by Tia Louise
“What the fuck?” A sharp voice rips through our moment.
Angel is jerked back, and Beto stands in front of me, seething. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
“Beto, you’re hurting me!” Angel’s face contorts with pain, and I’m on my feet.
“Let her go.”
“What did I tell you?” He reaches behind him, pulling out a black handgun. “The next time I saw you with her?”
“Beto!” Angel screams, jerking her arm against his grip. “No!”
Her brother doesn’t move. His eyes flash, and he’s holding the weapon in my stomach.
“Put it down before you hurt someone.” My voice is low. I don’t want to taunt him. I don’t know how far he’ll go.
“Get the fuck out of my house.” He takes a step closer, still gripping Angel by the arm.
She’s no longer struggling. Her eyes are fixed on the gun.
“Beto, please.” Her voice trembles. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Get out.” He shoves her back hard, and I lunge forward, putting my hand over the cool metal and turning it away from me.
It goes off with a sharp pop, and warm liquid spills over my hands. Fear seizes my chest, choking my breath.
“Fuck.” Beto’s lips tighten, and he drops to his knees.
I’m holding the gun as Mateo enters the room.
“Beto!” He’s shouting, grabbing cloth to stop the blood, and I’m trying to figure out what just happened.
The gun slips from my hand to the white fluffy rug.
Angel is on the floor, terrified eyes flying between me and her brother. “Beto?”
It’s all happening so fast, but it feels like time has slowed down. Mateo rolls him onto his back, pressing a towel into Beto’s side. His eyes are closed, and blood is all over his stomach.
“No…” Blood on my hands, my arms, my jeans.
“I’m going to kill you!” Mateo screams at me, fire in his eyes.
“Angel, call 911.” My voice sounds strange, and I’m backing to the window. “Hurry!”
Mateo lunges for the gun on the floor, but I beat him to it, snatching it up and holding it loosely in my hand. I’m not a killer. I don’t know what the fuck to do right now.
“Go, Deacon!” Angel’s voice is hoarse with tears. “Just go… Now!”
“But…” I’m torn between wanting to help and knowing I can’t.
Mateo stands, pulling Beto up with him. He hauls him over his shoulder, turning for the door. Angel is right behind them, and I’m left standing in the room with her words echoing in my ears.
I do the only thing I know to do. I pick up my phone and leave through the window, running across the lawn to my waiting motorcycle.
18
Angel
“We’re sorry, the number you have reached is not available.” Pressing the end button, I hang up and try again.
The burner phone Deacon bought me is in my hand, and I’ve been calling him nonstop for five hours. I don’t know if he turned his phone off or if he left it in my bedroom or threw it away. Is he avoiding my calls?
Valeria is with me in the hospital pacing and praying. She’s been here since Mateo called her. My insides are raw, and I can’t seem to stop shaking. I don’t know how this happened.
One minute I was in bliss, wrapped in Deacon’s arms, filled with joy and wonder and lust and desire. The next, my brother was twisting my arm and yelling at my love, pulling out a gun and threatening him…
“It’s going to be okay, Carmie.” Valeria sees the fresh tears sliding down my cheeks and pulls me into a hug. “Everything is going to be okay.”
She brought me clean clothes, but my brother’s blood has stained my hands. I can’t seem to stop crying.
“I said it was an accident.” Mateo is beside us speaking low and not making eye contact. “I said he was cleaning the gun and it went off. He didn’t know it was loaded.”
“Is that not what happened?” Valeria looks up at him with astonishment then to me.
“It’s what happened.” Mateo looks at me as if to silence me. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
He turns and leaves us standing there as he exits the hospital, and I know he’s going to find Deacon. My stomach shudders, and a fresh wave of tears floods my eyes. I’ve got to stop him. I’ve got to find Deacon and warn him.
“I have to go.” I have to find my love before Mateo does.
“But your brother!” Valeria grips my arm, and I feel like I’m being torn in two.
