“Where’s the next stop?” Ricky cuts through my thoughts.
We’re collecting payouts for his uncle Vidal Montalván, leader of Los Antros, the Houston Federal Detention Center’s most notorious prison gang.
“Calavera Hotels,” I grit out.
Ironically, the very place I’m trying to avoid has been the link taking me back to Alma. Not long after Adrian was released, I found Alma was intertwined with Calavera Hotelsand best friends with Adrian’s new fiancé, Mireya. Coincidence? Nah, I don’t believe in those.
I’d sent one letter, like a warning to let her know I’d be back, but she didn’t believe me. She’s been avoiding me. But she doesn’t get to put me in a box and forget me. I’ll fucking break her first.
Chapter 5
Alma
“Alma. There’s no record of you,” Detective Johnson says again.
I shake my head, my eyes locked on a bug crawling across the dirty kitchen floor in Nan’s trailer. I thought I’d never have to see Detective Johnson again. They ruled Esteban’s death as revenge by one of the local gangs he’d helped the LAPD infiltrate and bring down months prior to his death.
“Alma?” Detective Johnson says, reminding me of her question.
“But I gave you my driver’s license and my birth certificate.”
“All those documents are false.” My eyes snap to hers before she continues, “We ran your name through every federal and state database. There’s no birth record, no social security number, not even a prenatal doctor visit. As far as the system’s concerned, you don’t exist.”
“That’s impossible. I went to school. I had—” I had nothing.
All the moving, the weird behaviors when I asked Missy about my father, something always felt off.
“Alma, what do you know about Melissa Gutierrez?”
For starters, I know she hated the name Melissa. She went by Missy, and I knew Missy better than I knew myself. She was afree-spirited Chicana, trusted her tarot cards, lit patchouli incense in the house, and talked to her plants. She was wild and often misunderstood by the people around her, but she was my mother. I know her heart, which is the only thing that falls from my lips.
“My mother loved me.”
Detective Johnson’s eyes soften at the sound of my cracking voice. “I don’t doubt for a second that she didn’t love you, but as you can see, something isn’t adding up here. As far as the system’s concerned, you don’t exist. Love aside, Alma, don’t you want to know why?”
I blink hard, trying to stop the burn igniting behind my eyes. The trailer feels smaller by the second, the walls pressing in as my chest tightens around shallow breaths. I close my eyes for a moment, and when I open them, I’m no longer alone.
Efren is beside me. Shirtless. His arm is heavy around my waist, holding me like this is normal, like this is allowed. My body turns rigid at the sight of him.
No.
What am I doing?
This is wrong.
I ease his arm off me, careful not to wake him, and slip from the bed into the dark hallway. The guilt hits first. Then the fear. I run. Bare feet slapping against the floor, each step racing to keep up with the frantic thumping of my heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My mouth opens but no scream comes out.
Click.
The sound is so soft it almost doesn’t register. Just a subtle metal slide.
