even as alarm bells rang in his mind.

Light filtered through the darkness. The hood was lifted one inch—enough for his dark corner to be inundated with light.

He winced, shielding his eyes. He’d been so long without light that it immediately hurt his eyes.

Yet just as the person was about to open the trunk, he heard two voices arguing before the men stepped away from the car. He shuffled inside the trunk, his hand on his pouch as he fitted his ear to the fissure of the trunk.

“If you don’t have my money then this is going to be a problem,” one of the men said in Spanish.

The other replied something, but their voices became increasingly distant.

The moment Raf felt confident that they were far enough, he used what little strength he had to push the hood of the trunk up. With his pouch firmly grasped in his hand, he exited the car on shaky legs.

He looked right and left in an effort to avoid detection, sighing in relief when he realized there was no one paying attention to him.

He was in a town.

Frowning, he took in his surroundings as he wobbled away from the car. He didn’t know who it belonged to, and the last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him.

He walked briskly down a few streets, doing his best to get lost before he finally stopped to calm himself.

His heart was racing, his limbs sluggish as he felt himself already out of breath and exhausted. Luckily, though, he spotted a park with a bench to his right. Pushing himself forward, he dragged his feet to the bench, plopping himself on it and taking a deep breath into his battered lungs.

Immediately, he reached for what little water he had left in his pouch, drinking greedily. When he was done, he finally managed to peek inside the pouch, his eyes widening in awe at the contents.

While he’d been in the trunk, he’d managed to feel around the inside of the pouch, and besides the water, he’d supposed Lucero had given him some spare cash and some supplies. But he was shocked to see more than just spare cash. Taking the notes out, he counted them.

One hundred thousand pesos. That was a few thousand dollars in U.S. currency.

How could a serving girl have so much money?

He stared at the money for moments on end.

Good God, but what had she had to do to get that money?

Tears trickled down his cheeks and he dabbed at them with the back of his hand as he quickly put the money away and out of sight. God, but he couldn’t imagine how she’d managed to get her hands on that type of cash. He truly hoped she hadn’t done anything dangerous for his sake.

He wasn’t worth it.

Damn, but he hadn’t been worth it time and time again, but still, she’d taken risk after risk in order to help him.

Why?

Why had she put him above her own being? What had she seen in him that he couldn’t?

Raf closed his eyes as he tried to conjure up her voice—that sweet melody that made him feel as if he was worthy when he knew he wasn’t.

He didn’t see himself as worth saving, but because she had—because she’d put all her trust in him—he wouldn’t disappoint her.

Bringing his attention back to the bag, he frowned as he removed a few small vials with a clear liquid. For a moment he couldn’t understand why she’d put those in the pouch, but soon he realized what that must be.

The drug.

The goddamn drug that had enslaved him.

She must have realized he wouldn’t survive if he went into withdrawal and she’d taken care of that too.

“My smart girl,” he whispered, a small smile on his face. “I won’t disappoint you,” he said as he put everything back.

“I’ll come for you. As soon as I can, I’m coming for you,” he promised.

Confidence flowed through his veins as he forced himself to stop wallowing in self-pity.

He might have been through hell, and maybe he deserved it. He might have even deserved to die.

But he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t.

For her, he would do the impossible.

He would survive.

Getting his bearings together, he left the park as he explored his surroundings. Not too far was a busy market, and as his stomach audibly growled, he decided to stop by a shop and get some food.

He didn’t know exactly where he was, but going by the size of the market, he supposed he was at least in a mid-sized town.

There were stalls with food, clothing and household items on each side of the road. After he got something to eat, he looked for some clothes, since he didn’t want to draw attention with his tattered ones.

“Gracias,” he smiled as he handed the cash in exchange for a shirt and a new pair of pants.

The shop clerk returned the smile, praising him for his pronunciation. Although his Spanish was fluent, he still had a bit of an accent when he spoke it, which was a dead giveaway that he was a foreigner.

As he made his way down the street he recalled Lucero and her voice. She’d had an accent unlike anyone he’d met at the hacienda—unlike the man at the market too.

It had been clean—almost too clean at times, with no trace of regionalisms. He’d asked her once about it and she’d claimed it was because her parents weren’t originally from the region. Shaking himself from his musings, he focused on his surroundings.

