I watch the outline of his beautiful face as he speaks quietly and calmly to the night. He has more than earned his place among us and since Charlie died, Joshua has boldly stepped into the heavy shoes of his next rank. No longer is he a novice, our apprentice. He's our diplomat and he's damn good at it. Liquor and weed tug at the edges of my resolve.
“You may have the soul of a poet, but you have the heart of a warrior,” I tell him, and it's these words that finally bring his eyes to mine.
For a stretch, we only stare at each other, the connection heavy with the fire that smolders between us. Not tonight. I have to look away just to buffer myself from the sexual tension.
I add, “I am honored to have you fight by my side.”
“No,” he says, and I can feel his eyes still on me. “It's an honor to avenge Charlie. He was the only real friend I've ever had, the closest thing to a brother I’ve known. It's an honor to do right by him, and protect you any way I can, because that's what he would want.”
Tears well in my eyes as, again, his words cut deep. Do I deserve this? Why do I feel like I don't? He'll throw it all away to follow me to battle, all the boys will – just for me, they are willing to die.
I meet his gaze, I owe him that much at least. Surely he can see the truth, the devastation in my answering expression. He's tense, rigid in his moment of dilemma. I know he wants to come to me, to take away my tears, and be strong for me, but he told me he wouldn't ask for anything. So he lets it molder in his eyes.
“So thank you,” he says, with brow furrowed and something like pain playing across his features. “For everything. Goodnight, Maria.”
Then he breaks the connection, pushes quickly up the stairs and into the house without so much as glancing back at me. Silence descends. The humidity is like a blanket pressed close against me. For a moment, I mourn his absence. It's easy to let the Louisiana heat seep inside, easier to feel something – anything – when he's around.
I put my arms around my waist, hug myself in my solitude, and a slow smile claims my lips. Charlie would be proud of us, all of us, for handling the situation with fortitude and teamwork. He'd be proud of the man that his protégé has become. Soon, we end this feud. Soon I'll either prove myself worthy of Charlie's blessing, or I'll fail and die. But I won't break down, I won't lose my shit, because if I do, I'm not just failing myself.
Part 3
Chapter 21 Seed of Hope
Maria
We're spread around my grandmother's huge dining room table, her legendary huevos rancheros on plates in front of us. She has given us permission to stay at her house while the smoke blows over at the restaurant – until we can get to our arsenal. Despite her harsh words upon our arrival, she has been decidedly very grandmotherly on this visit and that sits uneasily in my gut. Has she decided to put our differences aside? I'm not her only grandchild alive, but I'm the only one in the game and I'm the only one she knows. I've never met that long-lost cousin either.
The boys are eating, slower than usual, and no one's talking. This dish in front of me has been a comfort food since childhood, but I don't have much of an appetite. I pick at it as I battle my nerves. I've led plenty of meetings before, just not in front of my grandmother, who also happens to be my kingpin. And the business today is heavy.
I glance around. Everyone's watching their plates, except Abuela, who's watching me. Her expression is masked, carefully blank. I take a long breath. I’m about to ruin the peaceful morning.
“Noah has been stabilized. He should pull through.”
Josh glances at me, eyes wide, startled. Izzy's fork stops moving, and Freddy's expression crunches. Who knows what dredges of thought I've pulled them from.
“Still, Gram's actions are unacceptable.” I say, my tone hardening.
This brings their eyes to me. Izzy's gaze is steady. It would be. Frederick is reluctant to make the eye contact, but he does it anyway. Josh looks like he's been punched in the gut.
“Shooting Noah was a bitch move, even for that sleaze. We can't let this escalate, so we need a plan that will deal with the problem quickly.”
“That answer's easy enough, isn't it? We kill this Gram fucker, right?” says Josh.
Izzy and Frederick turn to him in simultaneous annoyance, but I refuse to acknowledge their sentiment. It's not Josh's fault that he doesn't understand the reaches of Gram's slimy empire. We've left him in the dark about so much, especially about the inner workings of the Reaps.
I say, “That is the idea, but how is the problem. We've been out of the information loops since we left New Orleans two years ago. Everyone except you, Frederick.”
His gray eyes widen just a tiny bit, enough that he can't hide his surprise at being called out – not from me. He holds the contact, searching my expression for . . . something. And just like that, his mask is up and we're staring at each other from behind porcelain representations of ourselves.
I can tell Izzy is about to speak, because it's preceded by a long sigh. I watch his shoulders heave under the breath, watch his lips press into a thin line. Then he says, “Poking around for that dirt is gonna get
