I am the famed age of twenty two, but don't let Taylor Swift's song fool you, I'm not feeling any of it. See, according to the unspoken code of every well to be southwestern lady, I should have already been married with a child on my hip and hopes for more. Living in the middle of a multi-million ranch with a front porch decked out with rocking chairs and sweet tea, trying to keep up appearances with all the other well to be's.

Sadly, I am nowhere near where my mother and this town expects me to be at this ripe ol' age. Lord help my mom though, for she's going to try her hardest to get me into the life of a housewife as soon as possible and that's why I'm standing in line at the town's only bank, Delynn First Western. The bank's name sounds more like a church than a bank, but that's how most of the business in this sorry little place start. 'First this' or 'Western that' because there's only about one of everything in this Arizona town. Except for churches and boy, do we have churches. All of them lined up on the same street through the middle of town competing with each other, telling the patrons that their church is the only church of God and all the others would go straight to hell.

Yep, Delynn may be just a dusty squat on the side of the road, but it's packed full of so-called-perfect sinners, gossiping housewives, deadbeat husbands, and snot-nosed children that are their parent's spitting images, all to insure that Delynn never loses its home-y small town effect. And wouldn't you know it, every one of them and their Mama is standing in line cashing in their under the table checks, sighing over their fixed social security ones, or adding more money to their already up-to-their-eyeballs debt. Now don't get this town wrong, not every citizen is horrible, just the majority of them are.

Standing along with them all was me, Mackenzie Theriot, my red hair that usually brushes my shoulders is swooped up into a rough ponytail and the green of my eyes are dull and tired from the day that was now almost behind me. Pulling on the hem of my black button up shirt, I try to hide the curves of my body as I stand behind Mrs. Berkley. She had her nose up and her beady eyes were criticizing everything around her, clutching the newest addition to her Michael Kors collection that she probably got at the Dillard's Fourth of July Sale with her bony fingers.

"Good Lord in Heaven," Mrs. Berkley swears as her grip tightens on her leather handbag making it squeak in protest. "Not them again."

I can't help but think the same thing as I turn to look out the front windows with Mrs. Berkley and see the family that was stepping out of their car that I had just seen one of them a few minutes ago. Letting go of a pent up breath, I replay that memory.

"Oh," I breathed in surprise from seeing the little, maroon haired matriarch from my past resting against a black edition Range Rover.

"Uh, hello Mamá Camacho," I finally forced out after glancing around the deserted daycare parking lot that had started to light up from the street lights as the sun set behind the looming mountains in the distance.

Mamá Camacho pushed off her vehicle with a warm smile that hid something more sinister, "Hi, mija. ¿Cómo estás?"

Weary off her friendly tone, I reply, "Fine. How are you and if I may ask, what are you doing here?

"Ah, I am well Mackenzie, but why are you so eager to see me off when we haven't seen each other in years?"

Swallowing, I try to stall time to pull together the right words before saying them aloud.

It was the truth, I hadn't seen Mamá Camacho in over four years. The last time had been the night of my high school graduation with my best friend, Iza, who also happened to be Mamá C's niece.

"You've always been a smart girl," Mamá Camacho sighed, twirling her talon like nails along her chemically straightened hair. "Maybe you can figure out for yourself why I am here."

Squeezing my eyes shut against the irritation that was fighting to escape, "It's been a long day at work, so I really can't think of why you might be here unless it's about Iza's children."

Mamá C's dark eyes narrow causing her crow's feet to wrinkle at the edges, "Close enough. The reason I'm here is because mi sobrina said you were asking about where she got her money."

Remembering the light hearted conversation from earlier this week that I had with Iza about where she got the money for such beautiful clothing and purses as she picked up her two children from daycare, I reply, "Mamá Camacho, there must be a misunderstanding. I was only joking with Iza and truth be told I am mildly jealous of her, but in no way was I insinuating that she hadn't earned her money."

Completely ignoring me, Mamá C asks, "Would you like to know where Iza gets her money?"

Confused, I reply, "Really Mamá, it was none of my business in the first place. I'm sorry for any mix-up that I may have caused."

"Mackenzie, never mind all that," Mamá C chides and waves my apology off. "I have a job offer for you."

Before I can even reply, she butts in, "Now, I know what you're thinking, but what if I told you that your life could change in the blink of an eye?"

I sigh in frustration, "I'd say that it has already happened and look at the trouble it has brought me." Gesturing to my wrinkled, hand-me-down work clothes and older than dirt car I hope she'll get the picture.