“Perdon, puede ayudarme?” He stopped by a stall with electronics.

“Si, por supuesto. Que puedo hacer por usted?” the man asked with a kind smile.

Raf explained he needed a phone and a SIM card to make international phone calls. The man told him he was only able to help him with the phone. He would have to go to another shop to get a SIM card—especially an international one. But the man was kind enough to point him toward the shop that sold those.

“Una cosa mas,” Raf said as he nodded his thanks for the directions. “Saben donde puedo conseguir un coche?”

The man gave him further instructions of where he could go get a car, suggesting it would be cheaper to hitch a ride with someone.

Raf thanked him, tipping him generously before heading to buy a SIM card, so that he could get in contact with his family. Then, he’d just get a car and drive back to the States. He reckoned he needed to contact the embassy too, since he didn’t have a passport or any type of ID with him with which he could cross the border.

He almost groaned out loud at how complicated his situation was. But at least he was free. That was all that mattered.

Following the man’s instructions, he tried to locate the shop. Yet just when he thought he’d arrived at the right destination, he heard a hint of a conversation. But it was one word that stopped him in his tracks.

“Gringo.”

Someone was looking for a foreigner.

Considering the fact that the town was not very big, Raf thought it unlikely that there would be too many foreigners.

Turning, he strained to hear more.

But the moment he heard his description, he knew he couldn’t linger.

Gritting his teeth, he started in the opposite direction.

“Alla!” one of them yelled, at which point, Raf heard a dozen steps following behind him.

He broke into a run just as gunshots rang in the air.

“Fuck!” he cursed. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Quickly, he realized he couldn’t run forever. Especially in a town in which he was likely the only foreigner, which meant they would replace him wherever he went.

No, if he wanted to escape, he needed to get rid of them first—before they did the same to him.

His mouth was set in a grim line as he rounded the corner to a building.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes as he did his best to remember the teachings from his childhood. He might be a little rusty, but he could still fire a gun.

He listened carefully to the noises outside, letting his senses guide him. When he heard someone come in his direction, he struck out. Using his elbow, he jammed it into the man’s gut, twisting his arm and removing his weapon. As fast as he could given his rusty condition, he moved, aiming the gun towards the men running towards him. He held onto the man as a shield, thinking they wouldn’t shoot at their own colleague.

He was wrong.

Just as he started shooting, they did too, most bullets making their home into the man’s body. Raf managed to hit a few, their bodies crumbling to the ground. Unfortunately, they managed to hit him too.

He winced as a bullet grazed his arm where he wasn’t shielded, and he did his best to maneuver the body to provide more protection, all the while continuing to fire at the incoming men.

He counted about three more people as he backed away in an attempt to look for more coverage inside the building. He didn’t know how many rounds the gun had left, and the odds didn’t look to be in his favor.

A few more shots later and he emptied his gun.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he threw the body to the ground, running to the back of the building. But his poor physical condition prevented him from getting there before the men caught up with him.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath when he found himself surrounded.

His eyes roamed wildly around as he did quick calculations. It was three against one, and with his limited strength, he doubted he could take them head on. That meant he had to improvise.

Spotting a trash can in the back, he grabbed it, hurling it at the men chasing him. They released a string of curses, but weren’t deterred.

One was faster, catching up with Raf and shooting at him, the bullet whizzing right past him. Eyes wide, he turned just in time to avoid another bullet.

He grimaced as he bent his knee, jabbing it into the man’s stomach as he struggled to take the gun from him. In the ensuing fight, the man’s hand latched onto his pouch, the string breaking and the contents falling to the ground.

It was almost like everything happened in slow motion as Raf turned his attention to the floor and the shattered vials of the drug that soaked the material of the pouch. But he didn’t get to dwell on it as the man attacked him again, the others coming from behind, their weapons ready to shoot.

His shoulder wound was paining him, as was the fact that he was unused to any physical exertion due to months of being locked up in that damned room. But he also knew that this moment was a critical one.

He either fought for his life, or resigned himself to dying. Yet the former alternative was out of the question. Not when his promise to Lucero was still foremost in his mind. He’d vowed he would return for her—that he would free her and they would be together.

And that was a vow he meant to keep. No matter how hard the road ahead was, he was determined to prevail.

For her. For them. For their future.

He refused to believe that this was the end—not when their relationship had barely started.

