Chapter 9
nine
Natalia
When someone comes to the underground LA races, feeling lucky means winning money. Feeling lucky for me tonight looks a little different.
I walk past the rows of show cars, briefly pretending to be interested in a modded Nissan, until its middle-aged owner stares at my ass a little too long.
My face heats as I scurry away, melting in the late-night crowd.
I wish I was more like Sylvia—who’s used to staring a creep in the eye and telling him to fuck off.
I want to say it. The words live in the back of my head, irritation surging when a man steps deliberately into my path to graze his body against mine.
But every time I open my mouth, nothing comes out.
I freeze, like a deer in the headlights, too many possibilities of what I should do to focus on just one.
I’m not sure what’s changed—my hair is shorter, but I’m still a solid size sixteen.
My hips may be a little more rounded now, and my ass looks pretty good in jeans, but that’s about it.
I step away from the man trying to crowd me, averting his gaze and looking past him. My heart crawls into my throat, choking any words from coming out. He takes another step, blocking me in.
“Hi.” A surge of icy terror slams into my stomach as I’m forced to deal with him.
Being seen is new to me.
“Oh—con permiso,” I mumble, biting back a frustrated sigh when the man blocks my path again.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Yeah, my villainous revenge plot is off to a great start.
I’m forced to peer up at the strange man, trying to think of how to politely get rid of him. And although I know this asshole doesn’t deserve polite, I hate that I can’t tell him what I really want to say.
Why don’t you go back to the crawlspace of hell you came out of, you dense mongrel?—
“Cole, if it’s not a yes. It’s a no.” An arm wraps around me, shoving me behind a broad set of shoulders. “I know you don’t get a lot of play—but this is what it looks like when a chick doesn’t fuck with you, man.”
I expel a breath, my limbs relaxing as the crowd around us laughs and jeers.
“Man, fuck you.” The creep—Cole—says. “She’s just a little shy.”
Shy. I hate that fucking word.
“She’s not shy. She thinks you’re ugly.”
I smother a laugh into the pair of shoulders in front of me. And when the crowd finally disperses, I’m not surprised when my savior turns around and gives me a big smile.
Only Santos Castillos could look into the face of a grown man and tell him he’s ugly.
“Hey, girl.” He pulls me into a big hug, and I almost feel bad for flipping him off at Pandemonium. “What are you doing all the way over here?”
I get a good look at Matias’ best friend, noting how little the years changed him.
“I’m just here to…have a good time.” Santos takes a step back, his baggy white shirt bunching around his shoulders.
“By yourself? Where’s your pit bull of a sister?”
I close my eyes, trying not to smile. “She’s in Texas with her boyfriend.”
Santos nods, like he knows something I don’t. “Well, anyway. You shouldn’t be wandering over here by yourself. Lots of weirdos.” He jerks his head for me to follow him, and I do, awed at how easy it is to get back in his circle.
The scent of asphalt and the throbbing of hip hop welcome us into a restricted part of an abandoned warehouse at the end of the lot.
Just outside, a crowd gathers around two cars at the start line—their cheers reaching a fever pitch when the vehicles roar their engines. Bookies flit in and out of the warehouse, moving money and bets like bees in a hive.
Santos turns to talk to the bookies, my heart racing as the cars outside take off in a cacophony of music, engine scream, and tire smoke. There’s just something about fast cars that always gets my attention, I muse, remembering the handful of times I pestered Sylvia to bring me here.
She was the only one smart enough to sneak out of our Hidden Hills mansion undetected.
“So. You here to lose all your money?”
I scoff out a laugh. “I’ll have you know I’m great at placing bets.”
“You don’t even know who’s racing today.” He teases, grabbing a beer from a cooler by one of the money vans and offering me one.
I take a sip of the drink, enjoying the easy comfort between us. If I close my eyes and pretend, it’s like the last four years never happened. Like I’m still myself.
Like I’m not here to upend the very thing Santos stands for.
A heavy feeling settles in my stomach when I realize that even though I’m in the same place I was years ago, surrounded by the same people…nothing is the same. Nothing will be the same—ever.
But there is no going back. I don’t even think there’s a way forward.
There’s only a way through it.
So I bite back my guilt, giving Santos an easy grin and launching into action.
“Can you tell me about who’s racing today?” I give him a soft look, half-tentative and sheepish. Like I used to look at Papa when I asked him for more spending money.
Santos claps his hands. “Alright. There’s a lot of fools racing around here tonight. But there’s only two or three you want to keep your eye on.” The crowd outside swells and pushes as the winner of the latest race comes around the bend, a red car flying across the finish line a moment later.
My companion briefly takes note of the winner of the race before turning to face me once more.
