“You need to leave.” He seemed agitated for a moment, even glancing behind at the house.
“Are you working with someone to get money out of Mexico?”
He rolled his eyes, and nothing in his expression changed.
“Who is Nazario Ortega? Are you working with him?”
He went pale, shocked, then huffed. “Raven’s dead, so no one canworkwith him, Detective.”
My heart hurt—he knew the name Raven. He knew more than he was letting on. “No, he’s very much alive.”
Alejandro’s breathing hitched, a stunned reaction born of deep, raw fear. “What?”
“He’s alive. What does that mean to you? Is that who you’re selling body parts to?”
“No.” He sounded anguished, stumbled back as though his strings had been cut, and yanked open the front door before vanishing inside.
And I followed.
EIGHTEEN
Alejandro
Marisoland the kids would be back in an hour. School pickup, then a stop at the store because we were low on milk, then home.
Back here. Where…
… it wasn’t safe.
I headed straight for the kitchen, putting the table between Levi and me, not wanting him anywhere near me. There were faint shadows under his eyes, a line between his brows that hadn’t been there before. I told myself I didn’t have room to care and leaned back against the counter, feeling the cool edge bite into my spine.
“Alejandro?” he pushed, and I winced. I felt something twist in my gut, sharp and cold, like a hand closing around my spine. I was giving in to fear or something worse. Memories. Exposure. The past pushed up through me, forcing me to face everything I’d buried. Ortega’s name coming from his mouth… it was as if pieces of a life I’d burned down were clawing their way back. My stomach lurched, a sick mix of anger and shame rolling through me. How the hell did Levi know Raven’s name? And why did it make me feel fourteen again, blood on my hands, fire behindmy eyes, someone I didn’t recognize and never entirely stopped being?
“Are you working with Ortega?” he pushed again.
“I said, he’s dead,” I corrected, blinking at him.
“No, he’s fucking not!” Levi narrowed his gaze. “Fuck, Alejandro, are you workingforhim? Providing him with bodies? Is that why he’s in the country?”
What? He’s here?
“No.” The word scraped out of me, barely formed. A hot, sour rush surged up my throat—panic, disbelief, nausea all tangled into one sick punch. My vision narrowed to the phone in my hand, the screen blurring, my fingers shaking. Raven. Alive. The thought hit like a knife under the ribs. If he’d survived—if I hadn’t finished it—then every shadow I’d felt for the past few weeks had a name, a face, a reason.
The past didn’t just rush in—it rammed into my skull, ripping through the walls I’d built. Blood. Fire. Screaming. The weight of a knife in my hand. The smell of acid. Fifteen-year-old me standing in the ruins of something I’d made, something I couldn’t undo.
I swallowed hard. Anger flared—not at Levi, but at the weakness clawing up my spine as the truth I’d buried cracked open.
How did Levi know that name? How the fuck did he know? The floor seemed to shift under me, and I forced my breathing to steady, slamming the lid down on everything breaking loose inside me. I had to. I felt the shift, the way some people felt the weather changing: a pressure drop, a coldness settling in my bones, and the sick panic from moments ago disappeared. I straightened a little, rolled my shoulders back, and let the mask settle. The real one—not the version who smiled at my sister’s kids, not the one who pretended everything was normal. The oneI’d been carved into. The one Raven helped make—the one who didn’t break.
“No,” I repeated, flatter this time.
The kitchen was quiet. The hum of the fridge. A car passing outside. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked, high and repetitive. I focused on each sound in turn, anything but the way my skin felt too tight.
“No, what? No, you’re not working with him? No, you’re not delivering humans for him to carve up. No, you’re not?—”
“He’s dead!” I shouted. “Leave it alone.”
He didn’t move. “No, he’s not. And this Raven was the cartel’s money man. Some of that cartel money ended up with you. So I’m not letting this go until you explain your connection to him, and why Gael and Lucia Varga disappeared from all known records.”
