Pretty Fierce

by Kieran Scott

  “Who do you think has been here taking care a’ this place?” he whisper-shouted. “You think I wanted to be here? You think I like living in boring-ass Houston?”

  “It’s gotta be better than Reno,” I spat back, slamming the glass onto the counter so hard water sloshed onto the marble. “Tell me, how much of my parents’ money have you lost to random thugs over the years? Tens of thousands? Hundreds? You’d disappear for weeks at a time, leaving my mom worrying by the phone. A couple years ago she lost twenty pounds thinking you had to be dead somewhere, and the whole time you were in Vegas partying like some reality show has-been.”

  Marco’s eyes narrowed. “She told you all that?”

  “She told me everything,” I said. “Everything I wanted to know, anyway. That’s how the three of us worked.”

  At least, that was how I thought our family worked. I had thought my parents had always been honest with me—until my mother’s text a couple days ago and the can of worms it had opened and then dumped over my head.

  “I don’t trust you, Marco. And I’m not going to leave Oliver behind because you want to be the conquering hero, riding in to save my mom or whatever.”

  “I’m not going to even dignify that with a response,” Marco spat. “I love your mother more than I love life itself. You think I don’t know I’ve been a disappointment to her? You think I haven’t spent the last year praying to Jesus that she’d come home so I could say I’m sorry? I owe my existence to your ma, and I’d do anything for her.” He paused, then said quietly, “And I’d do anything for you because you’re her daughter.” He shook his head, and sighed. “You want to bring him? Fine. Then his blood is on your hands.”

  I refused to let Marco see that he’d rattled me. I took a long drink of water, then put the glass down. “Always so dramatic, huh, Marco?”

  “Dramatic?” he blurted, his face screwed up in indignation. “You want to talk dramatic? How about the time Hector Tinquera cut a twelve-year-old boy’s fingers off one by one because his father had borrowed a car and neglected to return it at the designated time?”

  My stomach turned. Marco took a step closer to me and pressed a finger to my temple. “How about the fact that Hector shot his own mother in the head when he found out she’d kissed a man who wasn’t his father?”

  I tilted my head away. “You’re exaggerating,” I said, but my voice had no strength to it.

  Marco leaned in to me, so close I could smell the chicken soup on his breath.

  “How about the fact that the first time your mother got pregnant, he forced her to have an abortion when he found out it wasn’t a boy?”

  Marco’s good eye trembled in its socket. The other seemed to stare at some fixed point somewhere off my right shoulder.

  “What?” I gasped.

  “They had to have six men hold her down to drug her, mija. After that, she didn’t come out of her room for three months.”

  “No.” Tears filled my eyes as I shook my head. “There’s no way.”

  “I’m telling you, Kiki, this man is ruthless. And if he sees how you feel about that blond pinup boy of yours, he will not hesitate to slaughter him. No. He’ll torture him until he’s begging to be slaughtered. That’s who Hector T. is.”

  Marco turned away from me and wiped his mouth with one hand. “It’s bad enough you’re taking your own life in your hands, kid. Don’t be responsible for his.”

  He walked toward the living room and paused, his hands on either side of the doorjamb. His head bowed away from me.

  “Whatever you think of me, I am glad to see you.” He glanced back and smiled slightly. “Let’s leave first thing in the morning.”

  Then he was gone. I sank to the floor, covered my face with my hands, and cried. I cried for my mother—for everything she’d been put through when she was my age. I cried for my father, not daring to imagine what Hector T. might have done to him. And I cried for myself, for the impossible decision I was about to make.

  chapter 25

  OLIVER

  The sun blinded me the moment I opened my eyes. A door slammed, and I sat up, heart in my throat. I’d fallen asleep in Kaia’s parents’ bed. What time was it? I reached for my back pocket and my phone, but there was no back pocket, no phone. I was still wearing Kaia’s dad’s pajama pants.

  An engine revved, and I threw myself out of bed, sprinting for the stairs.

