by Jadyn Chase
She moved all right after she had some time to rest, but she wouldn’t eat. I put the blanket around her and she got herself onto the couch. End of story.
So why was I lying here thinking about her until the sun came up? I wasn’t worried about the scumbag coming back. So, he knew where I lived. He was more than welcome if he wanted another taste of my knuckles.
I won’t lie. I was worried about her. If The Boss sent her back to La Muerta, they would give her back to the moron. They might kiss and make up—until the next time. He would probably wind up killing her and all my work would go for nothing.
No matter what we did with her or where she went, La Muerta would find her. They would always try to get her back as long as she wore their mark. The instant she left Los Diablos’ territory, the shithead would be all over her.
I went around and around in my head searching for some solution. Why should I care what happened to some La Muerta chick? They could have her. If they didn’t have the cajones to rein in one of their own to stop him thumping his old lady, that was their business.
She wouldn’t leave me alone, though. I kept imagining that one side of her face—the small area I could see through the devastation. What would she look like without all that black and blue all over the place? What would she look like smiling and laughing and loving life?
I always was a sucker for anyone or anything that was down in the dumps. I always tried to make kids and girls laugh, to make them happy. I could never stand to see some puppy left off by itself. Unhappy people and animals and kids attracted me like a moth to a flame. I couldn’t relax until I made them see how good and wonderful life could be.
Well, that wouldn’t happen this time. This girl was beyond saving. She wasn’t free to be saved, anyway. She belonged to another club and another man. Getting herself out of that was her job, not mine.
At the crack of six AM, I couldn’t lie on my back any longer. I got up and took a shower. When I got to the living room, she was still asleep. I stood in the doorway and gazed down at her for what seemed like an eternity.
She lay on her back with her head turned away. The cushion hid the bashed side of her face so the healthy part showed. Once again, the illusion tricked me that she wasn’t some worn-out wreck that some other cholo worked over with his fists. She was a beautiful girl blooming with innocence and promise.
Then she sighed in her sleep and shifted her head on the pillow. She rotated her head and now the opposite effect erased the illusion. The ugly ruined black swelling obliterated the tiny fraction of her that remained untouched. He destroyed a lot more than her face last night.
I walked away. I never should have let myself dream about her like that. I puttered around the kitchen making breakfast. If that didn’t wake her up, nothing would.
Pretty soon, the crackle of bacon frying filled the living room, to say nothing of the smell. I cast a few glances over my shoulder. Come on, chica. Rise and shine. Time to face another day on Planet Earth.
She stirred. The next time I looked over, she had her eyes open. She stared at the ceiling. I knew how that went. She was thinking about the day ahead, the year ahead, the rest of her life. She faced an uphill climb to drag her existence out of the mud, but who doesn’t, right?
She lifted her hand and ran her fingers through her hair. After a beating like that, every move the next morning is torture. She would feel the wound in her scalp. Her ribs would ache and every facial expression would send shooting bolts to her brain. Been there and done that.
She heaved into a sitting position and cradled her head in her hand. I kept my back to her for a while to let her pull herself together unhindered. She wouldn’t want me or anyone looking at her for a good long time.
I forked the bacon out of the pan and lifted the eggs onto a plate with the spatula. I buttered toast and poured a cup of coffee. I carried the mug and plate to the coffee table and set it in front of her.
“There’s your breakfast,” I chirped. “Eat it up and be healthy. I don’t know what you want in your coffee, so here’s the milk and sugar. You can fix yourself up.”
I looked at her face just long enough to smile. She glared up at me. “Are you always this cheerful in the mornings?”
“Yep. Always. Every day’s another chance to make the world a better place. I just can’t wait to get out there and do it. You know what I mean?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re a gang lord. How do you think you’re going to make the world a better place? You’re Public Enemy #1.”
I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it. Those words sounded so ridiculous when applied to me. “Maybe I am. That doesn’t mean I can’t try, though. I can only do my small part with the limited resources at my disposal, you know? I might not be able to do much. I might have been born in the barrio and never graduated from grade school, but at least I can try.”
She scowled up at me like what I said was the most insulting piece of trash she ever heard. “Do your brothers in the club know you feel that way?”
“Of course they do,” I replied. “They all know. All the women and kids know, too. I couldn’t exactly hide it from them, could I?” I laughed again in spite of myself. The whole idea sounded too funny for words.
“How do they expect you to do your job with an attitude like that?” she demanded.
My smile evaporated and I got dead serious. “Oh, I do my job. Make no mistake about that. I would give my life for the club and they all know that. No one ever questions that.”
“What’s to stop you from doing good and making the world a better place for your enemies?” she argued. “How do they know you won’t get out there and start taking care of other clubs the way you take care of Los Diablos? Shit, what the hell am I saying? The very name Los Diablos means you couldn’t make the world a better place. You’re a devil. You’re working for the wrong team.”
I cracked another grin. “What team I’m working for is my business. Now eat your breakfast and I’ll take you to see El Jefe—The Boss.”
