Chapter 1 #2
“Shiloh, do you seriously think Carlos would let me just walk away?” Javier paused to raise his brow in emphasis, and I remained silent, already knowing the answer.
“He’s had me under his thumb since I was ten.
He’s spent eleven years grooming me, training me to be a member of his empire.
You don’t know the kind of shit I do for him.
Why the hell do you think I’ve sheltered you so much from them?
Why have I told you to never go to the police? ”
I quirked a brow and droned, “So that you guys don’t get deported and then CPS would separate us.”
Javier growled, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Let me paint you a picture, Shiloh. Let’s pretend that last night I came home beat up and this morning you decided to go to the police for help. And for argument’s sake, let’s say you were like other teenagers. You had friends, a phone, social media…a boyfriend.”
I clinched my jaw with a scowl.
“Now, if you were lucky to speak to a police officer that wasn’t in Los Siete’s pocket, they’d send someone to the house.
Where, yes, Dad and I could be discovered as undocumented and sent back to Mexico.
But none of that would matter, because Carlos would find out and smooth everything over.
” He smiled humorlessly. I shifted my weight, uncomfortable with where this hypothetical was going.
“The report you made would disappear and you might think, ‘okay, well at least we’re still breathing’.
Wrong. Carlos would take you, torture you until you told him every single person that you ever spoke to about me, about Los Siete or about our family. Then, he’d make me kill you.”
Javier raised his fingers like a gun and pressed them against my forehead, making me adjust my stance to not fall over.
“Then he’d cover up your death, go through every single person that follows you on socials, all your friends, all your classmates, your boyfriend, ex-boyfriends…He’d find out which ones you spoke to about me or Los Siete and they’d all be bought or killed.”
I swallowed, not sure if I believed his story, and slapped his finger gun away from my forehead.
“And after everyone was silenced by whatever means he deemed necessary, then he’d give me the chance to continue working for him, or to die. Now ask me how I know all of that would happen?”
Javi nodded for me to speak. “How do you know all of that would happen?” I parroted, barely holding back my eyeroll.
“Because I was there when he did exactly that to a recruit last year.”
I stared at him, searching his facial expression for some sort of clue that he was bullshitting me, that he was just trying to scare me.
“So, yeah, maybe I am just one Ghost in the family. But I’m a Ghost that he’s put a hell of a lot of trust and interest in.
He will know if we up and leave, he will track me down and kill me and everyone who knows me.
That means you, Shiloh. You want to watch him shoot me in the head before he murders you? ”
I stared at him, my jaw dropping with horror.
“Carlos? We’re talking about the fucking annoying, asshole mayor that started mentoring you after school in elementary school? He’s going to fucking murder us all if you try to leave?”
Javi rolled his neck and let out a long sigh of exhaustion.
“Yes, Shiloh. Carlos Solis. Mayor of Granby, Texas. The same man who started ‘mentoring’ me from age ten and initiated me into his empire at fifteen.”
What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
“That’s fucking insane, Javier! I mean, sure, Carlos is fucking weird with his fake teeth and smile…but murdering people who don’t want to sell drugs for him?”
“I told you. Granby is just the tip of the iceberg, Shiloh. It’s not a local street gang. He doesn’t just run drugs and strip clubs.”
My head was spinning with all this new information. My heart breaking at the realization that I might never be able to help my brother get out of here. There’s just no fucking way. He’s got to be trying to scare me.
“Shy, I’m lucky,” he said firmly. “What Carlos has me doing means I’m able to keep a roof over your head, keep you in school and keep you fed. Finding a ‘normal’ job isn’t an option for me because I will not risk getting taken away from you.”
I grumbled at his remark, but he cut me off to continue.
“And there’s no way I’m letting you get a job until you’re eighteen. Your job right now is to get good grades and get into a good school on the East Coast.”
“And where the hell am I gonna get the money to go to college?” I asked almost rhetorically.
“I’ve got it covered, okay?”
“Sure you do,” I scoffed. “You just going to magically whip 40k out of your asshole the day I enroll in school? Newsflash, if you have 40k in cash, we should be spending it on plane tickets to some island in the middle of fucking nowhere so we don’t end up fucking murdered!”
“Puta madre, Shiloh, just trust me, okay?!” he shouted in frustration.
Javi looked out the patio door, letting out a tense breath to calm down.
“I promised you I would take care of you until you were eighteen, and I will not break that promise. I’ll worry about the money.
You worry about finishing your applications. ”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. I let the argument go for now, knowing that things just became a hell of a lot more complicated if what he said was true about his importance to Carlos, to Los Siete, and his inability to leave.
“Pinche pendejo. You’re so damn stubborn,” I mumbled. “What time will you be back?”
He smiled at my comment, the agitation completely gone from his demeanor. “Probably around two or three. Go clean your hand and lock yourself in for the night,” he said, ushering me out of the kitchen.
“But—” I protested, eyeing the unfinished dishes.
“I’ll finish them quickly. Don’t let this happen again, Shy,” he warned, eying my neck again. “You’re better than that. I thought we were past you freezing up. I want to know that when you’re here alone, you’re going to defend yourself. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“Okay,” I muttered, resisting the urge to argue further.
He gave me another shove out of the room, and I walked into the hall bathroom. I searched the medicine cabinet, pulled out the last of the gauze, and taped it over the cut on my palm. I’d have to ask Javi to buy some more.
No, fuck that. I’m not letting this happen again. It won’t happen again. I won’t need any more bandages.
Javier was right. I was better than that.
I should’ve been paying attention and listening for an intruder when I had my back turned.
It just as easily could’ve been Kush sneaking up and taking advantage of me like he’d been threatening to do since I turned thirteen.
And I desperately needed to learn to control my freeze response. I really thought I had moved past that.
I sighed, sparing myself a quick glance in the mirror, and scowled.
Javi had left an inch cut across where my jugular was, and another mark about the same size rested in the middle of my throat.
I hated the marks. They made me look fucking weak, and I wasn’t weak.
It’d been weeks since I’d failed one of his tests, and I only prayed that the marks didn’t scar because then I’d have yet another reminder of what a weak puta I was.
After cleaning away the dried blood on my neck, I pulled my dull, red hair forward to hide the marks before flipping the switch and heading to our room for the night.
After I bolted the door from the inside, I plopped down on my twin mattress.
Javi said it built character—sleeping on a lumpy old mattress on the floor—and that he didn’t want me to be raised like a spoiled brat.
It was probably just an excuse for not having the money to purchase a new one.
I scoffed.
If Javi was so damn important to Carlos, why the fuck weren’t we bathing in luxury here? Where was all the cash he should have been earning doing so much work for Carlos?
The fucker could’ve moved us out to a nicer place a long-ass time ago if he wasn’t so goddamn set on taking care of our dad.
Fucking waste of oxygen. I hated our dad, but Javier knew him before he was an addict and clearly had daddy issues.
I had suggested multiple times that we get our own place.
Maybe then Javier wouldn’t have to worry so damn much about my safety because there wouldn’t be tweaked-out fuckers in the house trying to cop a feel.
But Javier always shot down the idea, claiming CPS bullshit about me getting taken away and them getting deported.
I sighed in frustration, rolling over to try and get comfortable.
Mexico could have my dad back. I’d send ICE a fucking thank-you note.