  Nonononononono—

  I raced outside and caught Kaia halfway to a beat up red truck, which I had to assume was Marco’s. It had already been loaded with duffel bags, probably full of bulletproof vests, automatic weapons, and half the spy paraphernalia in the Batcave. How I wished I wasn’t such a heavy sleeper. They’d snuck out all that contraband right under my snoring nose. I grabbed Kaia’s arm. She stiffened as she turned.

  “Really?” I blurted. “You were just going to leave me here?”

  Kaia’s eyes flicked toward the house. Uncle Marco leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette.

  “I left you a note,” she said meekly. Then, she blinked.

  “By the way, what happened to your hair?”

  My hand instinctively went to my head. It felt like soft peach fuzz. Did I really think a haircut was gonna make a badass?

  “Kaia,” I protested. “There’s no way I’m—”

  “Well, hello there!”

  The front door of the neighboring house creaked open, and a woman in a pink sweat suit stepped outside. She had curly white hair and glasses that took up most of her small face.

  “Kaia! Oh, I thought that was you! It’s so good to see you.”

  Kaia looked caught, and I saw her battling with herself. Ignore the sweet old lady or not? She chose the latter.

  “Hi, Mrs. Appleby.”

  Kaia walked over to the waist-high fence between their properties, where the woman met her. The old lady reached her thin arms over and enveloped Kaia in a hug.

  “Where have you been, dear? It’s been ages!”

  “I’ve been around,” Kaia said vaguely. “How are you? How’s Mr. Wilson?”

  “Oh, he’s fine!” Mrs. Appleby laughed and gestured at her porch. “As fat and lazy as ever.”

  I assumed she was talking about the obese orange cat that took up most of the top step. Awesome. We were right in the middle of a life-defining throw down, and now Kaia was discussing a cat?

  “And who’s this?” Mrs. Appleby asked, gesturing toward me.

  “I’m Oliver, Mrs. Appleby. Nice to meet you,” I said, forcing a smile.

  “You as well.” She gave Kaia a conspiratorial look. “He’s very handsome. Good for you!”

  Kaia hesitated. “Thank you. It was good to see you, Mrs. Appleby, but we really have to get going.”

  We. Yeah, right.

  “He looks a lot like your father, you know,” Mrs. Appleby said, as if Kaia hadn’t spoken. “Girls go for boys who remind them of their dads. Say hi to your dad for me. I saw him a couple of days ago in the backyard, but he was in such a rush. He didn’t stop over to say hello.”

  The color drained from Kaia’s face. “What?”

  “Your father. He was on his cell phone,” Mrs. Appleby said. “He didn’t seem happy. Young people today are always so stressed.”

  Marco crushed his cigarette under his boot and walked over to the fence.

  “You must mean my uncle, Marco,” Kaia said, though her hand was unsteady as she gestured at him. “He’s been working on the yard.”

  Mrs. Appleby’s eyes narrowed behind her thick glasses. “No, no. Your father. Blond hair, tall. Has that tattoo on the back of his neck. Some kind of Gaelic religious symbol.”

  “Thor’s hammer,” Kaia breathed.

  “What?” Mrs. Appleby and I said at the same time.

  “It’s not Gaelic, it’s from a comic book” Kaia fished in her pocke
t and produced the keys to the demolished Honda we’d left on the road back in Illinois.

  “This?” she said, holding out the key chain to Mrs. Appleby.

  “Yes! That’s it! Believe me, I know your father when I see him.”

  Kaia reached for my arm. Finding out one dead parent was alive was a lot to take in, but possibly two?

  “I’m sorry, when was this?” Kaia asked.

  “A couple of days ago. Must’ve been…Saturday, maybe?” Mrs. Appleby mused. “Yes, that was it, because I was watering my hydrangeas, and I always water my hydrangeas on Saturday.”

  A phone rang. Mrs. Appleby turned toward her house. “Oh, I’d better get that. The vet’s calling today with some test results. Mr. Wilson’s diabetes, you know. Terrible thing. But he’s a trooper. Don’t be a stranger, dear!”

