8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Byron
T he days since I got out of prison have blurred together—one week turning into four. Now, I’ve got a job working with some of the guys I grew up with. It’s a small construction company, but it pays the bills. All I need is to catch up on the overdue ones, and I’m almost there. My body aches from the day’s work, but it’ll be worth it. I just have to keep my head straight—no going back to selling. Providing for Gabriela is the priority, and soon, I’ll finally finish what I started two years ago.
Taking a bite of my turkey sandwich, I glance at my sister. She’s perched on the counter, texting away, a goofy smile lighting up her face. For someone as sharp as Gabriela, whoever she’s talking to has turned her brain to mush. But who am I to judge?
“Who’s got you looking like a complete pendeja?” I ask, chewing lazily.
She frowns and sets her phone on the counter like it just insulted her. “A guy,” she admits softly, her voice carrying that hint of vulnerability only I can catch.
“I gathered that.” I raise an eyebrow, taking another bite. “Is it serious or something?”
Gabriela smiles, small but there. “Something like that.” She twists a strand of her dark hair, her fingers moving faster the longer she talks. “I don’t know... He’s so out of my league. Like, he’s everything I’m not.”
I stop mid-chew, my eyes softening as I take her in. She’s beautiful, delicate, and naive—just like our mom was, the light of our lives before she passed. “Look at me,” I say firmly, pointing a finger her way until she meets my eyes. “You. Are. Everything. You feel me?”
Her lips twitch into a smile, but she bites her lower lip, still unconvinced. “You don’t understand. He’s a man with a real career. Status.” She exhales sharply, leaning on the counter with her elbows. “He’s a lawyer, and I’m just a hairstylist. We met at the diner—you know a lawyer, all charming and polished.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I just feel small. Men like Ren are every woman’s dream.”
A suit? Ren. The name tugs at something in my memory, familiar but just out of reach. Goosebumps rise on my arms, much like the time I was introduced to that lawyer... Damn it. What was his name?
Gabriela groans, letting her forehead rest against the cold counter. “Why is dating so hard?” she huffs.
My little sister has it bad for this Mr. Charming, but that’s her business. She’s twenty-six, grown enough to make her own choices. Still, with a killer on the loose, I can’t help but worry.
“It’s not hard, just take it slow,” I say, trying to sound like I know what I’m talking about. My own track record with relationships is garbage, but I still try to give her something solid. “Get to know him. You never know where things can go. But, please, be safe.”
I can’t help but add, “You never know if Mr. Charming is the infamous—“ I air quote sarcastically—”‘Laguna Bay Painter.’” The words hang in the air, heavy despite my attempt at levity. That killer’s been leaving a trail of blood and horror, turning women’s bodies into his canvas. The victims? Women from low-income areas, the ones society ignores. Not Gabriela. Not while I’m here.
“Yeah, that’s the plan. Taking it slow,” she says, rolling her eyes.
“You slept with him already?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She groans loudly. “Byron, what is this, the 1500s? So what if I did?”
“Nothing, I guess,” I mutter, focusing back on my sandwich. “Mary Jane hasn’t come back around, has she?” I ask. Her face hardens suddenly, her playful demeanor vanishing.
Mary Jane. The party-loving, pill-popping white girl from the trailer park—and Gabriela’s best friend. She’s been MIA for weeks now. Kind, sure, but beneath her innocent exterior, she’s got demons. Trust me, I know daddy issues when I see them. Hell, I’ve lived them.
She shakes her head. “No, nothing yet.”
“She’ll show up,” I say, trying to sound optimistic.
Gabriela fidgets with her hair again, her voice quieter this time. “Yeah, I hope so. I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s been weeks now.”
“I know, but you know Mary Jane. She disappears sometimes.”
“Yeah, but not like this,” Gabriela counters, her worry evident. “She always answers me—or her mom. She doesn’t just... vanish.”
Her words stick with me. Mary Jane’s the type to go on benders, sure, but something feels off this time. Even her mom hasn’t heard from her, and that’s not like her. I don’t want to say it aloud, but a pit settles in my stomach.
“She’ll turn up,” I say, though my gut tells me there’s more to this than just another bender. Her phone pings again, pulling her attention away. I watch her face light up, hazel eyes sparkling as she glances at the screen. A giddy smile spreads across her lips, and she holds the phone up like it’s the best news she’s gotten all week. “He wants to see me tonight,” she says, practically bouncing on her toes. Then, with a bit more hesitation, she adds, “Mind if I bring him by? Beer and tacos?”