She stiffened in her seat and lowered her voice to a snarl. “I’m not going to see The Boss.”
I strolled back to the kitchen and started making my own breakfast. “You have to. You can’t stay in Los Diablos territory under the circumstances. La Muerta will demand we return you. Whether you go back to your shithead boyfriend is between you and your own club.”
“I’m not going back to La Muerta,” she growled.
I pivoted around to stare at her. “You have to. You’re marked. You’re wearing their brand. It doesn’t matter where you go. They’ll come after you. They’ll take you back by force if necessary.”
She shook her head. “I’m going to stay with my friend. I’ll get in touch with Mario. He’s El Jefe of La Muerta. I’ll talk to him about getting out. He’ll understand when I tell him about Diego. I’ve shown up to parties and events with bruises before—nothing as bad as this, but he knows the story. He’ll let me go. He’ll make sure no one comes after me.”
I leaned on the counter and listened to this fairy tale. So that was the bastard’s name—Diego. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure.”
“And what about Diego?” I asked. “He followed you here last night. When he wakes up, he’ll come after you again no matter what Mario says. Guys like him never quit.”
She looked away and said nothing.
I shrugged and bent over the stove. Whatever. That was her business. If she thought staying with her friend could save her from Diego’s wrath, more power to her.
He attacked me last night. When I found her, he came after me, not her. That meant that he, in his demented state, got the wild idea I was some threat to him. He thought I was moving in on his woman. That would make him a hundred times more dangerous.
The next time I stole a peek over my shoulder, she was sipping her coffee and munching her eggs. Good. She wasn’t dead yet.
I ate at the table well away from her. I wolfed my food and tinkered
with my bike in the garage for a while to give her time to get her head screwed on straight. When I came into the kitchen to get a roll of duct tape, I heard the shower running. So much the better.
At about nine in the morning, she wandered into the garage. She stood aside watching me. I pretended not to notice her and kept working until my wrench slipped. I banged my knuckles against the muffler and howled. “Aargh!”
I hopped to my feet and shook out my hand. Then I glanced at her and laughed. She made a half-hearted attempt to smile. “Be careful.”
“I don’t seem to be able to do that to save my life,” I joked. “Are you ready to go?”
“Do you mind if I use your phone to call my friend?” she asked. “I left mine at the apartment last night. I don’t have any other way to call.”
“Sure.” I handed her my phone and she took it inside.
She came back five minutes later and returned it. “I’m ready now.”
“Good.” I tied on my bandana and mounted up.
She climbed on the back and put her feet on the footrests. She knew the drill. I guess she must know it if she was part of La Muerta. She must have been riding behind dipshit’s bike for ages.
A queer little blast of heat burned through my veins when she slipped her delicate arms around my waist. She fit against my back like she belonged there, but she didn’t. She wasn’t mine. She belonged to some other vato across town. I had to remember that.
I slipped on my shades and steered out of the garage. She called the address into my ear and I hit the highway. The wind slapped my cheeks and the hog vibrated between my legs like it always did, but something was different.
I gave women rides all the time. I drove Tina to work almost every day for over a year before she hooked up with Martín. Hell, even Christina still called me up every now and then when she needed a lift.
Having a woman hugging me from behind and resting her precious little head against my neck was nothing new to me. None of them ever gave me this feeling, though. What would it be like to have a woman of my own?
I went out with Christina for three years before she got with Logan. I kissed her and even did it with her countless times. None of it meant a thing. For some reason, I didn’t know that at the time. I didn’t know it until right now.
Maybe that was why I didn’t care that she left me for Logan. Easy come, easy go, you know what I’m saying? I was just as happy without her as I was with her. She came. She went. Se la vie.
I don’t think I could have coped if I thought Isabel was leaving my house, even after one night, to go back to another man. I couldn’t drive her across town to return her to another man. That would be asking too much and I never so much as laid a finger on her.
Okay, I cleaned her up but I never kissed her. I never looked sideways at her in that way, but something made her mine. Something made me want to emasculate anyone who got between me and her.
I drove her to her friend’s house like I was driving to my own funeral. For once in my life, I couldn’t be happy about this even if I thought it was the right thing to do. I wanted to cry. This was the worst disaster of my life.
She pointed to a boring house in a middle-class neighborhood. I switched off the bike and she climbed down. She fidgeted on the sidewalk and scanned the neighborhood. “Um…thanks for the ride. I mean….” She locked her eyes on me without flinching. “Thank you for everything, Cisco. You saved my life. I won’t forget it.”
“Don’t worry about it, chica.” I tried to ease the situation by making it into a joke. “I would do the same thing for anybody.”
She regarded me with those glowing green eyes of hers. She really was stunning underneath the puffy, pulverized flesh. “I know you would. That’s just the kind of guy you are, isn’t it?”
“You bet it is.” I glanced up at the house. “Are you sure you’re gonna be all right here? Are you sure you don’t want me to tell my Boss about this?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll handle it.”
