by Brook Wilder
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Monster copyright @ 2019 by Brook Wilder and Scholae Palatina Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
MONSTER
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
OTHER BOOKS BY BROOK WILDER
GET A FREE BOOK
MONSTER
Chapter 1
Felicity
I was in a bad part of town. Mesa, California was located 20 miles from Fresno and divided in half by a busy four-lane highway with freestanding stores on either side. The Southside of Mesa was wealthy, residential, and safe; while the Northside was poor, urban, and dangerous. I lived on the Southside, but today, I was waiting at the bus station located on the Northside. I looked out of my window for any sign of my friend, so I could yank her into my car and speed out of there. Over the last hour, I’d watched five buses from Whiterock Lake pull in and pull out soon after unloading. I’d watched every single person get off each bus, but there was no sign of Jane.
My hand trembled as I gripped my purse on the passenger seat. I knew I looked scared because I was. I pressed my back against the driver’s seat and closed my eyes taking deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth.
I spoke out loud in a calming tone to myself. “Felicity, don’t be scared. There is nothing to be afraid of. You are inside a locked car in the middle of the day with plenty of people around.”
I opened my eyes and saw a man staring back at me like I was nuts. He looked homeless, with a matted beard and layers of dark, baggy clothing. Muttering to himself, he shook his head and walked away. Guess acting like a nut keeps the crazies away; probably takes one to know one. Thank goodness.
Another bus from Whiterock Lake pulled in, and my eyes searched the passengers for my best friend. No Jane Wheeler. I dug into my purse for my phone, careful not to lift it too high, just in case anyone saw it through the closed window.
What was wrong with me? Twice a week I went to the soup kitchen on 8th to volunteer and I was acting like a clueless tourist. I whipped my purse up onto my lap and dug for my phone. It was at the very bottom, but I don’t know how I could’ve missed it. Its hot pink case, covered in gold glitter, sparkled up at me.
My finger scanned the screen for a new text. There were several from my mother. Yes, I’m twenty and still live at home. The last text from Jane was six hours ago telling me she was leaving. She had to be here by now. Mountain Lakes is only 15 minutes away by car once you get on the highway. I hit the call icon and waited for her to answer.
“Felicity?”
“Jane,” I replied in a panic. “Where are you? Are you on the bus?”
“No, I’m down the street. Hold on.”
I heard laughter and chatter in the background as Jane spoke to someone, reassuring them I was a girl.
“Listen,” she said to me, “I met a guy at the bus station. They’re throwing a party for his cousin. Come over.”
I almost peed myself when she suggested it. I wasn’t going to a party in this neighborhood.
“Why didn’t you call me? I’ve been waiting here for over an hour.” My eyes spotted the homeless man again. He’d been begging for change and now he was heading for my car. I tossed my purse onto the floor behind the passenger seat and checked the locks.
“I tried to call…” Jane’s voice trailed off. “Oh, sorry. I’ve been calling your parents’ house.”
I felt sick from the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t convinced she was telling me the truth. “This is the only number I call you from,” I responded.
Jane’s voice hitched into a peal of laughter as I heard the man’s voice in the background again. “I’m sorry, Fee," she replied. "Why don’t you come to the party?”
“I should go home,” I said. “You know where I live. Call a ride to my parent’s house when you’re through.”
“Oh, Fee,” Jane sighed. “Don’t be that way.”
“What way? Responsible?” I shrieked. I was beyond frustrated at this point. I was ready to explode after spending over an hour waiting for someone who had made other plans.
In my anger, I was struggling to come up with the words to tell her how infuriating she was when I decided to bite my tongue and wait for her response. The other side of the line was quiet, though, and I wondered if she might be ready to apologize for the inconvenience she’d caused me.
“Hello. Who is this?”
I froze. It was a man’s voice on Jane’s phone.
“Hello?” he repeated.
“Hello?” my voice shook, and I stared wide-eyed as if this man was somehow sitting next to me in my car.
“Hello, this is Luis,” he said with a light accent. “Come to the party. 116 Mission Avenue. Take Salta Boulevard. You coming?”
Too shocked to reply, I said nothing.
“I think she hung up.” And then, the call was disconnected.
I shook my head to pull myself back into reality. The act made me aware of my surroundings again and I found myself in an awkward situation. I’d been staring at the homeless guy who was standing right outside my window, staring back at me. Before I had time to get nervous about it, he gave me the finger, then walked away.
