Perversion (Page 32)

“There’s no point. I didn’t find out until this afternoon, or yesterday afternoon, at the sit-down at Marco’s. Then, she came here. I sent her away. You won’t have to worry about her being around.” I wipe my mouth and take another swallow from the bottle.

“You sent her away? How?” Marci narrows her eyes.

“The only way I know.” Guilt, regret and anger boil up inside of me. “I can’t break the truce over a piece of ass.”

Marci looks at me, and for the very first time, she looks disappointed. It burns in my gut along with the whiskey.

“Sit the fuck down, son, and listen to Marci,” Belly says.

“I take it you know, too,” I say.

He nods. “I know what she knows. We’re a team. A unit. We don’t have secrets between us,” Belly explains. “You should know that. And LEARN from that.”

“I’m not the one keeping secrets,” I tell him, my words a double-edged sword.

“Sit,” Belly says. “It’s not a fucking request.”

I sit down on the couch with my bottle and light a cigarette, rubbing my temples with my hand holding my smoke.

Marci lights a joint and passes it to Belly. “Emma Jean Parish is being held against her will by Marco and Los Muertos.”

Belly perches on the side of the couch and takes the joint from her hands.

I shrug. “She said she didn’t want to be there, but she should have thought of that before she joined up with those motherfuckers in the first place. You don’t get to have regrets after you join. She had to know what she was getting into. She’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” I say in disbelief.

“She is. But you’re not,” Belly says. “She never joined up. She was taken against her will and forced to earn for Marco. She’s there under the threat of death or being whored out along with Gabriella, Marco’s own sister. The only way she’s been able to escape those things until now was to earn.”

“For how long?” I ask. My throat dries, and I’m finding it hard to swallow. I assumed she joined up after she went to the new foster home she told me about, but dread washes over me as the realization that I was wrong takes hold. “How long has she fucking’ been there?”

Marci sighs. “Since she was twelve. Since she disappeared from foster care.”

“Oh fuck,” I bend over and set the bottle on the table. I feel fucking sick. I feel murderous. “She tried to tell me. I didn’t fucking listen.”

“Like you said, the girl is smart,” Marci says, taking a long drag off her joint. “And those smarts have bought her time. She’s managed to keep Marco’s paws off her for five years and to keep her and Gabby safe. That’s a lot of burden to bear for a kid.”

“But, she’s almost eighteen now, and Marco’s governed her by family rules,” Belly adds.

I know where he’s going with this because I know Marco’s fucked up laws. Girls of age are fair game for all members of Los Muertos. Unless he wants her for himself, which he’s shown he does.

“I’m going to be sick,” I say, and it’s not because of the whiskey.

“As you should,” Belly says adding insult to the most painful injury I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve been fucking shot. Twice.

I swallow hard and ball my fists as I speak her reality out loud. “Her time’s run out.”

Twenty-Two

The first thing I do when I get back to the compound is tell Gabby about the bus tickets and Grim.

“Oh, shit,” she says. “Let’s go. Let’s do it.”

She starts packing our backpacks and hides them in the air vents. “I’m going to make a run for supplies. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

While she’s gone, I rinse the color from my hair and let it dry naturally. My need to be truthful to myself outweighs the need to blend in or to match the ID I’m about to use perfectly. My bouncy blonde curls spring back to life.

“There you are,” I say, reaching out to touch the mirror.

I open my notebook to retrieve the bus tickets. They aren’t stuffed between the pages where I left them. I check again. They’re still not there. The last time I saw them was at the park. I dropped the notebook when Memo threatened me. I managed to shove it back into my bag before the bullets rang out and Grim carried me off but…Memo.

Leo bursts through the door with a wild look on her face. “Marco wants you to come down to the courtyard. He has a…surprise for you.” She can’t even look me in the eye.

Marco has a surprise for me.

Dread immediately fills my entire being.

I want to run and hide, but there’s no hiding when it comes to Marco. I nod, and she leads me out into the courtyard where Marco is waiting, surrounded by angry, tattooed girls and women I recognize as other members of Los Muertos.

“I like the new look,” Marco says. “Missed that crazy hair of yours.”

“What’s all this?” I ask, but I already know. I’ve seen it before from my window.

“This is where you prove your fucking loyalty like you should have done years ago,” Marco says, roughly grabbing my arm.

“Why?” I ask, “I’ve been loyal. I’ve—" Marco’s shuts me up by holding up a pair of bus tickets.

MY bus tickets.

Shit.

Memo chuckles from behind Marco and blows me a kiss.

“I was going to make you my queen, and THIS is how you repay me?” Marco asks loudly for all to hear, his chest rising and falling with his anger. “But don’t worry. You’ll still get a chance to be my queen. IF you survive your initiation.” He lowers his voice; pulling me close he whispers in my ear. “You were in the palace, bitch. Welcome to gen-pop.”

He shoves me into the circle. I stumble and hunch my shoulders, trying to make myself as invisible as possible, but it’s no use.

The first girl comes at me, and I manage to block a few of her blows and deliver a few of my own. Marco is cheering with his soldiers from the sidelines. Their laughter piercing through the circle like an arrow. I can fight them off one by one without problem. I’m strong, athletic, and I’ve been in a scrap or two.

But there’s no way I can win when the group crowds me in on all sides. I raise my arms to cover my face as they begin brutally beating me. One blow after another until a faint whistle enters my blood-filled ears. The crowd parts, and Marco picks me up by what’s left of my shirt.

“Go get the next one,” he barks to someone.

“No, not Gabby. No,” I rasp as blood trickles from my lip.

“Awe, that’s so sweet that you’re worried about her, Blanquita. But naw, she gets special exception because she’s blood. Family. You got special exception, too. Then, you went and fucked it all up by lying to me. Time to show me some loyalty, bitch. Now, let’s see how you handle your walk of shame.”

I would’ve laughed if I was capable or if I didn’t fear Marco’s retaliation.

I’m dizzier than I’ve ever been as I’m placed in the open bed of a truck. Marco barks orders in Spanish to whoever is driving to take me to the devil’s den.

Then, we’re off. Every bump in the road is another punch to my ribcage as I collide with the ribbed metal of the truck bed. When we finally stop, it’s like I’ve been beaten all over again.