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Chapter One
Tomás
Three Months Ago.
The moments before my brother’s murderplayed on repeat in my head. Daniel had never looked so scared aswhen I saw him scrambling in our old trailer home. We’d drivenforty-five minutes from Chicago to the trailer park where we hadlived before Daniel had taken his vows into gang life withLaSagrada Sangreand we moved closer to Dad.
I did not want to be there. “Bro, what arewe doing here?”
Daniel’s eyes were wide, unfocused as if hewere stoned. He’d been quiet during the drive while I talked aboutT’s eighteenth birthday party we had celebrated at Underground,La Sagrada Sangre’slair. I should’ve known something was upwhen he didn’t tell me to shut up. I snapped my fingers in front ofhis face to try to break him out of whatever buzz he had going on.“Daniel, hey.”
He jerked his head in my direction like oneof them clickers in the video games Moochie liked to play. Made thehairs on my arm stand on end. He pointed his finger at me. Thelines on his face drawn deep. “Don’t go out tonight.”
I’d meant to go meet up with Mooch. “It’sSunday. Why not?”
“Because I said so.” He started to movearound the small space. There wasn’t much. The place had never beenclean nor felt like home. I followed him into his old bedroom. We’dnever shared the bedroom. Whenever he was home, I’d crash on thesofa. He pulled out an envelope from his back pocket and tossed iton the dusty bed. “T left this for you. Do what it says,” he said,pointing at the envelope. “You hear me? Tomorrow, go to Tia’shouse. Forget mom. She’s beyond help. You are not staying herewithout me, you listening?”
The mention of being without him made allthe blood drain from my body. I didn’t want to touch the envelope.I didn’t want to know what he was blabbering about. He made nosense. I stood there, mouth open, like a loon. Daniel shook me,digging his fingers into my shoulders. “Be a fucking man.” Heshoved me hard and my back struck the window, dropping the brokenblinds to the floor.
I blinked away the confusion, the haze.Be a man. Be a fucking man.I’d never seen him so worked up.Not even when Dolores and Manny died.
“Daniel, what’s going on? What do you meanstay here? We don’t live here anymore. Are you leaving me?” Mychest clenched. He couldn’t leave me here with Moms. Hecouldn’t.
“I … shit’s going down.” He shook his head.“You can’t go back to the city. Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because shit’s going down! Don’t youlisten? Just stay here.”
“Are you coming back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Just go to Tia’splace. Take the money T gave you and leave the city.”
The mention of T made me think of Nick.
My brother Nick had been MIA since I saw himlast at Underground. Rumor had it that T had kidnapped him or someshit. I didn’t believe that. T and Nick had a thing. I didn’t knowwhat type of thing, but they had something nobody but me knewabout. And that was only because I knew Nick and he couldn’t hidethings for shit. The only reason Dad hadn’t caught on was becauseDad’s love for Nick blinded the shit out of him. “Is it Nick?”
Daniel shook his head. We were all realbrothers. Dolores and Manny died when I was little. Daniel was myblood brother from Moms and Dad, and Nick was our half-brother fromanother mother. Miguel and Cruz were our half-brothers too, fromother mothers. And we had three sisters on top of that. My daddidn’t believe in condoms.
“What is it then?”
Daniel stopped in the living room, swept hiseyes over the dark stained sofa Mom used to crash in when she wastoo drugged out to make it to her room, now empty as if seeing itfor the first time and wondering how he got there. With Daniel goneand Dad in Chicago, she’d start her shit again and despite whatDaniel was blabbering about, I wasn’t staying for that.
He fisted his hair, turning to me. Daniellooked so much like Dad while I had Mom’s features. The only thingwe shared were our dark eyes, even the shape of them was different.His were deep-set, mine were wide. His hair was black, mine wassoft brown and curly. He had strong rigid features, a square jaw,and my face was rounder. Mom often called me pretty and I hatedit.
Daniel’s eyes shimmered for a second as helowered his hands. His eyes held mine with such desperate fear. Iwanted to erase that look from memory. Then he did something hehadn’t done since we were kids and I’d wake up with nightmares.
He hugged me.
He smelled of Cheetos and stale booze.That’s what I remember of my brother. Cheetos and stale booze. “Ilove you, bro,” he whispered into my ear before shoving me away sohard I almost fell on my ass. Then he pointed a finger at me.“Don’t go out tonight. Stay here.”
With that warning, he walked out. I heardhis car peel away from the curb. And then nothing. That was thelast time I saw him. We couldn’t even have an open casket funeralbecause his body had burned along with my dad’s, Cruz, andMiguel.
I held the Glock 19 in my grip. The handlerough on my palm, my fingers fit perfectly into the grooves. Thesurface ridges felt like the skin of a basketball.
Daniel had given me my first basketballlesson when I was ten, he’d been fifteen at the time. “Oma,” hesaid. For some awful reason he preferred that nickname rather thancalling me Tommy or just Tomás, my birth name. He said it wasbecause how I pronounced my name when I was still in diapers. Ihadn’t earned a tougher name yet, not at ten, so he kept using Oma.“Oma,” he said. “You dribble until your fingers hurt. You dribbleuntil you get that shit right. You don’t stop dribbling.”
Then he slammed into my ass and sent meskidding onto the concrete. Concrete burns were a bitch. I hadremembered that too. But I had built a tolerance to pain. I pushedit away. I let my determined anger drive me.