“Miss Treviño?” A calm, female voice joins us in the waiting room. “Would you come with me, please?”
Valeria holds my arm as we follow the doctor into a smaller room with a glass door. She closes it, and we take a seat, holding each other’s hands.
The doctor looks at Valeria, and I quickly explain. “This is my cousin. She helps take care of things.”
“I see.” The woman nods, her expression serious as she places X-rays on the black screen on the wall and flips on the lights behind them. My heart beats so hard, I feel faint. “Your brother is a very lucky man, Miss Treviño. The bullet glanced off his rib here…” She circles a white blob on the slide. “Otherwise, it would have been a fatal shot.”
“Otherwise…” Valeria repeats her words slowly. “Would have been… So he’s okay?”
“He’s not out of the woods just yet, but yes. He should make a full recovery.”
“Oh, thank you Jesus!” My aunt crosses herself.
My eyes close, and more tears stream down my cheeks.
“It’s very important never to clean a loaded weapon…” The doctor goes on about gun safety, a lesson I don’t need, and all I can think about is getting to Deacon.
Things have gone from bad to worse, and I need him to hold me. I’m so afraid.
“If you’ll just excuse me.” My stomach is churning. “I need to go to the restroom.”
I barely make it out the smaller room when I have to lean into the garbage can beside the door and throw up.
“Oh, Carmie!” Valeria is with me at once, sliding her fingers through my hair, pulling it away from my face. “Honey, it’s going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry.” I take the tissues the doctor hands me, using them to dry my face and wipe my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I think I’d better go.”
“Are you okay, Miss Treviño?” The doctor watches me, and I nod.
“I just need to lie down.”
Pulling out my phone, I punch up the Lyft app. As I do so, I notice the slight bruising around my forearm. Valeria notices it as well and steps between me and the doctor, who is explaining what comes next for my brother.
The bullet exited his torso, so he doesn’t need surgery. Still, the doctor says he’ll have to stay in the hospital a few days.
My phone pings the Lyft is here, and I head for the door. I’ve got to find Deacon before Mateo does.
A red bloodstain mars the fluffy white rug covering the dark wood floors of my bedroom. My brother’s gun is in front of the chair where Deacon sat. It brings on a fresh wave of tears, and I stumble to my bathroom to grab one of the thick white towels.
Placing it over the stain, I collapse to my knees, pressing my hand to my lips. Beto’s going to be okay, but I don’t know where Deacon is. Reaching out, I take the gun and carry it to my bed, pushing it between the mattresses.
I don’t know if the police will come here or if Mateo’s explanation will cover what happened. I know nothing about this man my brother wanted to set me up with—who he is or why he’s here.
My limbs are heavy as I crawl onto the comforter and lift the burner phone to try one more time. I dial Deacon’s number, and the robot voice answers. My hands drop, and my eyes close.
Pain twists in my chest, and I feel like I can’t breathe properly. “Where are you?” I whisper, turning my face to the pillow. “I need you…”
“Where is he?” The stern voice pulls me from a dreamless sleep, and I blink ar
ound my bedroom confused.
Sunlight streams through the window and Mateo stands over me. His eyes are red and lined, and his jaw is set.
“What time is it?” I can’t believe I fell asleep.
“It’s almost nine.”
Almost nine? I sit up too fast, and my head spins. Nausea rises in my throat, and I jump out of the bed and go to the bathroom, turning on the faucet.
Mateo is right with me. “Where is your boyfriend?”
“Would you get out, please? I need to use the toilet.” He glares at me a moment before going to the door.
I push it closed behind him and turn the lock. Leaning over the sink, I hold cool water to my neck, too my cheeks. The nausea slowly subsides, but my eyes are swollen. I look pretty rough. Chewing my lip, I realize I left the burner phone in my bed. Shit.
Quickly using the restroom, I open the door and find Mateo looking through the papers on my desk. “What are you doing?”
He walks to where I’m standing. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Pushing past him, I start for my bed.
