Page 65 of Her Wicked Hero

“She sounds wonderful. What happened to her?”

“She died of cancer. I just thank God it happened after I pulled my head out of my ass.” Marcia’s head shot off his chest at the vehemence in his words.

“What do you mean?”

“Abuela worked as a seamstress. It paid better than housekeeping, and she made sure we had enough to more than get by. In my old neighborhood that meant she was able to take us from an apartment to renting a house, so we weren’t in the thick of the gang territory when I was nine years old. Don’t get me wrong, at the school I was in, we were surrounded, but I was a big kid for my age, I didn’t have to be pulled in like some kids.”

Zed thought back to the summer he joined Las Nuevas Espadas. They’d been trying to recruit him for over a year. He’d been fourteen. All he was going to do was a few small things, just enough to spend time with some of his friends who were part of the gang and have money saved for a kick-ass car when he turned sixteen. He wouldn’t cross any hard lines. He justified everything. By the time he had his money, he’d have already quit, and Abuela would be none the wiser.

He unlocked the door to the little house. He didn’t smell any food cooking.

“Abuelita?” Zed called out. The little house was dark, all the drapes were pulled, blocking out the California sun.

“I’m home,” he hollered out again. His grandmother’s car had been in the tiny little drive beside the house. Where was she? Zed flung his backpack on the couch and went to the kitchen. He was hungry. Maybe there were some leftovers in the fridge.

He found some foil wrapped tamales. He grabbed those as well as an orange soda.

“What?!” He almost dropped everything on the floor when he turned to find his small little grandmother standing in front of him. She was dressed entirely in black with a black shawl over her head.

“Abuelita? What’s wrong? Who died?” He dumped the food and drink down on the counter and pulled her trembling hand in his and walked her over to the small kitchen table. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?” Zed had only seen her dressed like this when they had attended Mr. Fuentes funeral.

“You know what is wrong, Dante,” his grandmother said in Spanish. She never called him Dante. He noted the rosary beads in her hands. It was at that moment, he knew, somehow, she knew. She had found out about his meeting with Red Blade, the leader of Las Nuevas Espadas.

How could she have found out about something that had just happened three hours ago? He looked at her, astounded.

“Are you going to try to lie?”

Yes. Hell, yes, he was going to lie. Zed looked wildly around the kitchen, anyplace except at the woman who had raised him. The woman who somehow knew things. He was so fucked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re talking crazy,” he said.

She gave a slow regal nod, almost as if she’d been expecting those very words.

“You are still a child, Dante. You may live under my roof. Do not let your new ways taint this house. You have until the day you are eighteen before your decision will make you dead to me. You know better than this.”

He looked at her, trying to grasp her words. “Abuelita,” he started.

“Since I was never married, the proper form of address is Señorita Zaragoza,” she said as she stood up. “Do not leave this until it is too late, Dante.”

It was on the tip of his young, smart-ass tongue to tell her to call him Señor Zaragoza.

“I would advise against it,” she said as she swept out of the room.

Zed dropped down onto the kitchen chair she had just vacated and picked up the rosary beads, then dropped them back down on the table. He sat straight up.

Dammit, he was old enough to think for himself. He knew what he was doing.

Zed looked down at Marcia whose eyes were wide.

“How did she know? Had someone told her?”

“Not often, but occasionally, the Zaragoza’s would know things. I remember once, there was a little girl who came to our house with her dad, asking if we had seen her dog. My grandmother told her her dog was over at the animal shelter across the city. The man just laughed. Two days later they came back and thanked my grandmother because that’s where they found the little girl’s dog. I asked my grandmother how she knew. She just shrugged her shoulders and said sometimes, she just knew things.”

Zed waited to see how Marcia would respond to that. He’d only told four people that story in his entire life, Marcia now made five. She kissed his shoulder and smiled.

“You can do that too, can’t you?”

He didn’t answer directly. “Why do you say that?”