Forged by Secrets (Deadly Isles Special Ops Trilogy, ebook 3)

Chapter One

Gabriela

Caracas, Venezuela

A little over ten years ago



It was the last day of secondary school, and a sense of freedom led a bunch of us to venture out, including my boyfriend of the last two and a half years, Samuel, rather than congregate at my house around the kitchen table. A warm breeze rolled a crumpled piece of old newspaper like a tumbleweed down the sparsely occupied sidewalks.

I cast a nervous glance at the sky, determining how much time we had until the sun set, which would usher in danger. With the anticipated nighttime malice, people would retreat to the relative safety of their homes. Criminals would exit the holes they’d scurried to during the daylight to emerge in an explosion of raised voices and the occasional pop of automatic gunfire.

We had time. Not a lot but enough that I wasn’t in a fully-fledged panic. Dusk had yet to settle, and the remaining rays from the sun assured me we were relatively safe. But the sense of freedom that had buoyed my steps fled as our group’s youthful outrage in the face of our war-torn country stirred from a simmer to a boil.

Samuel’s large hand held mine, and he tugged me down Caracas’s once vibrant and bustling city streets. For over an hour, we’d walked through the town where he and our friends pointed out the alarming number of closed businesses in the desolate, politically oppressed area. Most of the people who passed through were on their way home from the few jobs that remained. To stay on the streets after dark invited violence.

Devastation gripped our lands in the form of starvation, lack of medicine, and the loss of jobs far and wide. Few possessed vehicles. Many walked for miles. Those who drove picked up hitchhikers along the road in the way of ride-sharing, as public transportation had ceased to exist in many areas or was too dangerous to take. My heart broke, and my grip tightened on Samuel’s hand. Our privileged lives were very different from the majority of Venezuela’s citizens because of who our parents were.

I’d let Samuel and a few of our close friends talk me into walking through the city center rather than abiding by our parents’ rules of going only to school and our respective homes. We were able to go to one another’s houses but nowhere else. There was too great a risk of being kidnapped, as our families had money in a crisis country.

My friends and I shared the same political views and felt a need for action. I’d tried to talk with Madre and Padre, but they’d hushed my voice, whispering that it was too dangerous, and that the president wasn’t in his right mind. To me, that indicated an even greater need to do something. We wanted to push for change, but I wasn’t sure we were doing it the right way.

My bravado from moments earlier withered to a sudden death. Our families orbited within the president’s inner social circle, affording us a sense of safety and bounty that the rest of our country was deprived of. Out in the open, witnessing men and women with baggy clothes that had seen better days telegraphed a tangible loss of hope.

My focus snapped back to what was going on around me, to my tall, lanky boyfriend, whose passion for change infused the air with crackling intensity, a vibe that left me oddly frightened and wanting to duck my head and flee.

“What’s happening to our cities is criminal.” Samuel raised his arm, letting my hand fall from his fingertips as he turned to take in the repressed area. “Our families have the power to influence change, yet we’ve done nothing. That ends today.”

Our friends cheered beside Samuel, all except me. The fine hairs on my arms and nape stood, warning that someone watched with ill intent. My gaze skittered nervously along the sidewalks, from face to face.

Despite the afternoon heat, a shiver of dread crawled over my body. I studied the people at the edges of the town where my boyfriend made the street his stage. We’d pressed what money we’d had on us into people’s hands, wishing we had brought more. I searched the handful of hopeless expressions until landing on a menacing presence standing apart from the dull and lifeless ones. He wore clean black pants and a button-down shirt, and his penetrating gaze bore down on me. No…

I recognized him from events we’d attended with the rest of the president’s close friends and associates. The man in the black clothes with a gun strapped to his waist and a dangerous demeanor worked for the president, and he was… not good. I tugged on Samuel’s shirt as the man took a casual stance outside a boarded-up pharmacy. The government had ceased to approve shipments of medicine some time ago.

“We have to go,” I pleaded, jerking harder on his shirt.

He lowered his arms, turning to me with questions in his warm brown eyes.

“It’s not safe.”

Red tinged his cheeks, and his eyes lit with challenge. What he wanted to do was such a bad idea. I agreed with him and our friends that something had to be done to help the people, but we were, in a way, exempt because of our political favor. For us, not much had changed, but for a majority of our country, everything had. Our stomachs didn’t cramp with hunger. If we were sick, we had medicine at our fingertips, and we were able to quench our thirst with an abundance of water.

“This is why we came here, Gabi.” Maria dropped the fist that she had raised in support of Samuel’s outspoken views. She rested her palm on a jutted hip and swept her other hand out in a flourish of self-righteous attitude. “Are you saying we should do nothing? Our parents—yours specifically—have the power to influence change. We need to take action.”

Tears threatened, and I tried to hush her, but nothing worked. They were excited and drunk on the idea of being able to make a difference. I understood because I was of the same mind, but that man brought reality crashing over my head. There weren’t enough of us, and we stood out as easy targets, especially with one of the president’s militia watching our every move.

I stepped around Maria, so I was in front of Samuel. Wrapping my arms tightly around his waist, I tipped my head back until our eyes met. “Please, take me home.”

I wanted to tell him it wasn’t the right way to do things, that to affect the change we wanted, we should be lost in the masses of people demanding action. To draw attention to us, to our families, was a sure way of stifling our voices by putting pressure on our parents.