Like Hell, she would. That girl couldn’t handle a peeled grape if I skinned her one. I slung my leg over the bike. “I’ll walk you up to the house just in case. Your friend might not be home and then you’d need a ride back.”
She shrugged but she didn’t argue when I escorted her up the steps. We waited on the porch while she knocked. In a minute, another young woman answered it. Her long brown hair swept to her waist and her deep dark eyes sparkled. She frowned when she saw me. “Who’s this?”
“This is Cisco,” Isabel told her. “He’s the one I told you about. He just gave me a ride over.”
The friend’s eyes darted down to my vest, my colors, and the tat on my arm. I observed the realization dawn on her that I was another gang banger like Isabel’s shit-eating homeboy.
Isabel waved from her to me. “Cisco, this is Teresa.”
I nodded but I didn’t offer to shake hands. She knew with one glance exactly what I was and she didn’t like it. She must know every chapter and verse about Diego and his antics. This woman already made up her mind about biker dudes and she might be right. Either way, who was I to argue?
Her mouth said, “Nice to meet you,” but her voice and her features said the opposite.
I took that as my cue and turned to Isabel. “I’ll get out of here, then. Here. Take my number just in case you need it.”
I handed her a slip of paper I prepared in the garage for exactly this moment. She took it and looked at it. “I don’t have a phone.”
“Just take it,” I insisted. “Call me if you need anything—anything at all.”
I didn’t wait around. I spun on my heel and strode back to the bike. If she watched me walking out of sight, I never knew. I fired that baby up and drove back to the warehouse.
When I rolled through the entrance door, I spotted The Boss, Carlos, Logan, Kane, and seven other vatos standing around the table near the office. I parked in my usual spot and took off my shades. I marched right up to The Boss and gave him a clipped nod. “We’ve got a big problem.”
5
Isabel
Teresa shut the door, but I didn’t turn around. I gazed through the sun-filled window at the manicured yard behind her house.
“Did you have to get yourself mixed up with another one of those pigs?” she growled behind me.
“I’m not involved with him,” I replied, still not turning around. “I wound up outside his house last night and he took me in. He got rid of Diego and cleaned me up. I slept on the couch and he made me breakfast this morning. That’s all. He gave me a ride here. Nothing happened.”
She sighed. “I don’t see how you can have anything to do with those…. those people. They’re animals.”
“They aren’t animals.” I said it, but I didn’t really mean it. “They’re not all like Diego.”
“What difference does it make?” She hustled around me and thrust her face into my sight. “I mean, look at you. What difference does it make if the rest of them are like that if you’re living with him? Jesus, Isabel! He’s gonna kill you one of these days. You know that, don’t you?”
I muttered under my breath. “I know. Anyway, I’m getting out. I’m going to contact the club leader. He’ll let me go.”
“You’re delusional,” she snapped. “They’ll never let you go.”
I couldn’t think like that. I couldn’t face the future if I didn’t believe my own line of bullshit. I moved away from her to the mantle. Pictures lined the shelf. I picked up one of Teresa and me from when we were kids. We wore our hair in matching brown braids like Laura Ingalls, and she was hugging a Cocker Spaniel on her lap.
I had to smile at the picture. “I’d forgotten about this one. We were so happy then.”
“Does Diego know where you are?” Teresa asked. “If he followed you to Cisco’s house, what makes you think he won’t follow you here?”
I fiddled with the photo frame. I couldn’t stop looking at the two happy l
ittle girls in the picture. “He doesn’t know where I am. Only Cisco knows, and I didn’t tell him you’re my sister. I told him I was going to stay with a friend.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I don’t want some organized criminal gang knowing I’m related to you.”
That hurt. Teresa didn’t want anyone knowing she was related to me. She didn’t want my misfortune to rub off on her, and who could blame her? I wouldn’t wish my life on my worst enemy.
I migrated down the mantle to another picture. This one depicted a man and a woman with their arms around each other. The woman’s long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders under a gauzy wedding veil. The man’s dark brown beard covered most of his face, but it didn’t hide his radiant smile that he was holding the woman of his dreams.
“He misses you,” Teresa offered. “He asks about you every time I talk to him.”
“I miss him too,” I murmur.
“You could call him every now and then, you know,” she suggested. “There’s nothing stopping you. You could throw a lonely old man a bone. That would be the compassionate thing to do for your own father.”
I shrugged. “He doesn’t want to talk to me. He doesn’t want to hear about my life. No one does, not even me.”
“I see you’re still dyeing your hair the way she did,” she observed. “You always did look more like her than I do.”
“Is that why Dad wants to see me—because I look like her?” I snorted under my breath. I didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“Of course not, Isabel,” she chided. “He wants to see you because you’re his daughter and he loves you and misses you. He loves you as much as he loves me, and he would want to hear about your life even if it isn’t going the way you want it to. He would want to hear everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly.”
“Well, it’s all ugly right now.” I put the picture back and turned away. I didn’t want to look at them anymore. I didn’t want to relive happy memories when my present was so bleak and miserable.