All my life, I’ve done the right thing. If I had to choose between something wrong or right, I always did what I thought other people would think was the right thing to do. It wasn’t always what I thought was the right thing to do, but I did everything I could to stay out of trouble and not be judged by others. I wasn’t going to that party, and Jane would have to find another ride to my home.
Heaving a sigh, I turned the key in the ignition. The key clicked, but instead of the engine roaring to life, there was silence. I banged my head once on the steering wheel. I needed a new car. My parents didn’t want me to have a car at all. They claimed it was too expensive, but the real reason was that they wanted to keep me leashed to their side. Because I drove rust on wheels, it broke down a lot, and today, it had broken down in Crimeland, USA.
If I called Mom or Dad, they would have a fit if they knew Jane wasn’t with me and I’d been waiting alone in a seedy bus terminal. Days earlier, I’d finally convinced Dad to let Jane stay with us. He didn’t approve of her life choices that had led to her quick, almost-finalized divorce. He was fearful her negative attributes would leap off her and land on me like some weird flu virus. What had he called her? Appalachian trash? Did I mention my dad is a raging racist and bigot?
I reached under the dash, feeling for the ignition wires. Sometimes I could bypass the key and get the car to start. I had to laugh at myself. I was in a bad neighborhood hot wiring my own crap car. My twin sister, Faith, could do this easily. She had taught me how.
Faith would have taught me a lot more things if she’d lived.
I tried again, but it wasn’t working. At least I didn’t have to worry about my car being stolen, but I needed another way to get home safely. I’d rescue Jane, hire a ride, and then get us the hell out of here in one piece. My phone rang and I grabbed it, hoping Jane had come to her senses. My shoulders hunched once I saw the screen.
“Hello, Mom.” Somehow, I felt ashamed though I’d done nothing wrong. I was an adult who would remain a willful and ungrateful child in her mother’s sheltered world.
“Hello, dear. I’m waiting for you to come home with your friend.”
“I’m looking for her now.”
“You can’t find her? Where is she?”
Obviously, I couldn’t tell Mom Jane had ditched me. I never lied to my parents, but at times, I omitted the truth.
“She’s nearby. I just have to let her know I’m here.”
“Should I call your father?”
“No!” I almost shouted. “I’ll text you when we’re on our way. Okay? I think I see her. Bye, Mom.”
“Felicity...”
I tapped ‘end call.’ Mom would be annoyed I’d hung up, but I didn’t have another excuse to give her. I shoved my stuff back into my purse, locked the car doors out of habit, and walked quickly in the opposite direction of the homeless man. I headed away from the bus depot toward Salta Boulevard, practically running, to what I don’t know.
I saw a large, green street sign that said ‘Mission Avenue.’ It was only a couple blocks away. Hopefully, number 116 wasn’t too far from the intersection. Faith knew her way around here. In my prayers, I would talk to my sister when I was alone and ask her to keep me safe. Or give me a little good luck. I hoped she was my guardian angel right now.
My hand gripped the straps of my purse until my fingers numbed, and I was thankful I wore flats. I was overdressed for this neighborhood. Boho chic wasn’t popular on the Northside. My frou-frou dress looked expensive, but it had been marked down. I needed to stop thinking that way. I didn’t want to become small-minded like my father. A bottle hit the pavement, and men started shouting from across the street. I hurried along faster to the intersection. I didn’t want to be a racist, but I had a sinking feeling that I was one already.
Chapter 2
Oscar
“Hey. Welcome home, Oscar."
My family and friends let out a cheer when I walked through the front door. I was the prodigal son returned to cause more trouble.
My family's house on Mission Avenue hadn’t changed much in the two years since I'd been gone. I headed into the kitchen to find my momma. Several years ago, I had paid to have the kitchen updated. Mama had wanted the fancy silver fridge and the granite countertops like the ones on the cooking shows, so I had given them to her. She’d stripped the dated wallpaper from the walls and painted them a warm yellow. It would have been inviting, except for all the plants. It was like a jungle in there. No doubt I’d be eating my meals outside. But I couldn’t be mad. She’s my momma, and she gets what she wants.
In the background, an old ballad played softly over a wi-fi speaker. Instead of finding Mama cooking, I found three large men sitting around the tiny kitchen table. I would have laughed. It looked comical except for the serious expressions on their faces. The Cazadores gravitated to the kitchen for impromptu meetings because we could watch the door. Without sentimentality, they greeted me as I joined them at the table.
