The Snake

Chapter 4: Serenity

**This is a double update. Please read the previous chapter, Headfrist, first.

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Valentina

There's not a single mountain in Florida. It's completely flat. Like maybe a few hundred feet above sea level on a good day. Miami peaks at a whopping six feet above sea level.

I think one time I might have seen a hill when I was in Tampa for a deal. But that's about it.

I didn't grow up around mountains, and I've only seen snow once. I love the beach, I love Miami, and despite the gator infestation, I love Florida. But when I'm in Colombia, hiking through the Andes, I feel nostalgic for a life I never had. Being that close to nature brings me peace.

Makes me feel real serene and shit.

Silence and peace aren't really things I'm used to. Louis, Zayn, and I all grew up in the same massive house on Indian Creek Island in Miami. The house was always busy, and things were always happening. By the time we were all fifteen we were helping out in some kind of way. Our families each owned companies separate from the cartel, so we started working to help our parents juggle legal and illegal businesses. I haven't known a moment of silence since I was in diapers.

The mountains, however, provide me with that quiet.

Just outside Bogota, sit the Andes Mountains. When the range hits Colombia, it splits, and the Magdalena River runs through the valley. In a secluded section of the valley, far from any towns or civilization, is a makeshift compound overlooking the river.

That's where we make the coke.

It's mostly large, dark colored tents with fences all around it, but it's expansive and secluded. It's designed to move once a year or so, in an effort to not attract any attention. We drove for about 2 hours outside the city and up the mountains, then we have to hike for about a mile.

My father owned a warehouse in the heart of Bogota and one in Soacha, just south of the city. I think his logic was that if he was bold enough to own property in populated areas, then he clearly wasn't doing anything illegal. It was flawed logic; I've got to say.

Police in Colombia are much easier and cheaper to buy than ones in the States. I agreed to move my operation into the woods, and they agreed to leave us alone. But if it's easy for me to buy their silence, then it's easy for someone else to buy information at a better price. So I have the camp moved once a year, that way no one ever truly knows where it is.

It's worked perfectly for the last four years.

Zayn, Louis, and I were making the hike from the car to the camp and all I can think is how much I wish I had a mountain to hike in Florida.

"How much further?" Louis asked, sounding winded and out of breath. He doesn't quite enjoy the hike like I do.

"Should be like half a mile?" I answered. It was our last day in Colombia. Ana has...more than delivered on her word.  She presented me with such a grain of coke I thought she was playing me.

"This shit will be absorbed into your bloodstream within seconds. It doesn't make your heart race or anything. I think you guys will be pleased," she had said. I don't make a habit of trying too much of the product, but Zayn couldn't shut up about it after trying some. And he hasn't even spoken more than three words to me since the meeting with Harry.

Zayn was no stranger to the silent treatment, the passive aggressive fuck. All our lives, he would just fall silent if Louis or I said or did something to annoy him and boy, did it drive us insane. If there is anything Louis and I love in this world, it's hearing the sounds of our own voices. The silent treatment wasn't a tool we learned to use, and it just about drove us homicidal when Zayn pulled it out.