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“I’m not a gang member.”
“No. Just cartel.”
I narrow my eyes on him, but agree, “Just cartel.”
“I know who you are,” he states, dropping onto my couch.
“No, you don’t,” I assure him.
“You left me unattended in your apartment, remember? I looked around. There’s no purple anywhere, only bits of red... I’m assuming you’re Maldonado.”
I shift, turning to face him fully. “Maybe. But that has nothing to do with the decor here. I just don’t like purple.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he mutters to himself.
“Take it however you want,” I tell him. “Calling me Estrada crew is insulting. Down to the very core of my shallow moral code.”
“You work for the Maldonados. They deal in party drugs. The Estradas are known for other things…” He trails off when I shake my head.
“No.”
Ezra raises a brow. “No?”
“No,” I assert.
“What do you mean, no?”
I shrug. “I don’t work for the Maldonados.”
“But you said family business—”
“Yes,” I cut in. “I did say that, though I shouldn’t have.”
“So you’re part of their family? Like high in the ranks?”
“Pretty high…”
I begin to grin, but he stares at me like he did two weeks ago, peeking into my soul to find the answers my tongue refuses to form. It’s a little unnerving. I’ve lived a lie since I was born. Telling the truth shouldn’t be this easy, this free-flowing.
But maybe Riley is right…
Maybe what I need is another person who doesn’t cower at the mention of my name, who doesn’t run in the face of violence.
No ulterior motives.
No secrets.
No fear.
“You are a Maldonado?”
I nod.
“How?”
I want to be a smartass and say it all started at conception… But instead, I challenge him. “Does it matter?”
“Not really,” he says quickly, honestly. “I’m more curious than anything else. When I asked Riley, he was so close-lipped about you and when the two of you became friends. But then Quin said something about you threatening to shoot Riley again.”
