Chapter 9
Miami, Florida
Carlos Lucero has always been a monumental sack of shit. But tonight? Tonight, he graduated. Magna fucking cum laude. Tassels. Standing ovation for services to human garbage.
It’s been nine months since Dylan got hold of Carlos’s gun and made a choice we never should’ve let cross his mind. Nine months since we found him on that bedroom floor—bloody, broken, gone—because we were too slow. Too late.
Carlos didn’t pull the trigger. But he may as well have handed him the bullet. And me? I’ve been waiting ever since. Waiting for the slip-up. The crack. The breath in the wrong direction. Just one excuse to snap his neck like the roach he is.
I don’t sleep anymore. That luxury died with Dylan. Now I crash on the floor of Bella’s room. Back to the wall. Chair jammed under the doorknob. Knife under the pillow. Laptop humming beside me.
She thinks I do it to help her feel safe.
And maybe I do. But mostly it’s about control. Control of proximity. Control of protection. Control of the fact that Carlos and his slimy-ass friends can’t walk through that goddamn door.
I mean they can. They’ll just have to go through me first.
And let’s be real. Carlos is scared of me now. I see it in the way his eyes twitch when I move too fast. The way he flinches when I reach for my plate at the dinner table.
God, I live for that. For the squirm.
He and Mr. Fancypants Vince have been thick as thieves lately, whispering like snakes in a pit. Vince, the new DA with his slick suits, shiny shoes, and a closet full of bones. Apparently, that promotion came gift-wrapped with a fat-ass donation from Carlos.
Real cute.
Vince plays the game, cocktail charm, power smiles, and all that clean-cut predator bullshit. But I see past it. Men like him don’t wear their monsters on their sleeves. They bury ‘em behind legal briefs and empty courtrooms.
The two of them have been plotting. Whispering timelines. Buyer lists. Talking about her. About what happens once I’m gone.
It’s a miracle I haven’t gutted them both yet. They think when I turn eighteen, I’ll just walk away into the sunset with my hoodie and my laptop. Like I’d ever fucking leave my sister behind.
Idiots.
It’s late. Bella’s not asleep. I can tell by the way she moves.
She’s thinking.
Plotting.
Pissed.
She doesn’t cry anymore. There’s no softness left inside her. She’s fourteen. Fourteen and already burned to ash on the inside.
“Zeke?”
I glance up from the glow of my screen. “Yeah?”
She turns toward me, one eye barely open. “Carlos said he’s gonna get rid of you tomorrow.”
My jaw tightens. “Yeah. Heard that.”
“Said you won’t be in their way anymore.”
I look up from my laptop, eyes cold. “I’ll always be in their way, Bells.”
She sits up, fire sparking in her steel-gray eyes. “Good. Because if I wake up and you’re gone, I’m setting the kitchen on fire. I already stashed two lighters under the sink.”
“That’s my girl.”
She shrugs. A half-smile flickers across her face. She’s gotten stronger since Dylan. Gone is the kid who used to flinch at footsteps.
Now she throws matches.
Downside? She’s got the attitude of a full-blown prima donna. Snark and all. Not that I’m completely mad about it. She’s becoming a pint-sized me, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little proud.
“Carlos was outside our door last night,” she says. “While you were in the shower.”
My spine goes stiff. “You should’ve come and got me,” I snap.
“Outta the shower?” She wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, no fucking thanks. I’d rather the first dick I see not be my big brother’s.”
“The first dick you see, little sister, is getting cut off by yours truly. I don’t give a damn how romantic you think it is.”
She scrunches her face. “Gross, bro. You’re full of rage tonight.”
“You bring it outta me, little psycho. And watch your mouth.”
“Takes one to raise one,” she shoots back, grinning like the little devil child she is.
I shake my head, settling back against the wall. My hand resting on the knife under the pillow. “So what’d he say?” I ask.
“Nothing worth repeating. Just him and Vince with their, ‘Zeke’s almost out, yay the bitch’ll finally be alone’ crap. You know, the usual.”
“That’s not usual, Bells. That’s sick.” My fingers return to the keyboard. “Try to get some sleep, sis.”
“You too,” she says around a yawn she tries to hide. “Hey, Zeke?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy early birthday.”
???
11:59 PM
She’s out. Finally.
Moonlight spills through the window, silver streaks slice across the marble like a prison dressed in pearls. The breeze slips through the cracks, soft but useless.
This room still feels like a cage. Polished. Quiet. Rich.
Still a fucking cage.
Bella is curled up on her side, fists balled like she’s ready to fight in her sleep. Even unconscious she doesn’t let her guard down.
I glance at the clock glowing off my laptop screen.
Midnight.
Eighteen.
“Happy birthday, Zeke,” I mutter and close my eyes.
???
1:03 AM
Voices. I’m up in a flash, knife in hand, laptop kicked aside, chair still jammed under the knob. I press my ear to the door. Carlos and Vince.
Of fucking course.
Vince’s voice drips through the wood, smooth and slick. “…and I’m ready for tonight,” he says, like he’s ordering dessert. “Every time she walks by, I see her on her knees. Crying. Trembling. That perfect little mouth all swollen and obedient.”
He groans. “I want her broken. Bleeding. Knowing no one’s coming. My balls have been blue just thinking about it.”
Carlos laughs, “Glad we could work something out after the incident.”
The incident? Oh. He means Dylan. This motherfucker just called my little brother an incident.
Vince hums like he’s sipping wine. “Wasn’t ideal, but it worked. One less mouth to worry about. Did Krolek get in touch about replacements?”