My cousin, Emilio Nieto, was the president of the club and was not a man to waste time on emotion. His family was important to him, but taking care of the business always came first.
“I’m thinking of changing the business model, Oscar,” he said. “Ever since that fool, Pryor, was elected into office, the sheriff has been cracking down on quick deals making them less profitable. The motel hookers are unreliable, and laundering has become more lucrative.”
“So, we let those numbers go?” asked Luis Morillo, the second in command and the closest thing I had to a true brother.
“No,” replied Emilio. “We change the plan. Five-dollar whores are beneath us. Fernando’s cousin now has a regular job in a hotel. The guests pay him, and then we send the girl to the room. It’s like maid service with benefits.”
The men around the table laughed, but I didn’t. Fernando Reyes, who sat next to me is a lieutenant, too. He’s a shorter man, but he has stamina and a quick eye. Fernando didn’t mind making the long runs in a sixteen-wheeler down to Juárez. He kept his hair short, wore a suit jacket, and didn’t speak with an accent so he could charm his way out of trouble with the law.
Fernando patted me on the back. “My bro, Oscar, did time for trashing a john who thought he didn't have to pay. Who knew he was on the city government? This way we get the money first. The prospects work the night desk and play middleman between the johns and the girls. We use hotels as a front and take our business off the streets.”
“We’re still going to have the clubhouse?” I asked.
“Of course,” said Emilio. “I’m not giving up the routes. But we need to work smarter, not harder. By the way, where’s Carlos? He’s the brains. He can figure out the numbers, make a spreadsheet. You know he likes that shit.”
“I haven’t seen him today,” said Luis. Carlos and Luis were biological brothers, which made Luis his brother’s keeper. “He was at the clubhouse this morning.”
“I’ll catch up with him later,” replied Emilio. “We need to plan bigger and stop playing around with dime bags and whores. Stop dealing and peddling in a fucking playground. I’m thinking politics.”
“Politics?” Luis asked.
Though Luis had spoken up, we were all thinking it.
Emilio continued, “The Disciples aren’t hassled by the mayor or the sheriff because half of them are relatives. Why not run for office? Townhall is full of criminals so why aren’t we in there yet? It’s just another clubhouse.”
We laughed, but Emilio was serious. He twisted his club ring around his finger in a constant movement. He stopped and smiled at me. “Oscar, you did well inside, but I need you to stay outside if I’m going to win an election…” His voice trailed off as he focused on something just over my head behind me.
Two arms wrapped around my neck from behind. Mama kissed my cheeks with an audible smacking. “Mijo!"
"Mama," I jumped up to kiss and hug her close to me. She took her time to return the squeeze, but then she pushed me away with a scowl on her sweet face. Someone was in trouble.
“Hey, someone has broken my rule.” Mama pointed a finger at the three huge men around the table. “Who parked their bike in front of my house?”
Luis looked at Mama then his eyes fell to the table and he slumped his shoulders.
“You know better!" she shouted. "No bikes in the front. Park it in the back.”
Laughing, Emilio swatted Luis on the back of his head as we called him names. Luis stood up and towered over the little lady who fussed at him for being lazy. Despite her nagging, I knew he would always love Mama for being kind to him during rough times.
“I need to take a ride," Luis kissed her forehead then headed for the door.
“When you come back, park behind the house. Plenty of room in the back. And no colors in the house!” Mama tolerated the Cazadores because of Dad’s memory, but she never approved of our work. We'd leave all the physical presence of the MC at the door, but despite her rules, we’d talk business whenever she left the room. We were lucky today that we’d stopped before she heard us, or the party would’ve been over.
I ran a hand through my hair. I hadn’t been out of prison for twenty-four hours, and Emilio was already talking to me about politics, hookers, and shit. I stood, then banged my cowboy boot on the ground to wake up my foot.
“Look, I’m going to walk around and be social,” I said.
“Yeah, of course. It’s your party, Oscar.” Emilio waved me away as Mama checked on the food in the oven.
She saw me and smiled and wasted no time reaching out to stroke my thigh.
I cleared my throat and tried to shift past her, but her hand inched slowly toward my cock. She was going to be disappointed. I wasn’t interested. Not even after being locked up.
“Luis is on an errand,” I said taking her hand off me. “He’ll be back soon.”
“I’m not interested in Luis,” she smiled. “Don’t play, Oscar.”
“I heard you two were together while I was in prison.”
“He knew I was lonely, and he took advantage. But he won’t do that again now that you’re back.”