Chapter 56 #2
Forty-five minutes later the car is off-road.
I can tell by the gravel crunching under the tires.
Maybe knowing where I am would take the edge off, but I can’t see a damn thing.
I’m not nervous. More like anxious to know if I’ll be one of the lucky ones to survive.
And even if I do survive, will someone find me?
Or will I die alone in some barn, warehouse, or abandoned building?
Maybe they’re not going to beat me. Maybe they’ll take me to the roof of a building and just push me off. Se acabó.
Nah, Chuy wouldn’t like that. He likes to hear the screaming and pleas of strong guys brought down to their knees.
I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.
I’m led out of the car. From the sound of my feet against gravel and stones, we’re in the middle of nowhere. I hear more cars parking, more feet following behind us. A cow moos in the distance.
A warning moo? Truth is, I want to do this. If it’s interrupted, it will postpone the inevitable. I’m willing. I’m ready. Let’s get it on.
I wonder if I’ll be hung by my hands to a branch of a tree, strung up like a whipping boy.
Oh, man, I hate the unknown. Estoy perdido.
“Stay here,” I’m instructed.
As if I have anywhere to go.
Someone is walking toward me. I can hear the gravel crunch with each step. “You are a disgrace to this brotherhood, Alejandro. We protected you and your family, and you’ve decided to turn your back on us. Is that right?”
I wish my life was a John Grisham novel.
His heroes always seem to be one step away from death but come up with a brilliant plan.
It usually includes hiding information that will ruin the bad guy, and if the hero ends up dead, the bad guy will be ruined for life.
Unfortunately, real life can’t be wrapped up with a nice little bow.
“Hector was the one who betrayed the Blood,” I respond. “El traidor.”
The response to my calling Hector a traitor is a hard fist to my jaw. Shit, I wasn’t ready for that because I can’t see a fucking thing with this blindfold on. I try not to wince.
“You understand the consequences of leaving the Blood?”
I work my jaw back and forth. “Yes.”
I hear crunching stones as a circle of people close in. I’m the bull’s-eye this time.
An eerie silence settles over the crowd. Nobody laughs; nobody makes a sound. Some of the guys surrounding me have been my friends all my life. Like Enrique, they’re waging a war inside themselves. I don’t blame them. The lucky ones haven’t been chosen to fight today.
Without warning, I get punched in my face. Attempting to keep myself upright is hard, especially because I know more hits are coming. It’s one thing to be in a fight you could possibly win, but it’s another to know you’ve got zero chance.
Something sharp slashes my back.
Then I get punched in the ribs.
Each blow is connecting with my upper body—no inch is left untouched. A slice here, a fist there. I stagger a few times, only to be pulled upright and slammed into another hard fist.
I’ve got a gash in my back and it stings as if flames are licking at my skin. I can tell Enrique’s punches because they don’t pack as much fury as the others.
Memories of Brittany keep me from crying out in pain. I’m going to be strong for her . . . for us. I’m not going to let them control whether I live or die. I’m in charge of my destiny, not the Blood.
I have no clue how much time goes by. A half hour? An hour? My body is weakening. I’m having trouble standing. I smell smoke. Are they going to push me into a fire? The bandanna is still secured over my eyes, but it doesn’t matter because I’m pretty sure my eyes are swollen shut.
I feel like caving and falling to the ground but force myself to stand tall.
I’m probably unrecognizable now, hot blood streaming from gashes in my face and body. I can feel my shirt being ripped open and it’s falling off in pieces, exposing the scar where Hector shot me. A fist punches me right there. It’s too much pain.
I slump to the ground, my face scraping the gravel.
At this point, I’m not sure I can make it. Brittany. Brittany. Brittany. As long as I repeat the mantra in my head, I know I’m still alive. Brittany. Brittany. Brittany.
Is the smell of smoke real, or is it the smell of death?
Through the thick haze in my mind I think I hear someone saying, “Don’t you think he’s had enough?”
I hear a distant but distinct “No.”
Protests follow. If I could move, I would. Brittany. Brittany. Brittany.
More protests. Nobody protests during these challenges. It’s not allowed. What’s happening? What’s next? It must be worse than the beating, because I hear a lot of arguing.
“Hold him facedown,” Chuy’s voice rings out. “Nobody betrays the Latino Blood on my watch. Let this be a lesson to anyone else who tries to betray us. Alejandro Fuentes’s body will always be marked, a reminder of his betrayal.”
The burning smell gets closer. I have no clue what’s about to happen until my upper back is touched with what feels like hot coals.
I think I groaned. Or growled. Or screamed.
I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore.
I can’t think. All I can do is feel. They might as well have thrown me into the fire, this is a torture worse than anything I could have imagined.
The smell of burning skin sears my nostrils as I realize the coals aren’t coals at all.
The bastard is branding me. El dolor, el dolor . . .
Brittany. Brittany. Brittany.