“The big race starts in like, thirty minutes. You got Lee, Torres, and Demi racing tonight. Lee and Torres have been going at it all summer—you have no idea how bad they get. We had to break up a fight between them last month. They got some serious bad blood. Demi—she just kinda came out of nowhere. She’s good.
But I don’t know if her rig has what it takes for the big leagues. ”
I follow his gaze as he points out the racers.
The cars in question are lined up right outside the warehouse, hoods propped up for inspection.
I’m not close enough to make out what they’re sporting—but it doesn’t matter.
Even if I was close enough, I don’t know enough about cars to see a difference.
My plan hinges on using the man next to me. I need to win—and win a lot of money.
I reach into my bag with shaky hands and take out the small wad of cash I’ve been fisting all night. It’s not much—but that’s part of the plan.
“Can you help me place a bet?” Santos plucks the minuscule bills from my hands and cocks his head. I pretend to look embarrassed. “I have a real job now. Money’s not the same, you know.”
He waves away the look on my face. “Of course. You know I got you.” He flags one of the bookies nearby, handing him my money. “Put her down for two-thousand on Demi.” I try not to blanch. Two thousand dollars. More than quadruple what I gave him.
“I can’t guarantee you’ll win.” The young man says, grinning. “But I heard Demi’s got herself a new benefactor. New money. Maybe a new car.” He winks. “She’s not here yet. We’ll see. But her odds are the lowest. If she wins…” He gives me a look.
I bite back a breathless smile, counting down the minutes until the race begins.
“So. Anyway.” He puts his beer down, motioning me to sit beside him on a wooden stool. “How have you been, though? It’s been too long.”
The stool is cool beneath me. I wriggle in my seat, figuring out how to answer his question.
“I’m doing great. Sylvia is settled in, Papa is…away.” I say diplomatically, avoiding his gaze when he laughs at that. “I’m doing my own thing. Finally. Got a real job—I have my own life. It’s nice. Quiet, but…I like it that way.”
He smiles, cheeks bunching up in a boyish expression. “Look at you, girl. I’m happy for you. You were always too good for all this shit.” He says, casually motioning at the illegal chaos around us.
I think he means it as a compliment, but the only thing I picture is how I wasn’t enough to be with Matias when all of it ended…but that woman is.
“How…how is he?” Santos pauses. I don’t need to say his name—Santos knows exactly who I’m talking about.
“Eh.” He says casually. “He’s fine. You know Matias. He’s always been a little too serious about everything. A little uptight. A control freak.” That’s not how I remember him, but the words bring me a little satisfaction.
Because he was looking a little too relaxed when I saw him at Pandemonium.
I clear my throat, my heart racing when I start talking. “I heard people talking about him. Earlier tonight.”
Santos pauses. “Really?”
“Yeah, they…they say Diego is stealing from him. That…that he’s working with the cops.
” I lie, naming a man I know is long dead.
But the hook works. Santos deflates in front of my very eyes, his mouth pressing into a thin line.
He’s not surprised, I note, squashing the thread of excitement in my gut.
“Diego died the night of the raid.” He says, pinching his nose. “There’s someone else now.”
I feign surprise. “Oh, my God. I had no idea. Does Matias know?”
“Yeah. He knows. Thinks it’s a bunch of made-up bullshit, but I keep telling him...” Santos shakes his head. “Did they say anything else? The people in the crowd?”
I shake my head. “No, they just said they were leaving early because they thought the place was going to get raided.” It’s all lies.
But Santos buys it, scratching the side of his head with a cross expression on his face.
“It’s probably not true.” I say, patting his shoulder and giving him a gentle smile. “Just…keep an eye out for him, okay?”
I think he falls for it. Santos grabs my hand and gives me a brotherly squeeze, letting out a heavy sigh when the big races start a few moments later. He stands beside me as Demi wows the crowd with a newly modded, hot-pink number.
And gives me a big wink and a pat on the shoulder when the scrappy underdog of a woman cleans the house.
I stand firmly beside him as the crowd goes wild. A few people flail, some sore loser punching the hood of Lee’s car when the man comes in dead last.
I won.
A lot.
I turn to Santos with a wondrous look, biting my lip and putting the next part of my plan into motion.
“I…is there any way I can pick up my winnings somewhere else?” I look at the chaotic, panic-inducing crowd. “Somewhere more…private?”
Santos knows me. He knows I’d never hurt him—or his best friend. He looks over his shoulder.
“You remember that warehouse, in Van Nuys? Meet me there. This weekend.” It’s a good thing that although things look exactly the same on the surface, they can be forever changed.
I’m glad he doesn’t realize I’m the living testament of that.