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But more than that, I am a Lucas first, and it was my mother they ran over with a pickup while rushing out of the field.
They left her for dead.
They left a woman whose life revolved around taking care of loved ones broken and now bound to a wheelchair.
“Fuck your apology.” One bullet down. “Now, let’s play a round of truth or death.”
“We can find a solution, Javier. She didn’t die—”
“You’d already be dead otherwise.” The man beside him weeps, and I look over. “Something you want to say, Mr. Gil?” His head shakes back and forth fast, a bit of bloody spittle flying out with the frantic move. “Then be a good boy until I address you. Understood?”
“Yes.” Low and meek.
“Speak up. You still have your tongue.”
“Yes, sir.”
At my nod, he lowers his head and sits stone still. “Tell me, Francis. Tell me why you did it?”
“He offered me money and a lot of American pussy.”
“The world is full of opportunities, culicagado. Some good. Some bad.” I take the remaining steps between us and poke the still-hot barrel of the Glock into his wound. He squirms, trying to move away while I dig deeper, forcing the tip inside the hole by force. Tears run down his grimy face, his nose running as the skin stretches and eventually gives way. One hard push, and the muscles there buckle. The barrel is deep enough to stay upright without my hand and I let go, crouching down to his level. Eye to eye. “The outcomes vary by scenarios. Investing in real estate is profitable, but stealing from those you owe your life to becomes a death sentence.”
“Please don’t kill me. I-I’ll work off the debt.”
“Open that mouth again out of turn, Gil, and I’ll slit your throat,” I say without looking over, and when he doesn’t utter another sound, I smile at Francis and tap the handle. “Get up.”
“I’m bound, Javi—” He doesn’t finish as the back of my hand connects with his face, forcing his head to the side.
“There’s enough slack for you to stand.” Gil looks up at me and begins to rise before Francis, but I shake my head. One kneels while the other struggles to find footing, taking longer than my patience has time for, and I pull the gun out and hold it to his temple as positive reinforcement.
Once again, his scream rends the air and his body recoils, but Francis is smart enough to rise to his feet. “That’s better.”
“What can I do to make this right?” His low words meet my ears and I smile, rubbing the stained red barrel down his cheek and then tapping the skin there. “I don’t want to die, Javier. Please.”
“So, you want to make a deal? Is that right?” At my words, he nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?” There’s a hint of relief mixed with trepidation in his tone, and there should be. Nothing is ever as simple. Not in our life. “I’ll do whatever it is you ask.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, and I catch the nervous flinch from Gil. The way he folds into himself.
That man isn’t a complete idiot; he just made the mistake that so many do. Greed isn’t an awful trait; the problem lies in taking from the wrong hands because those at the top have been where you are.
The most notorious criminals start somewhere. An attack on our business isn’t a foreign occurrence—it’s something our family has prepared for—but not choosing their victim wisely will be a costly error.
“There’s a bullet in the magazine, Francis. Just one.” He nods and I hand the Glock over, taking a step back. “Kill him.”
There’s an important choice to be made here:
Be brave or fight.
Shoot him or me.
Not that he would ever set a single foot outside this warehouse, but when the will to survive is strong, you’ll try anything. A few beats of silence follow, the sole cause of noise coming from the man still kneeling on the cold and dirty floor.
Gil begins to recite words that are familiar to me. A prayer from the Catholic church while Francis raises a shaking hand. There’s a line on forgiveness for one’s sins—on repenting for harmful thoughts—and throughout both, the man remains breathing.
