I kicked Brenda hard enough to drop her. I yanked the rope out of Damian’s hand. I hit Doña Ofelia with the lamp before she could scream loud enough to wake the neighborhood. In less than five minutes Damian was tied to his own bed, Brenda was curled up sobbing on the floor, and Doña Ofelia was shaking in a corner with bloodless lips.
I took Lidia’s phone from the dresser and hit record.
“Now,” I said, “tell me why you wanted to tie me up.”
Silence.
I crouched in front of Damian and lifted his chin.
“You talk,” I said, “or I explain to the police why your three-year-old daughter is afraid to breathe when you enter a room.”
He broke first. Cowards always do.
Then Brenda. Then the mother.
I got everything on video. The beatings. The threats. The money they took from Lidia. The gambling. The slap to Sofía. The plan to drug me and get rid of me. Every filthy thing they thought they had hidden.
