Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Shiloh
My hair was tickling my nose as I rested my head on the lunch table, zoning in and out of the conversation that Nox and Jae were having. I couldn’t even enjoy living somewhere with a proper mattress for once because my fucking mind wouldn’t stop replaying graphic nightmares.
God, I wanted to tell Nox, I wanted to tell Nox and his dad.
I wanted help. I needed fucking help. But there was no one I could trust. I had no fucking clue where these other jefes were or what kind of power or control they had.
Where the hell was I supposed to go for help that wouldn’t get me or the person I told murdered?
Even federal agencies could have Ghosts.
And would they even help me after what I’d done, what I’d become? I’d just be incriminating myself.
And what the hell good was that going to do anyways? I didn’t have anything useful I could actually say that would get Los Siete shut down, that would protect another child from being taken as my substitute.
I finally found the motivation to swipe my hair out of my face and caught Nox’s gaze on me, the silence at our lunch table apparent.
I raised a brow to ask him what he wanted.
Nox licked his lips in thought as he scanned my face before mirroring my stance on the table.
His soft curls were brushing my hand, our faces closer than they probably should be as friends.
“You okay?” he asked, just loud enough for me to hear over the din of the cafeteria.
I rolled my eyes but shrugged honestly.
“You’ve been unusually…tame the past week. Not as snarky.” His lips twitched with a half-smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “Everything okay at home?”
“Just tired,” I shrugged.
Nox nodded slowly, his lips parting to speak when the bell rang causing us both to jump. I groaned as I sat upright, rolling my neck before standing up.
I clung to the nearest thing for stability as the room tilted and dots clouded my vision. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a couple of deep breaths as Nox held my hand that was gripping his shoulder.
“Woah, what’s wrong?” he asked, once I opened my eyes.
They both had haunted looks on their faces, like they thought I was about to die.
“Nothing, I just stood up too fast or something,” I muttered as I released Nox and grabbed my bag.
“Do you want to go to the nurse?” Jae suggested, as he came to the other side of the table to stand in front of me.
“No, no. I’m fine. Seriously,” I said firmly.
I gave Nox a glare when he asked if I was sure before they both followed me out of the cafeteria, flanking my sides and watching me like I might fall over at any moment. They kept sharing looks, having silent conversations with each other about me like I wasn’t standing right between them.
Jesus. They’re being fucking dramatic. I’m fine. Probably just worn out from all the stress. Gang life does that to a person.
Although I couldn’t exactly say that, so I just lost them in the crowd as I headed for my next class.
Not ten minutes into the period, I was dismissed to visit the guidance counselor. I walked as slowly as possible to the library before finally heading inside and taking a seat. Mr. Crane folded his hands on his desk.
“So,” he cleared his throat, raising a brow. “What’s goin’ on?”
“You tell me,” I shrugged.
“Ya had straight A’s last time we spoke. This ain’t like you. So, I’ll ask ya again. What is goin’ on, kid?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled, reaching for the squishy toy on his desk to fidget with.
“Shiloh, ya failed all but one of your midterms. And with your grade below 70 in your AP Calculus class, you’ll be required to attend tutoring sessions.
If your grade does not improve over the next six weeks, you will be removed from the class.
And that will not look good on your transcripts for college. ”
I rolled my eyes, squeezing the neon yellow ball as hard as I could.
“Frankly, at this rate Shiloh, ya won’t be graduatin’ with your peers.
Do you really wanna retake your senior year?
Your teachers have told me that you’ve been sleepin’ in class, and ya haven’t turned in none of your remediation assignments from your midterm exams. You’re not showin’ very good character here, and I’m concerned that ya aren’t puttin’ in the effort to even pass your classes with a C. ”
“Well don’t be, because I’m just going to get a job when I’m eighteen,” I explained. “I don’t plan on graduating anyways.”
Mr. Crane blinked, surprised by my statement.
I surprised myself. I hadn’t really thought about what my future held, but, apparently, I wasn’t planning on graduating.
I still had no clue what Carlos had in store for me, but I doubted he would care if I dropped out.
