Two Eyes Cenote tres rondas y un sonido

Having something between his teeth, it alleviates the anger.
Feels good, the squirming.
Sometimes they fight.
This one’s too small.
Most he can do is cry out.
But by then it’s already too late.
He’s in the clutches of his captor, covering leagues of flinty land.

The cartel’s turn, to take a prisoner.
They didn’t have the numbers.
But they did have leverage.

If they started running, they’d never stop.
They’d be pushed off the map.
Niño refused.

His pounding grunts sounded over the taut belly of the boy as he fell in heavy step with the whipping wind.