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I sipped my own. “Yeah, well, that’s just how we play it. We don’t like boring.”
“You’re not at risk of that,” he said.
We were silent for a second, watching Polly dance, watching a smiling Lucy talk to her father.
“He’s a mess,” Keltan said quietly.
My head whipped to him.
“Luke,” he continued. “Has been since the day he sat down in my office, askin’ me to look for you. Was before that too, I’d say. He’s pretty darn good at hidin’ it. Didn’t know him before so I’m not an expert, but the man I’ve worked with for well over a year, he’s not whole, babe. I know it ’cause that was me too.” His eyes crept over to Lucy, unhidden love and devotion sparkling in them. “Thank fuck I am now. Couldn’t imagine a lifetime of it. That’s not a life at all.” He turned his gaze back to me. “You’re not whole either. You’re trying real fucking hard. I’m not even going to be arrogant enough to suggest I know the shit between you. It’s gotta be big, I’m guessin’, for two good people to think they’re doing the right thing, making themselves unhappy. Bet it’s not fucking simple. But just in case you were thinking that he was livin’ whole and happy and that’s what was stopping you, he’s not.” He sipped his beer. “It’s my piece and it’s not my place to say it, but I don’t give a fuck. You’re Lucy’s family, which means you’re mine too. And I don’t like my family hurting. Don’t like my mates hurtin’ either. So my place or not, I’m gonna do what I can to rectify that shit. Ultimately up to you. But just remember, he’s survivin’, not livin’. Just like you.”
Then he kissed my head, not expecting me to answer, and went over to my soul sister.
And I stared after him, his words swirling in my head.
That was last night. And I should’ve done something to listen to those words. Because they hurt. Every single one of them.
But I didn’t. Because I was a coward.
Instead I went out and did what I’d been doing in the darkness for the past month. I’d started the old job again. New location, no team, same objective.
Looking for lowlifes.
Teaching them lessons.
Maybe not my smartest idea, since the laws in LA regarding grievous bodily harm were somewhat stricter than in Venezuela. And I didn’t have someone on the force to bail me out anymore. Though, in the dregs of society, wherever you were, life was always the same price. Dirt cheap.
So that’s what I was doing that night, running away again from decisions, when darkness made my decision for me.
I’d been doing it for a month. Using my connections in the underworld to find out who the real assholes were. Not the ones who had to bend a few rules and break a few arms to get their heads above water, but the ones who ruined lives and trampled on dreams for sport.
“You know, you really give outlaws like me a bad name,” I said conversationally to the man I had my favorite gun pointed at. That was, of course, after I’d relieved him of his own weapons. Couldn’t be a full-time drug dealer and part-time rapist and not have somewhat of an arsenal.
“Fuck you, bitch. You’re dead,” he spat. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
I tilted my head at the man with a steroid-enhanced body, prison tattoos and too much jewelry for anyone with a Y chromosome.
“Yes, that’s why I’m here, Jerome,” I said, circling him. “I know exactly who you are. I know you cut your dope with kitchen cleaners to make it go further and rip off people already down on their fucking luck. I also know that a seventeen-year-old boy overdosed on your little cocktail just last week. Mother of three the week before. Police didn’t find her for three days.” I shot his foot and he let out a yelp of pain, collapsing onto the floor. “Her kids were surviving off moldy bread and curdled milk,” I continued over his screams.
“You fucking bitch!” he yelled. “You shot me.”
I stopped circling him and aimed for his other foot, in my line because he’d stilled and was tending to the bleeding one. The gunshot was nostalgia, my childhood lullaby.
“Oops, look, I did it again,” I said while he screamed. “That was for the kids.” I bent down, yanking his head back by clutching his greasy hair.
Tears and snot ran down his face.
“Please,” he cried.
“Begging? Already?” I tutted. “A man like you should be much stronger than that. But then again, you like to be the one hurting women, not the other way around. Like Chloe Thompson, walking home from a double shift at the hospital. Missed the bus, so she risked the walk because I guess she was dog tired and wanted to get home to bed instead of waiting twenty minutes for another one.” I yanked my knife from my boot. “Now, a woman in any neighborhood should be able to walk home after caring for sick people all day. She should be able to go straight there, no trouble, since she gave the world no trouble herself and did nothing to deserve it.” I paused. “In a perfect world, at least.”
