My blood boils, and I want to shoot the fuckers in their eyes.
I see the black SUV pull in after a few minutes, and lookie, lookie.
Karla’s Dad.
The Castro Capo and his minion sons exit the vehicle. I watch them, zooming in for the video. I also take photos. I know that the Brothers are taking additional videos and pictures from different angles.
I’m recording it in case one of the videos is not clear. We need to have a backup. This is too important to fuckup.
“Are you recording that,” I whisper into the mic, looking at the son of a bitches.
“Yes, yeah, of fuckincourse,” the Brothers say, in the mic.
After the Capo inspected the girls, he took some photos and left with his sons.
The rage burns, and I want to kill the fucker.
But it’s not what Prez wants.
I need to get her out of that house because I know that he’s going to hurt her. I can feel it in my guts.
Once the SUV disappeared, we stealthily left the site. Prez called the MC’s contact at the po-po. We enter the clubhouse, and I walk to the bar. I need a fucking beer.
An hour later, Prez tells us that the po-po were able to rescue the girls, and the Soldiers were arrested. But this doesn’t make me happy. Castro needs to be taken out.
Nine
Karla
I spent the rest of the night at Denny’s ordering coffee, then I ordered breakfast, trying to kill time. It worked, but now I need to contact Killer and Autumn. I need them to come pick me up. Soon, Dad will learn that I’m gone, and he’ll have his Soldiers looking for me.
I sit on the bench in the park and pull out the burner cell phone.
I slide my fingers over the screen and call Killer. He doesn’t pick up.
Okay, I’ll try Autumn. I call her, and it goes to voicemail.
Oh my God.
I call them several times, and it goes to voicemail.
I chew my lower lip, looking around the park. I can’t just sit here; it’s not safe.
Hell, he’s not picking up.
Is it because of the new cell number?
I don’t know how to get to the clubhouse.
I need money.
I need a job.
I look for any job postings on TikTok.
Ahh.
Okay, this one is a strip club that needs a barista. I can do that, plus Dad won’t think to look for me there. At least it’s not for stripping.
