He nodded once. “Yeah, she is. Thanks for bringing her the Popsicles, by the way. Between those and the meds the doctor gave her, she’s doing better.”
I’d done something right.
It was a miracle.
Readjusting the duffle that hung from his shoulder—one that had once been mine—he looked toward the front parking lot. “Later, old man.”
Together, he and Tuck walked away, heading to their respective vehicles.
Arms crossed, I watched them go, feeling the weight of their absence on my soul. “Call or text me when you get home so I know you got there alright. Both of you.”
Tuck flipped me off over his shoulder. “Sure thing, Captain Dickhead.”
Chuckling, I shook my head and looked toward the woman from before.
When her panicked eyes collided with mine, my feet moved. I’d known she was nervous before, but the terror-streaked expression on her made-up face right then put me on edge.
Something was wrong.
Hands clenched, I stormed toward her. “What’s going on, ma’am?” Without touching her, I visually checked her over, looking for any signs of trauma or injury. I saw none. “Are you hurt? If so—”
“Not me,” she said, voice shaky with unshed tears. “It’s Little One.” Recognizing the name, I froze. “I know I shouldn’t have come to your place of work and all, but Robina Hood ain’t got no doctor-like supplies.”
Tears beginning to fall, she shook her head. Bleach blonde hair falling from the clip she’d secured it in, she ran her shaking hands down her face, smearing her makeup. “And I’m scared. That girl doesn’t deserve to be in that much pain and—”
“Where?” I snapped, interrupting her.
Having heard enough, I was ready to move, not listen. If someone was hurt, the longer they went without medical intervention, the worse shape they’d be in, and the harder recovery, if it was even possible, would be.
Shifting her weight between her feet, she waved her arm toward the street behind her. “The basement of the paper—”
Before she could finish, I sprang into action.
Boots pounding the scorching Georgia pavement, I ran full-bore toward my truck as the woman yelled after me. Her voice cracked as the tears she’d been holding back fell.
“Tell Robina Hood I’ll watch out for Chiquita! When she comes back, I’ll glue myself to her side just like she asked!”
I didn’t stop to respond.
Consumed with the need to find my mysterious little pixie, along with the young woman she cared for—who was hurt, I might add—a freight train couldn’t have forced me to slow.
Reaching my truck, I jumped into the cab and started the ignition. Before pulling off, I checked to ensure my medic bag was tucked behind the passenger seat.
Seeing that it was, I shifted the transmission into drive, and like a bat escaping the flames of hell, I took off, leaving the woman standing alone in front of the station.
For a moment, I felt guilty.
Running on the desire—no, the insatiable need—to help, I hadn’t stopped to ask her if she’d needed a ride or not. But that same guilt dissipated like vapor when I caught sight of the relief flashing across her face as I blew past her.
Knowing I’d done the right thing by hauling ass without wasting time asking any unnecessary questions, I stomped on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot, uncaring when the rear-end of the truck fishtailed the slightest bit.
Right or wrong, safety wasn’t on my mind.
Instead, reaching both women in record time was. Without knowing what kind of situation I was walking into or how badly Little One was injured, I had to hurry.
So that’s exactly what I did.
Seven
Carmen
Mildew and blood.
The smell of both invaded my nose as I sat on the basement floor, my back pressed to the dust-covered bricks behind me. Eyes fixed on the trio of prayer candles lining the far wall, I watched their flames dance, smoking the slightest bit.
Mesmerizing, the movement distracted me from the shit situation I found myself and Jade starring in thanks to both my weakness and estupidez. Because of the addiction holding me hostage, she had been hurt.
Repeatedly.
Chiquita too, just not that night.
I had to make it all stop.
As I always worried, if I didn’t, both mi chicas would die because of me, just as Mamá, and most likely Alejandro had by now too.
It wasn’t something I would allow to happen, yet I didn’t know how to end the vicious carousel we all rode, spinning us in circles day after day.
More than once, I’d wished I could take them both, steal a car, and drive far, far away, but doing such a thing wasn’t possible.
For one, with El Diablo’s vast network of connections—both above and below ground—he’d find us before we crossed the state line.
Then the pendejo would asesinato us all.
Painfully. Slowly. Surely.
And without a second thought.
For two, if we ran, it would ensure the deaths of others.
Faye, an older lady of the night who cared for and loved most of the women in Dominic’s stables, whether young or old, bitchy or kind, would be the first to go.
With a special needs adult daughter who required her support and care, that couldn’t happen. If she died, it would be a death sentence for her beloved bebé.
I had enough on my conscience, I couldn’t handle the burden of their innocent souls too.
“Carmen…”
I looked down, meeting Jade’s gaze. Laying on the floor next to me, her head resting on my lap, she’d fallen asleep moments before as I raked my fingers through her thick red hair.
Mamá had done the same to lull me to sleep.
I miss her so much.
Hermanito and Papá too.
If I could hug them just one more time.
Pushing back my misery, I traced a lone knuckle down her cheek. “What is it?” I asked, unable to read the expression on her pretty face. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
She swallowed before cringing. Covering my hand with her own, she scooted closer to me and rested the side of her bruised face against my belly. “Stop blaming yourself.”
I would never cease blaming myself.
Not for what happened to my family, and certainly not for what continued
