He was such a sick puta madre.
Psychotic in every sense of the word.
“Choose wisely, baby, because if you pick the wrong side, both bitches will end up gutted and floatin’ in the swamp south of the state line.” Chiquita’s sobs grew louder, more distressed, and I pushed my body to move, to reach her, but it was impossible.
I was weak, hurt, and sick.
Help wouldn’t come from me.
“Please,” she cried, tearing me apart. “I’ll do whatever you want”—more sobs—“just don’t hurt them.”
Vision blurred and eyes half open, I couldn’t see El Diablo’s face, but I felt the air shift. With the monster subdued, the silent threat of demise that had filled the surrounding space lessened, making it easier to breathe.
But for me, it did little to help.
Hovering on the brink of passing out for what I prayed wouldn’t be the last time, numbness set in, stealing my pain and halting the never-ending tumultuous thoughts that raced through my spinning mind.
Blackness then surrounded me, wrapping me in its warm embrace. Unable to remain awake any longer, I accepted the temporary peace it was offering, and with one final ragged breath, I let the darkness consume me.
Eleven
James
It was almost midnight.
Halfway through a twenty-four-hour shift, I stood alone near the side of the station, head tilted back, gaze focused heavenward.
Eyes on the black Georgia sky, I stared as the vivid stars twinkled, their unmatched beauty on full display for the world to see.
The sight of them stirred up memories of my mother, and right on cue, the sharp pain which always accompanied thoughts of her pierced my chest, making me flinch.
Rubbing my palm over my left pec, the place where my pain crested then crashed, I exhaled, allowing the guilt building in my veins like an incoming tsunami to take hold.
"I miss you, Mama," I whispered, eyes sliding closed. "Wherever you are, I hope you're at peace now."
Regret. Anger.
Both stole my breath and boiled my blood as one memory after another bombarded me, carrying me right back to a place and time that I never had any intention of revisiting.
And before I could stop them, the apologies my soul whispered daily began to spill free, airing a handful of my mistakes for anyone who may be lurking in the shadows, witnessing the shit-show before them.
"I'm sorry I screwed up—like always—and failed to protect you the way a good son would've."
Teeth gritted, I shook my head, feeling something other than never-ending pain spring to life. And that something? It was straight-up rage.
"If I'd known how things would end, I would've kept my mouth shut and put a stop to the pain in a way that didn't end with that motherfucker ripping you away from me."
She'd been the only good thing I had.
And yet, I'd destroyed her.
Just as I had Hendrix.
The guilt seared my insides, burning me alive. "I'm so fucking sorry." They were words I'd never stop saying. "For everything. But especially for how I hurt my boy."
Anger-driven tears began to fall.
First one. Then, another.
Soon, they wouldn't stop.
"I know you're ashamed of the monster I grew to become." Breathing through the hurt, I wiped my face with the backs of my trembling hands, smearing wetness across my cheeks and stubble-covered jaw. "Because I am too."
"Yo!" Lids popping open, I jerked my head to the right just in time to see Hendrix and Tuck approaching me from the side, identical looks of concern on their faces.
"You alright, Pop?" Brow knitted, my boy looked concerned. "What are you doing out here, talking—"
Tuck elbowed him in the side, making him flinch. "Told you he'd lost his damned mind," he said, eyes narrowing on me. "You didn't believe me, but now you see the shit for yourself."
Insides on the brink of bursting on account of the unrelenting agony that squeezed them tight, I shot a scathing glare his way. "You're one to talk about losing it as much time as you spend locked up in that head of yours."
Crossing my arms over my shirt-covered chest, I stood tall. "And as I've told your thick-skulled-self before, if you don't want to end up on boot duty with the rookies for an indefinite amount of time, then I suggest you keep your smartass comments to yourself."
My words were harsh. Unintentionally so. But Tuck was mouthing off at the wrong time.
Hendrix coughed. "Christ, Pop. What the hell crawled up your ass? You've been acting like a bigger tyrant than usual over the past few days."
Mirroring my stance, Tuck folded his arms and jumped back into the conversation, letting his lack of respect for my authority shine bright and clear.
"Ain't nothing crawled up his ass," he said, dark eyes filled with anger similar to my own. "He just needs to get laid. You know, relieve some stress."
With that, I was done.
My limit for keeping my temper and mouth restrained had officially been breached. With demons from the past haunting my every thought, I was over dealing with continuous smartass comments and a Texas-sized attitude from a grown man.
I loved Tuck like he was my own son.
Always had, even when I didn't show it.
But he needed to straighten his ass up.
Pointing toward the open bay doors, I fired back, "Start with taking the trash out, then sweep and pressure wash the bay floors. When you're done with that, the oven and fridge both need cleaning."
He looked ready to punch me. Too bad I didn't give a shit. I was being overly rough on him, I knew that, but when I say that I was done, I mean that I was done.
Between the guilt that never gave me a moment to breathe, and the constant anxiety I felt where Carmen and the girls were concerned, I was close to losing my sanity.
Just knowing the situation my pretty little pixie was in, one in which she was abused and hurt every minute that it continued, had me ready to take a torch to West Toluca in its entirety.
I had to find her