He got in a few blows, but the other man did too. He reeled back, his mind fogging up. But he wasn’t about to give up. Clenching his fists, he aimed for the man’s neck, hitting him right below his jaw in a blow that sent him tumbling to the ground.

Raf was quick to get the gun from him, turning his attention to the others and shooting. He got the first one in the chest and the other in the head.

Adrenaline swam in his veins as he found himself staring at their bodies, his breathing labored, his body close to its breaking point.

Knowing time was of essence, he went back to his pouch, gathering some of the money that hadn’t been stained by the liquid and getting out of the building.

Without looking back, he went straight to the car shop from before, buying an old ride and getting in front of the driver’s seat. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he had to get as far away from that town as possible. If the men had communicated his whereabouts, chances were that more people would come after him.

He managed to drive for a solid three hours before he found himself slipping. His head was throbbing, his arm even more so. He wondered how much time he had before he went into withdrawal, and based on past experience, he doubted he had more than a full day. Pursing his lips, he decided to take a small break at a gas station, eat something and patch up his bleeding shoulder.

Raf parked his car, getting out and keeping his head down so he wouldn’t attract any unwanted attention. He went inside the gas station shop, buying some water, food, disinfectant and bandages, as well as a sewing kit and a spare shirt. If the clerk noticed why he needed those, he didn’t comment, simply ringing up all his items and accepting the money.

He took his items and went into the back to one of the bathrooms, locking himself inside and taking his shirt off to inspect the damage the bullet had done to his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he muttered when he noticed the blood pooling down his arm. Luckily, the bullet had only grazed him. Still, the gash was big enough that he would need sutures, as he’d expected.

Already used to this, he disinfected a needle and thread, pouring a generous amount of the liquid on his arm as well. Gritting his teeth, he started working on himself. Due to the position of the wound, he had a hard time reaching it properly, but he made do.

If his background had helped him with anything, it was with this. In this moment, he was grateful for his experiences growing up, because they had taught him how to act in the face of an emergency—how not to lose his calm and keep his attention in the game.

Maybe it had all been for a bigger purpose—all so he could survive this trial.

Although it wasn’t easy, and there was nothing with which he could numb his pain, Raf managed to sew the gash up and apply a bandage on top of it.

Taking a deep breath, he stared at the mirror in front of him, barely recognizing himself.

How long had it been since he’d last stared at his own reflection?

His skin was sallow, his muscles taut from the pain. Without his shirt on, he could see the various scars running the entire length of his torso—some old, from his time with Armand, and some new, from the hacienda.

His hair, too, was longer than it had ever been, reaching his shoulders.

Armand had always made sure he was groomed to perfection, and that meant his head had always been shaved, so that the wigs he forced him to wear would be secure in place. Armand had… particular tastes, and to a degree, Raf was happy to see his long hair. It was a testament to the passage of time and the fact that his time with that monster was all in the past.

Done patching up his wound, he put on the fresh shirt, wincing as he struggled to put his arm through the sleeve.

“How the hell do I get home now?” he muttered as he stared in the mirror.

He didn’t even know where he was currently. He’d simply driven aimlessly on the highway in an attempt to get as far away from his pursuers as possible. He had no passport, or any form of identification to be able to cross the border. And he feared that if he did contact the embassy, Sergio could track him down.

It was clear he had contacts in high up places, otherwise there would be no way for him to control such a vast area and rule it as if it was an autonomous region.

The more he pondered his situation, the more he realized they probably anticipated that he would seek help from the embassy so he could exit the country. And when he did, they would be able to replace him.

That meant he couldn’t do that—nor could he try calling anyone at home.

While there was the danger of Sergio replaceing out where he was in Mexico, there was the danger of his brother back home. Raf didn’t know who would intercept his call, and he might get from a bad situation to a worse one. No, he was entirely on his own.

The only option was for him to get home incognito. And that meant… replaceing someone to help him cross the border illegally.

For the first time, luck was on his side. As he exited the bathroom and headed to his car, he happened to hear a conversation between two men who were talking about crossing the border with a truck full of people.

Raf approached them carefully and offered them the money he had left for a spot in the truck. After a bit of back and forth, they agreed to let him tag along.

Raf left his car behind, getting in the back of the truck with twelve other people.

And so the journey started.