"All that can change, mija," Mamá C smiles as she grabs and pats the top of my hand. "You've heard on the news about the women who run the guns back and forth for the Mexican cartels, haven't you?"

The only reason I'm not surprised that Mamá C has sprung this question upon me is because I have heard it all before. Back in high school, Iza and I used to joke about how we'd be perfect for such a job because no one would suspect us since we were such goody two shoes. Eventually, I found out that Iza's family where actually doing this, they were members ofLos Escondidos or The Hidden Cartel, but we were kept far away from any of this illegal family business growing up and it hadn't really crossed my mind since.

"Yes I've heard," I reply tugging at my suddenly tight blouse collar, "but I'm not interested."

Never was she one to take no for an answer Mamá C. retorted, "Come on Mackenzie, you could have it all. Money will practically be flowing out of your bank account. All you have to do is run a few guns, it's not dangerous at all."

Snorting my skepticism, I say, "Oh, yeah. There's absolutely nothing that could go wrong like maybe getting caught and thrown in jail or messing up a run and getting killed. Yep, nothing like that could ever happen could it?"

Mamá Camacho rolled her eyes as she pulled a card out of her less than perky cleavage, "Stop being so dramatic. Here's the info for the next place we are going to be doing a run, we'll be at a booth near the back section. If you're up for it be there at seven on Saturday morning or don't if you want to keep your boring, no money job and life for that matter."

And like that she left without another word or look in my direction.

Quickly turning around and pretending like I hadn't seen them, I make myself strike up conversation with Mrs. Berkley in front of me about her grandchildren. Turns out that was a great subject because even though I really wasn't interested in learning about little Tyler's straight A's and extracurricular activities it made me look busy with the way she kept going on about them. Busy enough that the Camacho's wouldn't come over and bother me, hopefully.

"Look-ie who we have here," Mamá Camacho's raspy voice echoed above the low mumble of voices in the bank.

I can hear her excusing her way up the line towards me and the scoffs from those she passed at Mamá C's audacity. Holding my breath, I pray that she doesn't make a scene as Mrs. Berkley continues to chat at me. When Mamá C comes to a stop beside me, I don't bat an eyelash in her direction until she clears her throat causing Mrs. Berkley to stop yakking.

"Sorry for interrupting," she says in a sickly sweet voice while looking directly at me. "Mackenzie come with me for a moment, will you?"

Trying to imitate her voice I ask, "Can it wait? I'm in line to cash my check."

"No," she shakes her head. "It's very important that you come with me now."

Looking to my left and right, I see that everyone has stopped their conversations to watch ours. I really didn't want any further attention, so waving her ahead of me I began to follow Mamá C back down the line and out into cool night air. Her small but quick strides sound on the pavement from the click of her heels before they stopped in front of the rest of her family who were leaning against their car watching us approach with interest.

"Mackenzie Theriot," growls the man closest to me.

Looking up into his molten eyes laden in anger, I back up a step when he comes even closer.

Flashing his white teeth into a menacing grin he asks, "You're not scared of me are you?"

"No," I say standing my ground.

"You should be," he replies while his grin widens.

"Hey Zavier, quit flirting," laughs one of the other men that if I remember correctly was his cousin Carlos. "We're here to check her out to see how she'll do for work not for a date."

Feeling myself blush at the comment, I look down trying to hide it.

"I can already tell you she's not made to be our runner," Zavier says and I look up to see a muscle tick in his cheek as he looks away from me.

Another cousin steps in, "What makes you say that?"

"I already know how she is," Zavier replies confidently still not looking my way. "Mackenzie is way too innocent and naïve to be any good. She's like another Iza."

"That's exactly why I asked her to take this job, Zavier," Mamá Camacho argues. "We need someone who looks too sweet natured to even think of doing such things."

She turns to me signaling the end of the conversation to the men, "Thanks Mackenzie, we'll see you at the convention tomorrow, correct?" Turning on her heels, she walks over and climbs into the passenger seat of the Range Rover, not waiting for my answer.

"Sure," I mumble amused at her so-sure attitude.

As the rest of the men get into the vehicle, Zavier grasps my chin in his hand making me look fully at him, "You will not be there. Do you hear me Mackenzie? This is not the job for you."

And exactly like his Aunt, he left before I could reply, leaving me in a rush of so many emotions that I didn't even know it was possible to feel them all at one time.