Chapter 28

Diesel

"Vamos, peque."

Iván's shout chased away the stray kitten I was scratching on its back. Disappointed, I stood, brushing the dirt away from my jeans. They weren't really my jeans, at least not originally. They used to belong to Iván, but they were too small for him, so I got them. They were a little big on me, but Mamá folded the hem, saying I'd fill them out before I knew it.

"Didn't you hear me calling for you?" my brother asked as he stopped beside me, putting his hand on my shoulder.

"It's impossible not to hear you, stupid. You chased away the cat."

Poking my nose, he chuckled. "You can't pet every stray cat or dog we see, peque."

"You done playing soccer?" I looked up at him. The flush on his cheeks and the sweat dripping down from underneath his ball cap were enough to tell me he was.

"Yes, let's go home."

"You look like a douche with that stupid hat," I said as we started walking. We had an annoyingly long walk back home. In our old town, before we moved here, the soccer field, which was basically an old junkyard, was next to the house. Now, it was four miles away.

Iván's smile grew bigger before he took off his hat and put it on my head, pulling it down until it covered my eyes. I swore at him because it was damp with sweat as he rolled with laughter.

"You're disgusting."

Wrapping an arm around my shoulders, he pulled me closer. "You can't tell that to your older brother—"

"Go back to Mexico! Stupid immigrants," someone shouted from a passing truck, cutting Iván off midsentence.

Knowing my brother, I knew there was no chance he'd let it go, and I was right. A second later, he picked a stone off the ground, took a few steps, and threw it at the driving truck. Having the arm of a pitcher, Iván hit the truck's back shield, smashing it.

"We're not immigrants, you bunch of pussies!" my brother shouted in perfect English as soon as the truck stopped and the front doors opened. "And we're Colombians, you dumb fucks!" He grabbed my arm and told me to run.

Whoever thought he could outrun two kids in a neighborhood they knew like the back of their hands was an idiot, and we managed to get rid of those jerks with no trouble. By the time we got away, it was almost twilight.

Iván spat on the ground, then turned to me. "Fucking racists. You know what looks best on a racist face?"

"A black eye."

His lips pulled into a big smile. Taking his cap back from me, he ruffled my hair. "I taught you well."

We started to walk back home again, but as we reached the skating park where Iván's friends usually met up to drink and smoke, we saw some of his guys gathering.

"Wait here," Iván said, then whistled to one of his friends and ran toward him. Not wanting to wait, I joined them.

"A body? They found a body?" I heard my brother asking, a curious smile on his face.

"Yeah, a girl. They found her on the shore, tossed away for the tide to take her or some shit."

"Think we can see it?"

A body? On the beach? My heart hammered fast in my chest as curiosity trickled in. Other than in movies, I'd never seen a dead body before. It would be so cool. I could tell Mamá after, and maybe even Dad. He'd probably seen lots of bodies throughout his life.

"Camilo, you know the way back home from here, right?"

Wait, what?

"I want to see the body, too."

Iván's brows pulled close. "Ain't no fucking way. You're just a kid. Now, do as I say and go home." He pointed in the direction of our street.

"I'm not a kid," I grunted. "I'm eight."

My hands clenched into tight fists when his friends laughed. If I was old enough for our dad to beat me, I was old enough to see a dead body. Only Iván didn't care for what I had to say, and he'd already gone on with his friends. Looking in the direction of our house, I almost considered going there but quickly changed my mind and ran toward the beach, where the others just went.

I'll show stupid Iván that I'm big enough to see a dead body.

By the time I arrived at the scene, police were already there. Blue and red lights flashed through the orange-painted sky. I noticed Iván and his friends trying to peek over the crowd. Morons. With officers blocking the place, there was no way to see the body now. At least, not for them. Being much smaller wasn't so bad now as I quickly shoved my way into the crowd. I guessed Iván saw me sneaking in since I heard him calling for me, but I didn't stop.

Eager to reach what everyone came to see, my heart raced as I sneaked under the yellow tape the police had strung up and managed to get into the crime scene. Police officers and detectives were everywhere. Since my dad was in and out of prison his whole life, I knew how to tell them apart.

Fucking pigs.

My idea was to act casually and walk calmly like it was okay for me to be there. I guessed it worked because no one stopped me until I reached her. I was excited because I managed to do what the older kids couldn't, and now I'd have something to annoy Iván with. Only my excitement was replaced with pure horror as I encountered death for the first time.

A tangle of black curls on the white sand.

Missing nails on bloodied fingers.

A pool of blood between spread thighs.

Scratches and cuts all over her naked body, leading up to her neck.

Her neck.

It was purple, blue, red.

It was any color but the color it should have been, and I couldn't take my eyes away from it. There she was, my beautiful sister, lying in a ditch with broken legs and a pool of blood between her thighs, and I couldn't stop staring at her throat.

