WOODCREEK
The Woodcreek family operates as a
cattle ranch family owned business by day and drug barons by night. Recently
Michael returned home from El paso after visiting his drug
dealing partner El Jeffe from Mexico and now the
family is in deep surveillance by the FBI...
CHAPTER FIVE
El Paso, Texas
The air was humid and heavy with
heat. Summer loomed just around the corner, and a ruthless wave scorched the
city like a warning from the gods. The sun blistered skin with the cruelty of
judgment, as if punishing the people for their sins. Homeless men and women
fanned themselves with torn newspapers and fast-food wrappers, drifting like
ghosts between the towering steel skyscrapers that stood tall and
lifeless—guardians of capitalism and indifference.
Lucy Woodcreek stepped out of her
white Mercedes G-Wagon, the sun bouncing off its
polished surface like fire off a mirror. As she approached the boutique yoga-palates studio, a disheveled
homeless man dressed in tattered rags stepped into her path.
"Excuse me, miss. Spare a
dollar for an old man?" he croaked.
Lucy’s blonde hair shimmered under
the relentless sun, like a halo of gold. Her pale skin, protected by layers of
sunscreen, remained untouched by the sun’s vengeance. She wore oversized Ray-Ban sunglasses, expensive and
deliberately chosen—evoking that “cool mom” energy she’d curated so well.
Slowly, she lowered the shades, glanced at the man with mild disgust, then
walked past him without a word.
The world is not for the weak, she thought.
After class, sweat rolled delicately
down her swan-like neck. Her cheeks flushed pink from exertion, and her
form-fitting gym attire—designer, of course—clung to her like feathers on a
peacock. Growing up in Texas, Lucy had been the head cheerleader of her varsity
squad. Girls idolized her. Boys chased her. She had everything—flawless skin,
an enviable figure, a picture-perfect family, and a husband others whispered
about in envy.
Once a part-time model and chief
editor at Vogue Magazine, she had retired early
to pursue her dream: becoming a housewife. It was a dream she had clung to
since childhood, and Michael had made it a reality.
She slid into her G-Wagon and headed
for the family ranch on the outskirts of El Paso. But as the skyline faded
behind her and the open plains stretched ahead, a chill crept down her spine.
Something felt... off.
A black Cadillac.
It had been behind her since she
left the studio. Dark-tinted windows. Smooth. Silent. Menacing.
Lucy reached for her phone and
called Michael, who was from a business trip in Mexico, he had told her to keep
it a secret from the kids as the feds were watching their every move.
“Michael,” she said, her voice tight
with fear. “I think I’m being followed.”
“Where are you now?” he asked, voice
suddenly alert.
“I just got off the interstate.”
A brief pause crackled through the
speaker. “Listen to me carefully. I want you to pull into the nearest gas
station. Ditch the car. Pretend to use the bathroom. Call an Uber from inside.
Leave through the back exit.”
“Okay, honey… see you soon.”
She did exactly as instructed. At
the gas station near Monty’s Garage, she parked the G-Wagon,
entered the restroom, and slipped out the back. As the black Cadillac pulled in
silently behind her, she ducked into the waiting Uber and exhaled deeply.
“What the actual fuck,
Michael! I was being followed!” Lucy screamed, red-faced and shaking.
“Calm down, honey,” Michael said,
motioning with both hands like he was trying to settle a wild animal.
“What kind of car was it?” he asked
quietly.
“Black Cadillac. Tinted windows. I couldn’t
see inside. Michael… are we being watched by the police?”
Michael’s brow furrowed. “Not
likely.”
“Not likely?” she echoed, her
voice laced with sarcasm and fury.
“It could be the cartels,” he
murmured grimly.
A cold silence followed. Michael
stared into the distance, chewing on the thought.
“Where’d you leave the car?” he
asked suddenly.
“Gas station near Monty’s,” she
replied, her voice still shaky.
Without another word, Michael
grabbed his jacket and keys.
“I’m going to get it. Do not leave
the house. Keep an eye on Meryl. Don’t let her out of her room,” he
said firmly.
“Wait!” Lucy called after him.
“Promise me... Promise me Meryl, Cassidy, and Jonathan will be okay.”
Michael paused at the door, turned
to her, and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.
“I promise.”
Then he was gone—his black BMW
vanishing into the horizon, swallowed by the burning sun.
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