Javier was not a normal man. He didn’t fit into the three categories that most men fell under. He was no saint, he was not selfless and loving to strangers and family alike. Neither was he the man to love fiercely and sacrifice anything and anyone for the ones he held dear. He wasn’t evil either, he could never be a sicario, no matter the cards he would’ve been dealt.

No, Javier was in a fourth, logically inconsistent category. One where he himself didn’t even know the roots of his motivations. One where he smoked ‘til his lungs gave out and his life had little value, so long as it wasn’t taken by a fucking sicario. One where Javier never loved his lovers, but where he was more attentive and cared more than any of their previous men.

Until he met you.

It had all started at the height of Escobar’s constant evasions of capture. Night after night Javier found himself frustrated and in need of unwinding. He found this in a small Bogotá strip club that doubled as brothel. The whiskey was good and the music calm.

It wasn’t long before he began dodging the advances of the hookers to solve the mystery of the solemn dancer. You.

He noticed how she seemed utterly detached from reality as she danced around the pole. How she flinched at the wandering hands of the patrons. How she disappeared into the night once the dancers turned into ladies of the night.

So one day he talked to her, but she was sceptical, dismissive. Then he tried again. And again. And again. Slowly but surely, she began responding, even trusting him. That was the first time in Javier Peña’s adult life that his defenses had been down and he’d walked right into the death trap that is love.

It was only when he one night found her sobbing in the street that he realized just how in deep he was.

He pulled her into his chest, “what’s going on, baby?”

She looked up at him, eyes filled with tears, “I didn’t make the payment, they’re going to kill my niño.”