“You’re lying.” He catches my arm, hazel eyes flashing. “Stop protecting him. He almost killed your brother.”
“Let me go, Mateo.” My voice is firm. “Beto came at him with the gun. It was an accident.”
“This does not go unanswered. I’m in charge until your brother’s back on his feet.” His grip relaxes, and I jerk my arm away, going to my dresser and pulling out leggings and a tunic top.
“I have to get to work.”
“You tell me if you hear from him.”
Yeah, right. I scoop the burner phone off my bed, hiding it with my clothes as I return to the bathroom and close the door. Dressing quickly, I dust some powder on my nose. I can’t hide my red eyes. My heart is beating fast, and I’m ready to get out of this house.
I missed my ride with Rosalía, so I take the keys from the rack in the kitchen to the silver MINI Cooper I’ve never driven. I hate to drive, but this car feels solid, and it goes fast. Two things I want right now.
Parking on the street in front of Winnie’s house, I jog to the side entrance and go straight to the room where I paint. As usual, she’s there reading, and when I walk in, she narrows her eyes.
“You didn’t arrive with Rosalía today. I hope that isn’t a sign of things to come.”
Looking around the room, I try to figure out a nonchalant way to ask if Deacon is here. “I wasn’t sure if I should come early… with your family in town.”
“Family?” Her brow furrows.
“Your nephew? Isn’t he staying with you?”
“Deacon? Goodness no. Why would you think that?” She shakes her head.
“He was here last night, so I just assumed he was staying with you.”
“Deacon has a penthouse apartment downtown. He was on his way out when you arrived last night.”
My bottom lip goes between my teeth, and my heart sinks. “So he’s not here?”
“No… not that it has anything to do with you.” She stands and crosses the room to me, brow arched. “Have you been crying?”
Clearing my throat, I turn my face away. “My older brother had an accident last night. He’s in the hospital.”
She’s quiet, studying me, and I go to the canvas, not really in the mood to paint. I want to collapse in a heap and cry. My stomach is in knots, and all I can think is Mateo out there waiting with a gun. I can’t possibly paint.
“If you’re not feeling well today, I think you can take a long weekend.”
My eyes widen, and I glance over my shoulder. “You’re giving me the day off?”
She turns, strolling to the chair and picking up her book. “I understand family obligations. Just don’t make it a habit.” That last bit is sharp, but I don’t give a shit.
“Thank you.” I grab my bag and hurry out to my car, taking the iPhone Beto bought me out of my bag.
I suspect he uses it to keep tabs on me, but with him in the hospital, that’s out the window. I don’t know how to drive downtown, and this phone has a map application on it. I’m typing in the name of Deacon’s penthouse tower when the burner starts buzzing in my purse.
Tossing the iPhone aside, I dig in my bag. The face says unknown number, but I don’t let it stop me. “Hello?” My voice is breathless.
“Hi, ahh… Is this Angel?” The male voice sounds a little familiar, and only one person calls me Angel.
“Yes! Are you with Deacon?”
“Hey, this is Richland Wells. I’m a friend of Deacon’s.”
“Rich! Yes, I remember.” My heart is beating so fast. If he’s been in an accident…
“How’s your brother?”
I put my hand over my nose to stop the tears. “He’s going to be okay. They’re keeping him a few days, but he’s going to recover.” The guy makes a noise of relief, and I can’t take it anymore. “I’m sorry, are you with Deacon? Please, can I speak to him?”
“You want to speak to him?” It sounds like he’s talking to me and someone else.
“Yes! Of course, I do. Is he there?”
A bit of shuffling, muffled voices. He thought I didn’t want to speak to him? How could he think that?
“Angel?” The warm male voice in my ear causes my heart to melt.
“Deacon?” My breath hiccups, and I can’t stop the fresh tears. “Oh, Deacon…”
“Don’t cry, beautiful.” His voice breaks. “Your brother’s okay?”