There were other ways we could help, and we needed to regroup and explore those options. I also wanted to talk with my parents, as I knew they secretly shared our desire to aid our people. There had to be a reason they weren’t doing anything, and I wanted to know what that was and how they thought it would be best to overcome the obstacles that stood in our way.

Tears swam in my eyes. Samuel frowned, concern etched along the lines bracketing his mouth. “Okay, yeah, we can do that.” He took my hand in a firm grip and led us to a waiting car.

Maria and a few others argued against leaving, but Samuel calmed them, saying we would regroup and strategize back at my place. My mind was already spinning about how I wanted to formulate a way to get as many people from our school as possible to rally together in protest against the government and how they starved our people. That was something they would get behind and would provide a way that I could join in without going against my parents’ wishes that I not draw attention to myself. That rule was a new one, in addition to a coded phrase to indicate trouble, and had been uttered over a rushed breakfast before my parents and I went our separate ways for the day.

My only hope was that the menacing man I recognized didn’t do the same with me. The closer we got to my home in the meticulously maintained gated community, the more I was able to push what’d happened from my mind.

It didn’t take long for us to return, grab snacks, and continue our spirited conversation about how to save the people as we crowded around the large kitchen island in my home. The tension that had taken residence between my shoulder blades slowly dissipated as the sun began its descent, ushering in evening shadows. But it all returned as the sky darkened further and mi padre entered the kitchen in his fashionable dark-gray suit, his tie loosened and off-center, and his face a mask of calm that contrasted his harsh command that everyone needed to go home immediately.

When the door closed behind Samuel and my friends, I twisted the ends of my waist-length hair between nervous fingers, readying myself for the storm that was sure to follow. And it did, just not in the way I’d thought.

Padre ran his fingers through his dark hair, mussing it, while Madre wrung her hands before flinging herself at me. The sound of the faucet then the radio filled the eerie stillness of the house.

Madre held me tightly in her arms, her shoulder-length rose-gold hair mixing with my matching hues as she rested her cheek against mine. The scent of lilies from her perfume cocooned me in familiarity. Her body trembled as she whispered, “I love you more than life, my sweet.” She squeezed harder, her soft, melodic voice pinched with despair. “You have to go.”

Stunned, I could only return her hug until Padre pulled her back with heartbreaking gentleness. His hug was fierce, and I strained to hear his hushed words. “We love you, Gabriela, and that’s why we have to send you to your aunt and uncle in the States, where we know you’ll be safe.”

“Just for a little while.” Madre’s voice cracked, and she took a deep breath to compose herself. She cast a glance at my father before pasting an attempt at a reassuring smile on her face. She reached behind her neck and unclasped the gold locket necklace with a turquoise inlay.

Padre took it from her and popped it open, revealing pictures of us and a mini USB flash drive inside. Closing it, he fastened the delicate chain around my neck, and Madre slipped it under my shirt, hidden from view. “Give this to your uncle immediately when you see him,” he instructed. “On it, there is documentation about our government and the many injustices done to our people. It’s your ticket to safety, a passport for a new life. We’ll follow as soon as we can.”

I wanted to argue, but their panicked expressions stole my words, and I took my backpack and purse, which Madre pushed into my hands.

“They’ll have clothes for you, but this way, you won’t look as suspicious as if you didn’t have any bags,” Padre explained as he handed me my hoodie. Once it was on, he pulled up the hood and tucked my hair inside. “The car is already out back with instructions. Hurry.”

We left the kitchen’s brightness and traveled through the back of the house, not turning on any of the lights. I peered through the side window by the back door and found my parents’ driver waiting with the headlights off and the car engine running.

There was time for one final hug. I memorized the floral scent of Madre’s perfume, and Padre’s strong embrace enveloped me while we whispered, “I love you.” Then I went from the unlit back door, across the yard, and to the idling vehicle. Once inside, tears ran like a river down my face, and I felt like I was going to be sick.

I twisted in my seat as the car sped from the back of the house, rounded a corner, then turned back onto our street but traveling in the opposite direction. I craned my neck, wanting one last glimpse of our home, but we were too far and going too fast.

The vibration of a text buzzed at my hip, and I pulled my phone from my jeans, praying it was my parents ordering me back, that their sending me away was a mistake.

My heart thundered in my ears as I read Samuel’s text: I feel responsible cause you got in trouble. I’ll talk to your parents.

My hands trembled, my fingers hitting the wrong letters as I tried to tell him not to go there. To go home.

Another text came through before I could even send mine: I’m here.

A loud boom sounded, and the car shook. My heart stopped. I dropped the phone and scrambled to my knees. A large plume of smoke rose in the distance, right over my house, where my parents and Samuel were. A high-pitched screaming noise rang in my ears. The car swerved to the side. My door was flung open, and the driver grabbed hold of my shoulders, his face frantic. His lips moved, but I couldn’t understand what he said.

Then I realized the screaming was coming from me.

My mouth snapped shut, and I swallowed the horror as I realized the magnitude of what we’d done by taking our grievances to the street, the repercussions of our actions in the heat of the moment, and how it would implode to affect those I loved. Madre, Padre, and Samuel were dead, and it was my fault.

The boy I thought I would grow up to marry had been taken from me.

Gut-wrenching sobs shook my body as my heart broke for those I loved. I clutched the locket with the pictures of the three of us inside that Madre had given me and the hidden flash drive that would be my ticket to a different life and a new name—Malina.

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