Buried (Hiding From Love #3) (15 page)

At the sounds of gunfire, my natural reaction is to move for the floor and then the door. It’s kept me from getting shot several times, so I figure why screw with what works. This time though, my father's hand on my shoulder and the commanding tone in his voice keep me motionless.

"You stand, son, while these
scum
take the floor like they're meant to. You're no lowlife gangbanger, Juan. You're royalty, and today, you take your place at my side.
5
El Príncipe de Los Santos Mexicanos
." He turns away from
Jefe
's body and looks me in the eye. "Welcome home,
mijo
."

1
Lo siento = I’m sorry

2
Ahora = now

3
Patron = boss, group leader

4
Policia = police

5
El Principe = the prince

A
BUELA
leads me down a hallway to the private rooms of the house and knocks on a door. It swings open and there stands a pretty girl about twenty-one years old, dressed to the nines in skintight, black leggings, spike-heeled pumps, and a hot-pink, satin bustier.

"Who's this?" she asks
Abuela
as she picks at one of her fingernails.

"
1
Gracias a Dios
,
Guapo
's home,"
Abuela
answers. The girl's eyes dart up. "And this is his girl, Angel."

I watch the girl's face fall, and I’m instantly struck with jealousy. Was she his girlfriend before he went to prison? Did Juan have someone waiting for him to come home?

"Hey," the girl says cautiously. "I'm Destiny. You, uh, want to come in?"

I look at
Abuela
for confirmation, and the older woman nods. We all three walk into the bedroom, and Destiny points to an overstuffed chair in one corner.

"Have a seat."

"Destiny will take good care of you, Angel." The older woman smiles at me. "You stay here, and you don't let nobody in.
Guapo
will come get you soon. Don't be scared, yeah?"

I reply, “Okay.”

Destiny smiles at
Abuela
. "Don't worry. I'll make sure we stay put."

"Good girls," she answers as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

I turn to look at Destiny, feeling unbelievably awkward. "So, um, thanks for letting me hang out here." Then I take what I realize is my first full breath in nearly an hour.

"Sure. No big thing," Destiny answers softly. "Juan's in trouble. They're taking him to my dad."

"Your dad?" I swallow. Hard.

"Yeah." Destiny looks up almost apologetically. "The boss man,
El Jefe
. That's my dad."

"Oh."

"Yeah." She sighs. "So, you're Juan's girlfriend?"

My lips turn up into a small smile at the thought. How I’d love to be Juan’s girlfriend. It sends shivers through my whole body. But I answer truthfully. "I don't exactly know what Juan and me are."

"You known him long?" Destiny asks.

"My whole life."

"But you were never around before. I mean, before he went in, all those years he was here in the RH. Where were you?"

"He ran away from us. From me and my family. He was my brother's best friend while we were growing up," I explain. "Then his mother got deported and he disappeared. We looked for him, but he never got in touch again."

"What about when he went to Huntsville? You visit him there?" Destiny pursues.

"No," I answer, sadness leaking into my voice. "And I should have."

"It probably don't matter much. I went to see him and he wouldn't agree to the visit." Destiny shrugs, continuing to pick at her nails as she flops down on the area rug at the foot of her bed.

"Really? He wouldn't let you visit?"

"Nah. He didn't want to see me, I guess. My boyfriend, Pretty Boy, he visited a couple of times, and some of the other guys when they had jobs Juan needed to do. But he wouldn't see me."

I watch Destiny, certain there’s more to the story than she’s telling me. There are feelings floating in the room like wisps of smoke or vapor.

"You call him Juan," I observe.

Destiny's eyes shoot up. "Yeah. So?"

"Well, no one else here does."

"Yeah, I guess."

"You were friends?"

"You want to know if I slept with him?"

The question is blunt, and it surprises me, setting off a cascade of emotions—sadness, fear, and of course envy—but I try not to let it show. I’ve already noticed that you don't let your real emotions out around the RH. Everything is an act, a façade. I think of the women I work with at the halfway house. How closed off most of them are, how hard their outsides have become. After seeing this place, these men, I think I understand better what makes them that way.

"It's none of my business who you slept with," I answer. The politically correct answer, even though I definitely want to know, and in fact, I’m already burning inside with jealousy at the thought of this girl touching Juan, kissing him, feeling him in places and ways I myself haven't.

"It's okay. I'll tell you. He don't love me or nothing, so you don't need to worry. But you can't tell anyone here, ‘cause if Pretty Boy ever found out, he'd beat the shit out of me and then try to kill Juan."

My heart squeezes hard. This is going to hurt, but it’s like watching a car crash—I just can't look away.

