Chapter 62: Interlude Four: Maria - The Cartel’s Captive

Maria’s fingers curled into a fist, silver eyes shifting between the two Ellis brothers. All the older members of the block knew what would happen if they resisted, and the younger ones were ready to jump on her signal.

It only took Maria a few questions to confirm what this was about, though. She wanted to do what was natural to her, cuss out and resist anyone trying to intimidate her, but these weren’t some low-life street thugs.

She brushed off their crude comments, subtly telling Carmen to get her brother out of Miami since things were likely going to pop off from the brothers’ casual statements. Maria knew that if their small block was to survive this, she had to comply, and if that was the price of keeping those she cared for safe, she didn’t have a choice.

The Escarlata Syndicate was making a move to take over all the gangs in the area. Whatever they were planning, it was big, and they were snatching up anyone who could bolster their ranks. They teleported in to make it perfectly clear that they could get to anyone. This was a courtesy call; the brothers could come in force. If she didn’t come willingly, she was the enemy, and her entire block would suffer that decision.

Maria wasn’t game for punching Daran as he came closer to pull her in, despite the placement of his arm against the side of her breast. It clearly wasn’t unconscious as he put pressure against it to steer her around. Marcus placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and in a swirl of vertigo, the world changed.

Daran kept her close and stable, and another wave of nausea hit her as they made three more jumps in quick succession. Appearing inside some restaurant, Maria hissed as Daran let go, stumbling to a table and holding it for support as her head spun.

"The hell was that?" she snarled in Spanish, stomach squeezing and blinking to reorient herself.

"No, I feel ya, Curves," Marcus groaned, gagging for a second and rubbing his head. "Dammit, Bro, why did ya do it so—so fast?! Y’know, I hate it when you flash jump—I need to vomit! Shit—"

He stumbled into what appeared to be a restaurant bathroom. Maria caught sight of several frightened older men and women sitting in a corner with two heavily armed men nearby—shit, there were kids there, too. She recognized the thugs from one of the local gangs. They hadn’t been affiliated with the Syndicate; obviously, things had changed in the last few days.

Daran smirked while dropping into the chair, saluting the chuckling men. "Wanted to see if it affected you like Marcus. Y’all got weak stomachs. Hey, Timmy, toss me the radio."

"When we getting the goods, huh, Boss?" the man on the left asked, complying with the order.

Daran caught it and gestured for Maria to sit down. "We’ll be here for the next hour, so sit and chill, chica. As for the tank and military goods, I’m making a run tonight to snatch some of the stuff. Just keep good track of the hostages, boys. We got time."

Maria dropped down into a chair, doing her best not to look perturbed or bothered by the crying kids. The elderly folk attempted to keep them calm so as not to annoy the gangsters, not that it was doing much good.

She didn’t pity the incorporated gangs. In this world, weakness was death. Maria had heard a few things about what was happening in South Beach but wasn’t prepared for what she learned the hour it took the man to recharge.

Daran’s teleportation wasn’t limitless, and he could only go a little over two kilometers in total before he had to wait for his ability to charge. From what she understood, it came in charges, and the sooner he used them, the sooner they’d return.

The cartel had co-opted a few gangs into their ranks through various means, and they were expanding. With all the extra manpower and Daran’s teleportation to get them to key areas, they’d set up their own territory, killing all the police in the area and confiscating their weapons; it drew the government’s attention, which put Maria on edge.

Terrell had to be insane if he was now picking a fight with the US military, yet a few of the more chatty gangsters on their second jump talked about some military team that got sent in to deal with Terrell, only to be repelled. The hostages were there to stop them from using more excessive force, and the man had obtained some mysterious, high-value cartel-affiliated assets as big hitters.

Somehow, they could grant even normal humans some form of elemental powers for a short time, but only the higher ranks got the privilege. Terrell was building an empire for himself after gaining powers.

How he and his sons obtained abilities didn’t sit right with Maria. Her original theory had been that some government experiment went wrong. Although after learning it hit the entire planet, she didn’t know what to think. What she did know was that it wasn’t random. It was too specific on certain families, including how they changed in line with their interests or desires.

Marcus and Daran were fairly tight-lipped about her purpose in all of this. It wasn’t hard to see, though. She knew their father had some kind of eye cancer, and if that was all he wanted her for, then that was all fine and good. Unfortunately, from what she saw, he wouldn’t let a healer like her go.

Maria felt sick when Daran brought them to an underground nightclub. Three dozen kindergarteners sat on chairs in the corner, eyes glazed over and radiating a purple light; if that wasn’t enough, the dried drool running down their chins told her they were being controlled.

Terrell’s large lips peeled back, looking at her with clouded white eyes as if he could see her. "I’ve been expecting ya, kid. Even though The Oscillation made ya white, ya can’t deny your ass got finer by it, and, heh, if I’m saying that, ya know it’s true. Nice work, boys."

Maria’s nose twisted as she shrugged off Daran’s arm. He laughed and held up his hands in a way that said he didn’t want any smoke as Marcus rolled around his neck and coped with the teleportation sickness.

"Yo, Dad, so what’s the play? I got time to chill with some hoes?"

"Language, boy," Terrell grunted, nudging his head toward her. Maria had her arms crossed, stepping away to put some distance between them. "We got a fine woman here, and Maria works hard for her block. So, show the lady some respect."

"Yeah, yeah," Marcus grumbled, going to the bar to pour himself a drink.

Daran gave her a helpless shrug—like he was any better—pointing to the bottles on the wall. "Want somethin’, Queenie?"

"If I did, I’d get it my damn self," she stated, switching back to the English her captors were using, all the time keeping her focus on their father.

"Damn. Cold, but okay. Shit, just tryin’ ta be nice; no need to cut my balls off."

Given what acts she’d heard the man commit, Maria wouldn’t mind the prospect, but she kept her mouth shut in that regard; these dudes were riding their old man’s coattails anyway.

"No disrespect, Jefe, but I got my own shit to handle. Tell me what ya need so I can be on my own business; my pandilla be waitin’, ya know? I ain’t be about this...fancy club shit," she grunted, nudging her head to the bar where his sons were making themselves comfortable. "I’m a backyard barbecue with the crew kind of gal. Ya hear?"

Terrell rubbed his chin, looking off to the side with a thoughtful look in his dark eyes. "I hear ya, Maria. Don’t get your thong twisted."

"Ain’t never worn one, so I wouldn’t know," she shot back.

"Haha! Cheeky. I do like the mouth on Little Havana’s young cholas. Ugh. I got some urgent business, though. Bad timing, boys."

Marcus shook his mixer, preparing some fancy cocktail. "You said to bring her quick; we brought her as quick as we could—oh, shit! Relica! And who’s the prison MILF?"