Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
This was our childhood gym, so it’s in a rough neighborhood where Max and I grew up. That was back when my old man was just a courier for the Bratva. Before I was involved in the paid street fights, I chose this life because Mom was sick and Dad was earning almost nothing, and somebody had to do something.
As we drive, memories pass me by.
“You pissed against that wall,” I say.
Max chuckles. “Can’t deny that.”
I lean back, letting out a sigh. “All the gifts and everything are sorted?”
“Everything is,” Max says. “All you have to do is go there, be friendly….”
I look at him, and he grins, holding his hands up. “As friendly as possible, then.”
“All the mayhem they caused.” I open and close my hands into fists. “All the pain. And for what? Because they wanted to flood these streets with drugs. They’re doing it anyway, Max. Not on the scale they want. It’s not a flood right now. It’s a trickle. But we both know who’s supplying those low-level dealers.”
“I know, Damien.” I feel him staring at me. “But we have to be smart.”
I turn to him. “I will. I’m just venting so I don’t lose my shit when we get there.”
“That’s fair.”
We glide through the city in silence for a time. I study the streets, watching as they get cleaner when we cross over to the more expensive neighborhoods. Even the people look more hopeful, not lost to addiction or grief or the simple pain of not being able to pay their bills.
“I’m in a goddamn bad mood,” I say, another admission I’d only ever make to my childhood friend.
“Because of the party?”
“It’s them, Max,” I go on. “The Cartel. Earlier today, I was at the office. A kid came in to give me a message. He was around twenty, so he would’ve been thirteen when the war happened, right?”
“That’s right.”
“He had a goddamn red crosshair on his wrist. You know what that means, don’t you?”
Max fidgets in his seat. “Yeah. It couldn’t be helped.”
I bite down, my teeth straining like they might shatter.
It couldn’t be helped.
The thing is, Max is right. There was nothing we could do as the Cartel targeted their own. It was a cull, clearing out all the so-called traitors of the war. Many of these were as sick of the Cartel as we were, and so they went to the cops.
They died... and their children?
To mark them, the Cartel tattooed their wrists.
They wanted no part of the life, but the Cartel forced them into it. That’s the part that really sickens me. I don’t care if we’re part of different clans.
Some things are off-limits.
Like killing civilians. Like tattooing scared kids because their parents wanted a better life, away from the Cartel.
But the only other choice was to fight them on it, which would’ve led to even more bloodshed. More drug dealing.
More trafficking. More hell.
I was never going to allow that to happen.
“As part of the deal we made, Max, we let those bastards drag scared kids into a tattoo studio and paint a crosshair on their wrists. Just to tell them, You’re marked. You’re guilty by association. Their parents had just been killed. Do you know how many were marked?”
“No.”
“Seven. Four of them were of age, but three were under eighteen. The Lopez funeral was the worst.”
We don’t need to discuss it. We both recall how thirteen-year-old Liliana Lopez stood at the very edge of the funeral, next to her uncle. I only went out of respect. In fact, I made a point to attend all the funerals. Many of these Cartel members had been born in my city, with no previous association with the Cartel, but they were made to play the game anyway.
Liliana stood there clutching her wrists, staring dead-eyed as the rain beat down.
“That girl would’ve been dead if it wasn’t for you,” Max says. “Never forget that. Maybe it hurt her….”
“Maybe,” I say bitterly.
“But she’s alive. Who knows what she’s doing now? She could be happy. I know her uncle left the life. You know, I think he just fell in with Cartel. For the money. I think they both did, the girl’s uncle and her father. They didn’t want all that shit Gabriel brought.
I nod, the image of her staring eyes, her repressed pain haunting me.
Earlier today, the messenger had that same look. It’s like they’re carrying the guilt of their family members. It’s like they know that the Cartel could take them out any second.
And it’s all happening in my goddamn city.
The car turns onto a well-lit street, moving toward where the red carpet and the barriers wait for us.
CHAPTER
TWO
Liliana
“I’m sorry we have to do this,” Uncle Nick says as we walk up the back alley, past reeking trash cans and an overflowing mess.
Uncle Nick walks ahead of me, navigating through the filth, looking sad in his black leather jacket and faded jeans. He turns to me with a gentle smile, his white beard framing his lips, his pale hair falling almost down to his shoulders.