Lib Novel Page 1
CHAPTER 1
MALO
“Get back!” Sin calls to me as he lifts his foot and slams it into the door. Once, twice, three times—and then, the door flies off its hinges and crashes to the ground. Sin jerks his head at me and Q to follow him in. I roll my shoulders back and follow his lead.
An acrid stench fills the air as I step inside, and I hear a handful of screams and yells throughout the house. From one of the rooms down the hall, a woman sprints out, trying to cover herself up as best she can with her arms. Her skin looks stretched tight across her bones, a sure sign she’s been using. But we’re not here for any junkies. We’re here to search out Las Rosas Negras before they do any more damage to this city than they already have.
“Upstairs,” Sin barks at me, nodding to the staircase. There are several holes in the walls, the light through the grimy windows picking up all the dust hanging in the air. Q and Sin split up to clear the downstairs, searching for something, anything to let us know where Las Rosas Negras might be and what they might be planning to do next.
Upstairs, a handful of women are cowering against the back wall of the house, most of them half-undressed, covering themselves with whatever grimy shirts and jeans they grabbed from the floor, hair lank and eyes wide as they watch me. I pay no attention to them, brushing past them to look into the room where they carry out their work. In the dim light, it’s hard to make anything out, but the black rose that represents Las Rosas is nowhere to be seen.
“Get inside,” I bark at the women, pointing to the room I just cleared. “And stay out of our way.”
The women scuttle past, none of them daring to make eye contact with me. I don’t blame them. They probably see a lot of shit, working at a crackhouse like this, and they know when it’s serious enough for them to keep their mouths shut. We’re only interested in getting the scum off the streets before they take everything Beast has been working for.
I search through the adjacent rooms, but find them empty. The back windows are open and it looks like whoever was here made a break for it through the low windows, their fall cushioned by whatever shit they were on. Fuck!
The Rosas must have known there was trouble brewing. It’s been a few months since Beast kicked off the op to eradicate the stragglers from El Serpiente’s twisted tribe. All the hard work we’ve put in and it still hasn’t been enough. There are enough people loyal to him, or at least still terrified enough of what he might do to them if they dare turn their backs on him. Pulling this weed out by the root is turning out to be much harder than any of us could have imagined it would be.
“Down here!” Sin yells, drawing my attention. I head back toward the stairs, trying to ignore the scent of smoke in the air.
I reach a room off the main entrance, where Q and Sin are standing over a man who looks to be around my age. It’s clear he was only here to make use of the wares, a dirty pipe sitting next to him, the glass still glowing hot from his last hit. His eyes are bleary and distant, as though he can hardly even tell we’re right there in front of him.
“What did you find?” I ask. Sin grabs the man’s arm and twists it around. There on the inside of his wrist is a small black rose tattoo, a sure sign that he’s loyal to Las Rosas Negras.
“We can get something out of him once he’s sobered up,” Q remarks, and he grabs the man and pulls him to his feet. His head is lolling wildly, like he can barely keep himself upright, and there’s a loose, sloppy smile on his face. It’s clear he’s nowhere near reality right now, but when he comes back down to Earth and realizes what’s going on, he’s going to freak. We need to get him somewhere secure, locked down so he can’t cause more trouble than we can handle. Hard to know how much he’s going to remember when he comes down from the high he’s on right now, but if we’re lucky, he’ll be scared enough to hand over any information we need.
“Get him out of here,” Sin snarls, glowering down at him with pure hatred in his eyes. Q yanks the man toward the door and I go to follow them—until I spot a small bag out of the corner of my eye, and slow in my tracks.
I glance after the guys to make sure they’re gone before I make a move for it. I should leave that shit right where it is, and I know that, but there’s a part of me that craves the relief I know only something that strong will give me. Stupid? Probably. But I don’t give a fuck. In that moment, all I can think about is how much I want to forget about everything that’s going on in my head, the memories of what happened to Harley—and how responsible I feel.
It doesn’t matter how many times they try to tell me there’s nothing more I could have done, I just can’t get it out of my head, can’t stop thinking about what I could have done differently. My eyes dart to the door to make certain Sin and Q are out of sight. I know I don’t have long before they notice I’m lagging behind, and when they do, they’ll likely clock what I’m up to, and that’s the last fucking thing I need right now.
I grab the baggie and stuff it into my pocket before I can overthink it any further. Better to have it and not need it, than need it and be tormented by thoughts of it sitting here, right? I zip my pocket shut, making sure it’s not going to fall out and expose me, and follow them out into the sweltering afternoon sunshine.
“You okay?” Sin calls to me, as he shoves the man into the back of the cage we brought just for this purpose.
I nod. “I’m fine, just checking to make sure we didn’t miss anything,” I lie quickly. Far from true, but he doesn’t need to go stressing about the truth.
I throw my leg over my bike and follow them away from the house. All my thoughts consumed by the contents of my pocket. I can already imagine the relief I’ll feel when I take that hit for the first time. Is it the smartest way to go about handling any of this? Probably not. But when the memories come at me hard, when the guilt is so damn strong, sometimes you have to take drastic measures to make certain you come out the other side in one piece. At least that’s what I tell myself.
CHAPTER 2
MARIA
“Maria,” my father calls to me, raising his hand to wave me over. “There’s room over here, see? Next to the waterfall.”
I blink and stare at him for a moment. What’s going on? I can’t remember how I got here. I glance around, trying to orient myself. Ah, yes, I remember now. I’m just outside Mazamitla, Magic Town, as the tourists know it, though to me it’s just home, given that I grew up here. But I don’t live here anymore and neither does my father, he’s in Monterrey now, we moved there right before I started high school.
But my father is standing just a few feet away, a basket slung over one shoulder, out of which I can already see bread and fruit peeking. A picnic, just like the ones we used to have when I was a kid. It’s been so long since the last time I had one with him, it’s hard to believe this is real…
Especially when I know how far he is from me right now. But, for some reason, there he is, just a few steps away from me, finding us the perfect picnic spot as the sunshine glints off the clear water beyond him. Is this a dream? It has to be a dream.
I make my way across the rocks toward him, making sure not to slip, but the path is clear in front of me. I’m barefoot, a towel slung over my shoulders, and a swimsuit covering my body so I can dive into the water and swim after our picnic. It’s always been my favorite way to spend time with him, blowing off steam with the cool water and soft breeze, and, judging by the smile on his face, he has missed this just as much as I have.
“Careful,” he warns, offering me a hand so I can traverse to the large, flat rock he’s laid a blanket out on for us. The food is simple, but God, it looks good—the mango glistening with juice, the bread fragrant with freshness, a few hunks of hard cheese in a small package used to keep the blanket from moving too much in the wind. I grab an apple and take a huge bite, the juices running down my chin, and then dive into the water and let it rush over my head.
“You coming in?” I call to my father.