Hadn’t seemed to affect my brother’s ability to rank up and become his sucesor.
“What happened to your college plans? You were set to go to a university with your grades and test scores. Tell me what’s changed in the last month. Tell me why ya suddenly no longer wanna pursue a higher education.”
Where do I fucking begin? I stared at him with gritted teeth. It wasn’t like he could fucking change anything about my situation.
He shook his head with a sigh when he realized I wasn’t going to respond and swiveled in his chair to face his computer. He picked up his phone, dialing a number off his computer screen and looked back at me with disappointment.
“Hello Mr. Tellez,” my breath hitched when I heard that he was calling my father.
“This is Mr. Crane, Shiloh’s guidance counselor.
I’m calling to speak to ya about Shiloh’s performance in school.
Her teachers and I would like to schedule a parent-teacher conference to discuss Shiloh’s future.
Please give me a call back when ya can.”
I scoffed, knowing that he wouldn’t fucking show up. Thank fuck I didn’t live with him anymore, otherwise he would have screamed at me for being a fuck-up.
“If ya won’t talk to me, then I’m gonna have to recommend ya meet with the school psychologist,” Mr. Crane sighed, rubbing his brow as if he wasn’t happy about my stubbornness.
My stomach suddenly started churning and the pasta I ate at lunch was threatening to show up on his desk. People asking questions was the last fucking thing I needed. Why couldn’t he just leave me the fuck alone? Why did he have to fucking care?
“Whatever,” I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulders and getting the hell out of there before I threw up or started crying. I just wanted to take a fucking nap.
???
Of course my prayers weren’t going to be answered by having a nice nap when I got home from school, because Adrian was waiting for me in my apartment. The fucker either picked the lock or had a copy of the key. Either option had me clenching my fists at my side.
“Carlos needs to see us.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard as I willed myself not to say anything stupid. There was an awkward tension, but addressing the elephant in the room would send me into a panic attack so I ignored it.
“Fine. Lead the way.”
I followed him downstairs to his car. I hated to admit that I was scared shitless of what Carlos wanted from me. The thought that I was willingly working for the man that murdered my brother was making me nauseous. And after everything I’d already done, I feared the worst for what else was to come.
You told me to fight like hell, so I’m just doing what you asked, Javier.
I wasn’t surprised to be taken back to Carlos’s luxurious ranch, but I still found myself nervously sweating as we entered the room where I had sold my body to a bunch of fucked-up cumwipes.
Adrian led me to a large conference table located in a room off to the right of the lounge area where they’d defiled me.
Vargas was there, standing in the corner of the room as if he expected the place to be raided at any moment. I hoped the fucker had horrible reflexes and took a bullet to the penis if he ever got into a gun fight.
“Sit, sweetheart,” Carlos said with a smile, motioning to the empty chair on his left across two men I’d never met. I hadn’t seen him since I finished my initiation, and the sound of his voice rang in my ears.
“Good girl.”
I avoided the gaze of the two men and focused on not throwing up as I sat down.
“Gentlemen,” Carlos said, inclining his head to the two strangers. “Meet Miss Olivia Lane. You will be briefing her today.”
“What the fuck is going on?” I asked Carlos, my palms beginning to sweat in my lap. Why the hell was he calling me that?
“Let them speak and you will find out,” he said, giving me a stern look.
I shut up, leaning back in my seat, letting my eyes take in the two men. They didn’t look threatening, wearing professional clothes, and one of them even smiled at me. I narrowed my eyes with skepticism and waited for them to speak.
The man on the left cleared his throat. “Well, we’ve orchestrated a plan to get Kit Walsh on our side before the Class 1 senate election in three years.” He paused, fumbling with a remote control and suddenly a screen on the opposite end of the room lit up.
I took in Kit Walsh’s picture, trying to imagine what he was doing and why it mattered to Carlos.
The man in question was good-looking for someone in their fifties.
Dark hair with some graying, brown eyes, a nice suit and a bright smile.
Strong chin and jawline, but he didn’t seem to put a ton of money into trying to maintain a younger facade as I could see the crow’s feet and smile lines on his clean-shaven face.