Carlos snorts. “Yeah. Met with his guy, Piotr, last week. Got a new shipment lined up by end of the month. But you let me worry about that,” he laughs. “No more Zeke in the way so you can just focus on Bella. Paperwork’s clean. Deal’s done.”
“Good,” Vince says, sharper now. “Once he’s gone, she’s mine. And I want him to know it. Want him to leave this house knowing what I’m going to do to her.”
“Hell Vince, let’s give him a sendoff. Strap him to a chair. Make him watch while you break her in. I’ll even hold her down for you.”
I don’t remember opening the door. Don’t remember stepping into the hall. But I remember the words.
Strap him to a chair. Break her in.
After that? Just red.
“Hey, Carlos,” I say, voice calm as death. “Still breathing?”
He turns, eyes wide.
“Let’s fix that.”
I slam him into the wall before he can make a sound. The blade slides under his ribs slow and mean. I drag it sideways like I’m gutting a pig at the fucking slaughter.
He screams. I grin.
“What’s wrong, my guy? No bedtime story this time? No creepy commentary about little girls?”
I twist the blade and yank it out. His shirt blooms red. “You like fear and power, don’t ya? Let’s see how brave you are with your intestines on the tile.”
I stab lower this time and lean close to his ear. “Newsflash, Carlos, you don’t have power. You never did.”
Vince comes charging over with a lamp like he’s in some damn Lifetime movie.
“Cute,” I laugh as I duck, sweep his legs, stomp on his hand until bones crunch under my boot like eggshells. He wails. I grab him by the hair and slam his face into the glass table.
Twice.
It shatters.
Sorry Mariela.
“Blue balls, right?” I growl in his ear. “Said you got blue balls just thinking about her?”
CRACK.
His nose caves. Blood sprays.
“You’re lucky I don’t cut your dick off and paint the walls with it.”
He’s choking now. Bleeding. Barely conscious. Not good enough. I grab the back of his head and smash it into the marble floor. Again. And again.
“You don’t get to breathe around her.”
When I finally stop, he’s twitching in a puddle of blood and teeth. Carlos is crawling. Or trying to crawl. I crouch beside Carlos. Real calm.
“You’re not a predator. Not a king. Not even a man. You’re just a maggot playing dress-up in a skin suit.”
I raise the knife. He gurgles—blood bubbling like a clogged drain. I lean in close enough for him to see my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper. “You’re not dying tonight.”
I smile, slow and cruel. “That’s the punishment.”
Then I drive the knife in one last time. “And that one’s for Dylan.”
“Zeke?!”
Bella. Shit. Here we go, cue dramatic teen in three, two, one.
“Oh my God. What the hell?!” we both yell in unison.
I wipe the blade off on Carlos’s shirt. “Just takin’ out the trash, sis.”
“I can see that,” she glances at Vince. “You missed some teeth. You’re slipping.” She looks at Carlos, passed out in a puddle of blood. “Is he dead?”
“No. Not yet. I was just—”
“Dios mío, what did you do?”
Mariela.
She appears out of nowhere. She sees the scene and gasps with her hand covering her mouth.
“They were gonna hurt Bella,” I spit. “Planned it. Talked through every step like it was a team project. Scheduled it like some twisted business meeting, with snacks and fucking small talk.”
Her face drains. “Go,” she whispers. “Take my car. You must leave.”
“Come with us.”
She hesitates. “No. You go. Be free.”
“You really think the cops are gonna roll up and hand you a medal for cleaning up their mess again? Wake up, Mariela. You’re not safe here.”
She drops her gaze. One hand rests on her stomach. Circles.
“Shit.” My stomach drops. “You’re pregnant?”
She nods, tears in her eyes. “This will be my penance,” she whispers. “For all the times I didn’t stop him. I’m sorry, Zeke. Take her. Take your sister and run.”
Bella grabs her hand. “Come with us. Please. You can’t stay here. Not with him.”
I run back to the room, grab the go-bag I’ve had packed for months. Laptop. Mr. Piggles. We meet back at the stairs. Mariela and Bella are still hugging. I tug my sister’s arm.
Time’s up.
We run.
Her white BMW is waiting for us. Bella slides into the passenger seat. I toss the bag in the back, climb in, and start the engine.
“Please tell me you have a plan,” she mutters.
“No, I thought we’d wing it,” I say, flipping on the headlights.
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yes. I have a fucking plan.”
We peel down the driveway. The gates swing open—thanks, Mariela—and we hit the empty road.
Two blocks of silence until Bells pipes up, “Where are we going?”
“To some people I trust.”
“How safe is it?”
“Safe enough, I mapped this route out months ago. Granted, it was supposed to be tomorrow. After I picked you up from school. But hey, improv.”
She stares at me. “Months?”
“Since Dylan. Look, there’s a lot you don’t know, Bells. I’ll tell you everything once we’re somewhere safe.”
“I knew it,” she says turning to look at me. “You were too calm lately. Was this what all the laptop-clicking was about? Your big plan?”
“Plans.” I grin, tapping the steering wheel. “I’ve got plans. This one. The one behind it. And two more stacked under that.”
She sighs. “Of course you do. Nerd.”
We hit a stretch of road with no lights. Just trees and dark. She pulls her knees to her chest. “You were never gonna leave me behind.”
I shake my head. “Never.”
She leans her head against the glass. “Good. ’Cause I was already making a list of people’s throats to slit.”
“That’s… sweet and deeply concerning, Bells.”
“Learned from the best,” she salutes.
“Psycho.”
“Takes one to raise one.”