Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“This is what we do, hijo. We protect what’s ours by any means necessary. No. Matter. What. Family comes first.”
I looked back at Amari and Sophia, who were still cowered together like two little girls in the corner. Both of them stared intently at me, waiting. I had never witnessed fear like it before, and I didn’t know if it was directed at me or at what they had gone through tonight.
My lips began to tremble as I held back the emotions trying to surface. I wanted the bastard to pay for what he had done to my girls. I wanted him to suffer as they had. I didn’t know if that made me the hero or the villain in this story, but in the end, it didn’t matter. I knew what I wanted to do. I felt it in my core what I had to do, not for my father, and not for the girls…
For me.
“Eye for an eye, Alejandro. Justice is always made on the fucking street.”
John and I locked eyes. For the first time since this nightmare, a sense of calm settled over me. Replacing any doubt or trepidation. The voices of my conscience were silenced. All I could hear was the sound of John’s breathing in the distance.
I’ve always known my fate, but this was the first time I actually wanted to embrace it.
The look in his eyes showed me everything I needed to see.
I raised my gun with a steady hand, causing his eyes to widen, pointing it directly to his forehead.
“You’ll burn in Hell for this, boy,” John spewed, spitting blood again.
I grinned. “Well then, save me a fucking a seat.”
I didn’t think twice about it, cocking the gun and pulling the trigger.
Silence.
The girls didn’t scream. They didn’t make a sound. They just looked at me like they knew John was right. I didn’t move. I didn’t dare to even breathe. Trying like hell to hold it together. It wasn’t until Amari shut her eyes, shaking her head as though it killed her to look at me. I dropped to my knees, slouching over, still holding on to the gun. The realization of what I just did was like a cold bucket of ice being poured over my burning hot body. My father didn’t falter, roughly grabbing my chin, making me look him dead in his eyes.
I’ll never forget the words that came out of his mouth next.
“You’re a Martinez now.”
And I was.
The next few weeks seemed to drag on, prolonging the nightmares plaguing my mind since I killed someone. It was my fifteenth birthday, and my mom had all of our family and friends over to celebrate. Every birthday my sister and I had turned into a huge, extravagant party, more for our parents than us. We never discussed what happened the night in my father’s office. We were forced to move on. The incident, buried along with the bodies, six feet under. In those last few weeks everything changed in my life.
Starting with how my sister looked at me, so callous and cold. Every night I waited for her to come to my room and seek my protection like she always did. But she never came. I don’t know if she fucking hated me because I left her that night or because I killed someone while she watched. Either way, there was no turning back.
Not for her.
Not for me.
Not for anyone.
My fate was sealed that night.
We barely spoke to each other, but it wasn’t like I had much time to talk to her, anyway.
My father began taking me to his meetings. Business deals were what he called them. I got to see exactly what he did from the time he left till the time he came home and then some. Experiencing another life, another world. None of it even came close to what I thought he did in my mind. When he walked into a room everyone turned and shut their fucking mouths. Waiting for him to sit and speak. He always sat at the head of the table, and no one dared to challenge him for it. It took a lot to know a man, and in the last few weeks, I had learned so much about my father, yet I barely started to understand or comprehend any of it.
When he spoke, everyone listened.
When he moved, everyone parted.
My father was God in a world that was nothing but Hell. The irony was not lost on me.
“Mi amor, aquí tienes,” Mom said, “My love, here you go,” as she handed me her gift.
“Mamá, you didn’t have to get me anything. The party was enough.”
“Alejandro, what kind of mother would I be if I didn’t get mi bebé a gift?” she questioned in her Spanglish which she always spoke.
“I’m not a baby,” I simply stated, shaking my head.