  “I won’t,” Kaia muttered.

  The woman carefully climbed the stairs, stepped over Mr. Wilson, and disappeared inside.

  Kaia looked up at me, still pale. “Do you think—”

  “The woman’s clearly confused, Kaia,” Uncle Marco said, before I could get a word in. “She probably saw a blond meter guy. Or she’s remembering your dad from years ago. Come on. Let’s get a move on already. If you want me to drive you to your funeral, I’d like to get it over with.”

  He walked around to the driver’s side and got into the truck, slamming the door so hard the whole vehicle shook.

  “You coming?” he asked.

  Kaia nodded absently and reached for the door.

  “Wait. Wait for me to get dressed,” I said. “I’ll be back in two minutes.”

  “I can’t,” she said, her eyes filled with tears. She looked at me and cleared her throat, then repeated more resolutely. “I can’t, Oliver. If everything goes okay, I’ll call you. The house phone works.”

  “You expect me to stay here? To hang out here and wait?”

  “You don’t have to.” She got in the car and slammed the door. “But I hope you will.” She shot me an apologetic look. “There’s money on the table with the note.”

  I scoffed. Did she think the money would somehow make this okay? Then Marco put the truck in reverse and pulled out of the driveway.

  “Don’t do this,” I called after them. “Don’t go!”

  But the truck didn’t slow. All I could do was stand there and watch as the rear bumper grew smaller in the shimmering heat of the morning.

  18 MONTHS AGO

  It was clear from the moment I woke up that I was alone. My mother was gone. The men were gone. My dad hadn’t returned. I wanted to wait for him, but my mother had told me he wasn’t coming back, and if I was going to run, it had to be now. The motel rooms had been shot to holy hell. The police would be coming soon.

  I pushed myself up, tears streaming down my face, and saw stars. The back of my head throbbed and my eyes burned like they’d been skewered with knitting needles. There was blood everywhere. My mother’s blood. The blood of the boy I’d—

  My gaze settled on the wall to where the bullet had lodged itself near the door trim. It had gone straight through the boy’s chest.

  I somehow made it to the toilet before throwing up. Afterward, I rinsed my face with two shaking hands, and stared into the mirror. I was a mess. Blood on my shirt and in my hair, waxy skin, red eyes. I had to get my shit together.

  “You know what to do, right, Kiki?”

  I did. And I wasn’t going to let my mother down. Not now. Not again.

  I staggered to my closet and pulled out my bag, changing into a clean shirt and pulling my hair under a baseball cap. Then I went to the safe in my parents’ room to retrieve our passports—all Austrian—and my parents’ corresponding driver’s licenses.

  Shaking, I knew I’d have to dispose of my parents’ fake documents. No one could ever know that they’d been here.

  When I surveyed the damage, my eyes brimmed. My mother’s blood was all over the floor. She had been here. But where was she now? Was she alive? What had those men done to her?

  I saw something glint out of the corner of my eye and bent to retrieve my mother’s locket. Inside the small gold heart was a picture of me, age three, and a picture of my father. I shoved it in my pocket, grabbed the Batphone and Sophia off the floor, and walked out into the blazing sunshine.

  I deposited their passports, one by one, in various garbage cans across Oaxaca, and outside a small café, I finally disposed of the phone. After walking a few blocks, I found a pay phone with a fogged glass shield leaning at a precarious angle. When I picked up the receiver, I was surprised to hear a dial tone.

  My heart pounded as I connected to an operator and told her in Spanish that I wanted to call a United States number, collect.

  The phone rang four times. Then a gruff man’s voice sounded over the line. “Hello?”

  The operator told him in halting English that his granddaughter was calling collect from Mexico. I held my breath. He accepted the charges.

  “Hello?” he said again, more gently this time.

  I delivered the line I had hoped I’d never have to use. “I miss you, Grandpa.”

  There was a pause, and tears rolled down my cheeks.

