Chapter 4
Efren
Present
Houston, Texas
Acada santo le llega su hora. It’s a saying my adoptive father, Bud, used often to remind me that everything hidden would come to light.
Like the woman dancing on the stage in front of me.
She thought I’d never find her, but she was wrong.
Our worlds are too closely aligned, our paths destined to cross again and again until she realizes she belongs to me.
What happened the night Esteban died wasn’t an accident. If anything, it had been premeditated on my end, even if the plan didn’t go as planned. Even if the woman I was trying to protect isn’t staring at me like she’s seen a ghost.
I’m not supposed to be here.
In her space.
Watching her.
But I know the real her. I know every broken fucking piece of her, and I know what she’s searching for. Time has inevitably changed us both. But trauma? That motherfucker sticks around like a stain neither of us can scrub clean. Like the blood that covered her that night.
Alma turns her back to me, and continues the show. My jaw clenches at the sight of men shoving dollar bills into her leather thong. Pulling out a fifty, I throw it onto the bar and take off before the song’s over.
“Damn, what took so fucking long?” Ricky says when I get to the van.
“Claudi was busy,” I lie and throw the black duffle bag filled with money into the back.
“Fuck, I could’ve gotten a lap dance if I knew it was going to take that long.”
“Keep driving, we got four more stops to go.”
Ricky lets out a sigh, and I nod for him to get going. I hate these late night runs as much as he does. I never wanted to come back to Houston. Not after Bud dragged me here. He and Angela started having problems after Esteban’s death.
I met Adrian Ibarra my sophomore year when we both took to the streets to survive.
Slinging dope to the rich kids at Saint Rita’s had been our full-time job until Adrian was set up, and I was taken down with him.
We were seventeen years old, trying to survive prison, and forced to make decisions that would forever alter our futures, like taking up an alliance with the prison gang Los Antros.
“Where’s the next stop?” Ricky cuts through my thoughts.
We’re collecting payouts for his uncle Vidal Montalván, leader of Los Antros, the Houston Federal Detention Center’s most notorious prison gang.
“Calavera Hotels,” I grit out.
Ironically, the very place I’m trying to avoid has been the link taking me back to Alma. Not long after Adrian was released, I found Alma was intertwined with Calavera Hotels and best friends with Adrian’s new fiancé, Mireya. Coincidence? Nah, I don’t believe in those.
I’d sent one letter, like a warning to let her know I’d be back, but she didn’t believe me. She’s been avoiding me. But she doesn’t get to put me in a box and forget me. I’ll fucking break her first.