Chi-chi laughed and stepped back. “Maybe so,muchacho. Maybe so.” We walked out the door into the light, which felt punishingly bright. “But just so you know—” His tone turned to ice. “I don’t care what you do. I’m the one who decides when we’re even.”
That was less than three weeks ago.
Since then, Cruz and I had talked in circles about how to get the money. Four grand, Chi-chi said. There was no way Johnny and Eliazar had smoked, snorted, or shot that much product, but it wasn’t like we could argue.
We didn’t have the money. Even if Cruz sold his car, we couldn’t get that much. But letting Chi-chi fuck Johnny up or having Bash take the payment out of Eliazar’s ass was out of the question. We were brothers. No matter that our brothers were messed-up little meth heads right now, we couldn’t let them down.
A few days ago, I’d considered coming clean with my parents, seeing if there was a way for them to help. But then we’d gotten the call that I wasn’t going to graduate, and I knew I couldn’t do that to them.
Dios. How did things ever get this fucked up?
Cruz and I had assumed Chi-chi wanted the money more than he wanted to make a power play. But based on Cruz’s texts to me just now, as well as Johnny’s adventure in dumpster diving, we’d miscalculated. Forcing Cruz to make that run was apparently worth more to Chi-chi than four grand. There had never been a choice. Chi-chi would still fuck up Johnny and give Eliazar to Bash, just to remind us who was in charge.
I trusted Cori to get Johnny somewhere safe. And it sounded like Cruz had already made up his mind to do the job. My focus now was on saving Eliazar.
Thank fuck I could track his phone.
I checked the app.
Eliazar was at Chi-chi’s house.
Chapter fourteen
Cori - Age 16
TWELVE-AND-A-HALF YEARS AGO
Irushed into the trailer like a demon was chasing me. It had been about fifteen minutes since my conversation with Deck, so fourteen minutes since controlled panic mode had set in.
“Johnny!”
I liked to believethatGood in a Crisiswould be written on my gravestone when I died. I wouldn’t allow myself to give in to the fear coursing through my veins until I knew my brother was safe.
My single-minded determination to find him was probably the reason I didn’t notice the glass scattered all over the floor until I felt a sharp edge cutting through the sole of my worn-out shoes.
“Motherfucker!” I yelled, jumping up and down as I grabbed my foot.
A large piece of brown glass stuck out. I must have stepped straight down on top of it because it had punctured the bottom of my shoe and lodged in the ball of my foot. I winced in agony as I pulled out the glass, throwing it out the still-open door of the trailer as blood began seeping onto the floor.
Not knowing what else to do, I gently pulled the shoe off while balancing on my other leg, unsurprised to find my sock soaked in red.
The pain was intense, and it wouldn’t stop bleeding.FML.I needed to save my brother from the neighborhood thug, and apparently, I had to do it while performing an impression of John McClane inDie Hard.
We didn’t have bandages or really any medical supplies on hand, so I grabbed a nasty dishrag from the sink and pressed it to my foot.
I gripped my ankle, trying to decide my next move, when I finally noticed the rest of the room.
The couch cushions had been relocated to the floor, and everything was knocked off the counter. At first, I thought maybe the place had been tossed. But it didn’t look quite messed up enough for that. None of the drawers were pulled open, and our shitty TV still sat on its stand under the window.
The glass I’d stepped on had been part of a broken beer bottle. The neck of the bottle hung off the dining table, like someone had smashed it against a hard edge to prepare for a bar fight.
Was I too late?
“Johnny!” I screamed again, hopping up and down as I worked my way around the shattered glass—with difficulty since small shards were everywhere. I’d almost made it to my bedroom when I tripped over one of my coats, which had been thrown on the floor.
I fell hard on the linoleum, bracing myself with my hands. Another sliver of glass cut across my right palm, while my lefthand came down on a sea of tiny glass bits. I saw the evidence of the shallow cuts in my skin as a spiderweb of blood appeared.
Even though my hands were bleeding, they weren’t as bad as my foot, so I was able to push myself up.