  “Then it’s time to come home.”

  chapter 26

  KAIA

  Slamming the car door in Oliver’s face was like slamming my bedroom door on my parents after our stupid argument last year. I’d never be able to take back the finality of it.

  “As soon as we find your mother, I’m going to apologize,” Marco was saying. “I’m going to make it up to her. Everything. I swear it. I still can’t believe that she’s alive.”

  The second we were free of the driveway, my life flashed before my eyes. But it wasn’t my entire life. It was just my life with Oliver. Swimming in the ocean at Folly Beach, sharing a hot chocolate after a soccer game, laying in the sun behind the school while he stroked my hair away from my forehead. Oliver’s smile, Oliver’s hands, Oliver’s bruises, Oliver’s profile, Oliver’s muddy cleats, his wrinkled T-shirts, his blue and white backpack, his knuckles and freckles and earlobes and curls.

  I started to hyperventilate. I tried to take a normal breath, but I couldn’t. My chest was so tight I may as well have been crushed under the weight of a thousand cars.

  “If I get a shot at Hector T., I swear to you, I’m going to make him pay,” Marco rambled.

  He looked at me like I was supposed to respond to what he was saying, but I couldn’t focus.

  Oliver was never going to forgive me, and I couldn’t blame him. He’d been there for me through everything. Even though I’d lied to him. Even though I’d kept secrets from him. Even though I’d almost abandoned him in the middle of nowhere—not that he knew about that, but it was possible he suspected.

  Yet he still loved me. He was still willing to risk his life for me. I couldn’t, fucking, breathe.

  “You okay, kid?” Marco asked, pressing on the brakes to come to a stop at the intersection at the end of our road. “It’s okay, you did the right thing.”

  “I can’t,” I whined, doubling over at the waist. “I can’t.”

  “Come on, kid. Get it together,” Marco said, reaching over to rub my back. “Breathe. Just breathe!”

  I was starting to see spots. “We…go back…,” I sputtered. “We…haveto…goback!”

  I looked up to plead with him as my vision grayed over. The front grill of a huge Hummer was gunning right for the driver’s side of the truck. I screamed with all the air left in my lungs and then, I was flying.

  chapter 27

  OLIVER

  It sounded like two freight trains colliding, even from a good quarter mile away. The truck hurtled into the air, flipped over, and landed upside down. Then, with a wail, it tilted sideways and slid down the embankment at the side of the road before ever so slowly flipping
again and landing back on its wheels. The Hummer that had hit them sat there, blocking both lanes. There wasn’t another car on the road.

  “Kaia!” I screamed.

  I took off, running down the center of the scalding blacktop in my bare feet. I was a few yards away when a man with the build of a WWE wrestler got out of the Hummer—which barely looked dinged—and slid down the slope toward Marco’s truck.

  Who the hell was this now? Some other enemy of Kaia’s parents? How did they keep finding us? Not that it mattered if Kaia was already dead.

  The man yanked open the driver’s side door. I ran down the hill and went to the passenger door. All I could think about was getting Kaia out of there before this guy grabbed her.

  “Kaia!”

  The wrestler glanced at me. He looked confused. Then he clutched Marco by the front of his shirt with both hands and dragged him out of the car.

  “Kaia!” I shouted again.

  She blinked a few times before her eyes finally focused. There was a gash across her hairline, leaking blood down her forehead and nose.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You were in an accident,” I said, trying to be calm. “Can you move?”

  She nodded and slumped toward the door, then cried out in pain.

  “What?” I blurted. “What is it?”

  “My ankle! I can’t turn my ankle!”

  At that moment, Marco came careening toward us, his head slamming against the side of the truck as he fell to the ground.

  Kaia yelped in surprise. “Marco!”

  The wrestler dude wasn’t done with him yet. He picked up Marco, propped him against the side of the truck like a rag doll and pulled back a fist.

  “Leave him alone!” Kaia shouted. “He didn’t do anything to you!”

  The wrestler looked inside the cab and laughed.

  “Darlin’, you got no clue what you’re talking about.”