Nodding, I sniff before answering. “The doctor said he’s going to make a full recovery.”
“Thank God.” Deacon exhales heavily. “I’m sorry, Angel. I fucked up everything.”
“Where are you? I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m in El Paso with Rich. I asked him to do something for me… I came to help him, then I’ll turn myself in.”
My voice goes high. “You can’t do that. There’s no need.”
“I shot your brother, Angel.” His voice is tight.
Clearing the thickness from my voice, I shake my head. “He’s going to be okay. You are not going to the police. It wasn’t your fault. He came at you with a gun…”
It’s quiet on the line. “You still want to see me?”
“What? I’ve been calling and calling.”
“You told me to go.” His voice is quiet. “I thought you hated me.”
“Hated you? How could I ever—” My voice breaks again, fresh tears. “Tell me where you are. Send me the address.”
“I don’t want you coming here. You need to be with your family.”
“I need to be with you.”
“I don’t like you driving by yourself—”
Now I’m getting frustrated. “Text me the address!”
His breathy chuckle fills my ear, and my stomach warms. “Okay, beautiful. But I want you to call me every so often so I know you’re safe.”
“I’ll see you tonight.”
Turning the wheel, I go back to my brother’s house and grab that rolling suitcase. It doesn’t take long to fill it with everything I own. I’m never coming back to this house again. I don’t know if that means I’ll sleep on Lourdes’s couch or I’ll move in with Deacon, but I won’t be here.
I put the envelope of cash in my purse and my suitcase in the car, and I collect the paintings I brought home from class yesterday. I grab my few paint supplies from the cottage and download the pictures I took of Winnie’s portrait onto my laptop, leaving the iPhone on the kitchen counter. I don’t want any of his gifts.
Pausing at my car, I press my lips together. This is a problem. Taking this car is maintaining a connection… But I have to get to El Paso.
My brow furrows, and I exhale a growl, looking up at the enormous mansion towering over me. “Fine, you fucking win this round.”
I’m going to take this car for now, but it’s not mine. I won’t give him any power over me. It’s not my will that takes this vehicle, it’s my need.
And I need to be wit
h my love.
19
Deacon
Beto’s alive.
Cloud shadows drift across the Franklin Mountains as I sit and watch from the balcony of Skeeter’s El Paso home. The minutes crawl as I wait for her to arrive. She texted me on a gas break that she was making good time, but my insides ache with needing to see her.
After Beto was shot and Mateo carried him out… and Angel screamed at me to go, I struggled with what to do. His blood was on my clothes and hands, and I had to at least get clean.
Stopping at an old-school gas station, I used the dirty restroom to strip out of my shirt, doing my best to wash my hands and arms in the tiny stream of water coming from the sink.
Wearing only my jacket and jeans, I sped along Interstate 20 contemplating my next steps. Shock drove me. For all I knew, I’d just killed a man. I’d lost my love, I’d lost everything.
How could Angel ever forgive me for killing her brother?
My life was over.
Closing my eyes briefly, I leaned harder on the throttle as grief washed over me. When I opened them again, I saw the sign for new developments in Fate, and I knew what I had to do.
Before I went away. I had to be sure the past would be made right, and I didn’t trust Winnie to do it. Leaning forward into the rain, over the handlebars of my bike, I set a course for El Paso. Rich was working on this, but I had to find the truth about the past. I owed that much to Angel and her family—especially if Beto were dead because of me.
Now Angel’s saying he’s alive. He’s going to recover… And she doesn’t hate me.
Standing, I walk along the balcony willing time to move faster.
The French doors open, and Rich walks out holding two beers. “Drink something before you get heat stroke.”
Taking one, I rub the back of my neck. “Not sure this is the right choice for dehydration.”
“It’s been a rough twenty-four hours. You just got some great news. Beer is the right choice.”
“I’m not a killer.”
“I never thought you were.” He leans back, taking a long sip of Modelo. “If a guy comes at you with a gun, that is not murder. It’s self-defense.”