I shrug, leaning against the counter. “Why not? If I can bring women home, why can’t you?” I smirk at the thought. Not that I bother with foreplay or the morning-after talk; that’s why I stick to simple arrangements, like Linda next door. No strings, no complications. Just sex. Besides, I’d rather have Gabby here under my roof than at some random guy’s place where she could get hurt.
“Fine with me,” I say, waving her off. “Just don’t let me hear you getting railed, alright? I don’t need to know what you sound like when you’re getting fucked.”
Her face scrunches in disgust. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m not even thinking about sleeping with him!”
“Yeah, sure,” I mock, raising an eyebrow. “And I was born yesterday.”
Gabriela glares at me but doesn’t argue. She focuses back on her phone, typing furiously, but then her fingers freeze. Her mouth falls open, her whole body trembling as her face drains of color.
“No,” she whispers, her voice shaky, barely audible. “No.”
I’m already on my feet, boots thudding against the floor as I cross to her. “Gabby, what’s wrong?”
The phone slips from her trembling hands, clattering against the counter. My gaze falls to the screen, and I feel my stomach drop. A picture of her childhood friend, Mary Jane, fills the screen—blonde hair, green eyes, that familiar pretty smile. But the image isn’t innocent. Her naked body is posed grotesquely against a tree, flowers carved into her pale skin. The caption beneath the photo reads:
“Woman found dead, no blood, perched in a tree. The killer named the art ‘ The Nymph of the Wood.’ ”
Gabriela backs away, clutching her head, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. “No…no…no…” The words tumble out of her like a broken record before she collapses onto the couch, burying her face in her hands as sobs wrack her body.
I stare at the screen, the image burned into my mind. My jaw tightens as I glance at the time—three o’clock. I was supposed to finish a roof job today, but there’s no way I’m leaving her like this.
I sit beside her, resting a hand on her back. Her sobs cut through the quiet of the house, raw and heavy. “It’s okay,” I say softly, even though it’s a lie. Nothing about this is okay, but she doesn’t need to spiral. Gabby’s not like me—she can’t shut things out. She feels everything too deeply.
Her phone buzzes again, vibrating against the counter. I stand, grabbing it before it can fall. The screen lights up with a name. Ren Sato . Something about it makes my chest tighten, a flicker of unease I can’t shake.
“It’s Ren Sato,” I say, holding the phone out. Gabby looks up, tear-streaked and trembling, and weakly gestures for me to answer.
I press the green button, lifting the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
A deep voice responds, smooth but commanding. “Hey, is this Gabriela?”
The familiarity in his tone claws at my nerves, like an itch I can’t scratch. My grip on the phone tightens. “This is her brother,” I reply with a clipped tone. I glance at Gabby, still curled up on the couch. “She’s not feeling well. She asked me to answer.”
There’s a pause on the other end, just long enough to feel uncomfortable. “Does she want to cancel tonight?” he asks finally.
I nudge Gabby’s boot with mine, mouthing, You wanna see him? She shrugs, her expression blank, lost. Maybe she shouldn’t, but, on the other hand, maybe tacos and distraction are what she needs. Or maybe it’s just my own curiosity—who is this guy and why does his name feel like a warning bell ringing in my head?
“Seven works,” I say into the phone, my voice flat.
“Alright,” he replies, polite but firm. “I’ll bring the beers and tacos. My treat.”
“Great,” I say, ending the call before it can drag on.
Gabriela sniffles, standing shakily and wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “I just…can’t believe this,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say quietly. “She was a good woman.”
Gabby nods, catching more tears in her palm. “She was great. But now, I just—I need to shut my brain off.” Without another word, she disappears down the hall into her room.
I stand there for a moment, the weight of her grief pressing against me. My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking the silence.
Kids are off to their grandparents. Got time for me?
I type back immediately. No need to play hard to get when we both know what this is.
Always. Let me shower. I’ll text you in a few.
Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I head toward my room. But Ren Sato’s name lingers in my mind, heavy and suffocating, like smoke you can’t escape. I shake it off. Right now, I need a shower—and Linda’s mouth to help me forget.