"I always had a thing for Juan, you know? He was different. Nicer. But Pretty Boy, he came after me real hard, so I ended up with him. But then Juan got arrested for the drive-by. Everybody knew he'd end up doin' hard time one way or another. I knew it might be the last time I got to see him, so the day before his sentencing, I got one of
Abuela
's friends to get me a conjugal visit."

I feel my insides flutter and tears burn at the back of her eyes. I tell myself that I’m being a fool. It was four years ago, and Juan isn't even my boyfriend. Right now, we’re both being held hostage in a gang’s headquarters and might not live to see the next day. How the hell I can find the energy to feel hurt and jealous, I really don't know, but the feelings are there all the same.

Destiny continues. "The only reason he did it was because he was going away the next day. I knew that, but I didn't care. It was my only chance. I guess I'm telling you just ‘cause I'm saying he's special, you know? I hope you treat him right. If you really are Juan's girl, you're lucky." Destiny gives me a small smile and turns to look out the window that faces a small lawn.

I clear my throat, not sure how to respond to the ill-conceived confession. "He's a good guy," I agree. "Do you think… Do you think he'll be okay? I mean, your dad won't hurt him, will he?"

Destiny stands up suddenly. "I don't know. I don't know nothing about
Jefe
's business. That's how he likes it. But you can't do nothing about it anyway, so you just don't worry about it. You let the men do what men do. Me and my girls, we have fun and party, and some of us got babies, so that keeps us busy. We don't worry too much about the rest."

I’m about to argue the point when suddenly a loud noise echoes from the far side of the house. Three sharp pops.

"Fuck!" Destiny cries out.

"What?" I ask, my heart racing. "What is it?"

"Gunshots.
In the house
. Get in the closet."

"Guns? Those were gunshots?" I ask, some part of my mind thinking I never would have expected gunshots to sound like that.

"Yes. Quit asking stupid questions and get in the closet," Destiny instructs brusquely as she shoves me toward the closet door.

My pulse speeds up. Gunshots. And Juan is out there somewhere—in another part of the house where guns are being fired.

I look at Destiny frantically. "Juan," I say, my voice wobbly and fearful.

"You have to stay here," Destiny warns

"Not a chance," I counter, steeling myself for a fight.

Voices can be heard now, shouting in Spanish, feet pounding through the house, and then more gunshots.

"You'll get killed," Destiny says looking exasperated.

"I love him."

Destiny studies me for a few seconds then sighs. "
Ay
, I'm going to regret this." She starts toward the door to the bedroom. "Come on then."

1
Gracias a Dios = Thank God

I
stand staring at my father for a few moments, my peripheral vision taking in the bodies of
Jefe
, Lobo, and the other RH bleeding out on the floor.

"
Señor
Ybarra, we need to get you and
Señor
Juan off the property."

I notice that the guy is holding a finger against his ear and I realize that my father's men have earpieces like the fucking Secret Service.

"
Señor
," the guard says again. "Are you ready?"

My dad is watching me like he's waiting for me to make the decision. Then we hear men running through the house, Spanish being shouted, and more guns being fired.

Fuck. Beth
.

I'm out the door before any of them can stop me. I head for the kitchen, stepping over a body on my way through the living room. I don't take the time to see if he's RH or
Santos Mexicanos
.

As I turn the corner into the kitchen, a shot slams into the wall next to my head. "Fuck!" I shout as I slide down the wall and crouch, looking out from under the legs of the kitchen table I'm behind.

If I had a gun, this would be different. I'm not afraid to blast my way out of any shit, but without one, I'm completely vulnerable, and I can't help Beth if I'm dead.

I hear more shots fire outside the house, so I scurry across the kitchen, heading to the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. My guess is that's where
Abuela
would have taken Beth.

I reach the doorway to the hall and flatten up against the wall, listening carefully before I charge into the poorly lit tunnel. When I'm relatively sure there isn't anyone at the far end waiting to blow me away, I turn the corner and edge down the narrow corridor. A door suddenly flies open next to me and I pull my fist back ready to coldcock whoever it is before they can shoot me. When I register the face in front of me, I'm able to redirect at the last second but not stop the momentum, so my fist slams into the doorframe right next to Beth's head.

"Fucking shit!" I grind out as Beth throws herself on me, wrapping her slender arms around my neck.

She knocks me back into the wall on the other side of the hall, and I put my arms around her waist, holding her as she sobs into the crook between my neck and shoulder.

"Shh, shh,
linda
," I whisper. "It's okay. I got you now. I got you." I look over her shoulder, and there stands Pretty Boy's girl, Destiny. My stomach does a little flip when I see her, when I remember the last time I was with her. How she comforted me before I went inside. How I let her be unfaithful to Pretty Boy in order to make myself feel better. I feel guilty and grateful all at once.