Her strangled throat.

My sister was dead.

Carmen was dead.

"Hey! Who's that kid?" someone called before I felt hands around me, pulling me back. Only then life kicked in again, and I pushed and fought to get free, all while screaming Carmen's name over and over.

I kicked back at whoever held me until they lost their grip. Falling in the sand, I quickly got up and ran toward her.

"Carmen!" My screams ripped my throat to shreds. "Carmen! Carmen!" Repeating her name as if it would bring her back, I tried to reach her, but before I could, I was yanked away again.

"It's my sister," I cried, trying to explain so they'd let me go. "She's my older sister! We need to help her!" Pushing away the fat tears welling in my eyes, I tried to look at her again, fearing it would be the last time, but all I saw was purple, blue, and red.

All the colors but the color it should have been.

"Thank you," Shay-Lee said as he took the mug of coffee I handed him while I settled beside him on the couch. After I was done smoking, we'd taken the conversation inside, where I'd continued to tell him pretty much everything.

"So, that time I followed you to the cemetery, you were visiting her, Carmen, right?" Hugging his mug, he brought his legs to his chest, his stare never leaving mine.

"Yeah, it was her birthday."

Taking a small sip, he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about stalking you," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I fucked up a lot, didn't I?"

Somehow, he managed to make me smile. "Yeah, you did."

Pulling out my wallet, I took out a small Polaroid photo I always kept there and handed it to him.

He took the photo and looked at it. "Is that her?"

"Yeah." I nodded proudly, glancing at it, too. It was taken at one of her ballet shows. Carmen's hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head while she wore her ballerina costume.

"She's beautiful," Shay-Lee said, examining it a bit more before returning it to me. "You look alike."

"I wish." Looking at her image one more time, I smiled, then placed it back inside my wallet.

"Okay, so back to the story. What happened after?" His eyes followed me as I tossed my wallet on the small table before us, right next to the pack of smokes I'd left there earlier.

Leaning back on the couch and spreading my legs, I rubbed my jaw. "After Carmen's death, my mom just… couldn't function anymore. It didn't happen in one day but over a few months. She stopped cleaning, cooking, going to work. Eventually, she got fired from her job. After that, she no longer had a reason to get out of bed, so she stopped doing that as well. My father was hardly ever home, and when he was, he couldn't care less. Instead of helping her, he violated her with his fists and his words. Us, too, of course. Iván and I were usually the ones who took the brunt of his beatings."

It was then Shay-Lee broke our stare and gazed into the void. I mentioned my piece-of-shit father for a reason, hoping it would help Shay-Lee to open up, too.

"I understood she was depressed, but there wasn't much either me or Iván could do, you know? Not only were we just kids, but we didn't have the money to get her the treatment she needed, like a therapist or putting her into some institution that would help. Truth was, nobody gave a fuck about us. It was like we didn't even exist. My mamá used to help so many people when she was healthy, but when she needed the help, no one was there.

"At some point, Iván managed to get her some antidepressants, thinking it might help. It only fucked her up further."

It was only after I came to live with Chief that I learned that there were services that offered cheap and even free therapy that could have helped her, but it was too late.

Putting my empty glass on the table, I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees.

"Eventually, we were scared to leave her alone, so we watched over her in shifts. By then, Iván had already dropped out of school, so he stayed with her in the mornings while I stayed in the afternoons when he worked. We were only nine and fifteen at the time, but we didn't care." For years, I tried to avoid thinking about those days because all they ever brought was pain melded with anger. Right now, with Shay-Lee sitting close and listening, I felt neither, and instead, I had an odd sense of comfort.

"Then, one Saturday morning, I saw her in the kitchen." A hurt smile tangled on my lips as I recalled that image. She stood with her back to me, dark hair falling over her shoulders, wearing the yellow dress she loved so much. I also recalled the hope I had felt in that moment, hope that was taken away in its prime shortly after. "Thinking back, it was ridiculous." I huffed. "The joy I felt just from seeing her standing there was ridiculous. Pathetic even." My throat went dry, and my eyes stung.

"It isn't pathetic," Shay-Lee said, but I ignored him and focused on the pack of smokes in the middle of the table.

"Iván was working that morning, so it was just Mamá and me. She told me she wanted to cook us breakfast, but she lacked the ingredients and asked me to go buy them for her." Biting my lip, I shook my head. "I don't know what made me believe her. I was just so happy to see her that I didn't even stop to question anything and went on with it." I paused again, swallowing hard all those repressed feelings and memories. "I went to the shop, and by the time I came back, she'd already blown her head off with my dad's rifle."

"Camilo," Shay-Lee gasped, putting his hand on my arm. His touch was so comforting that not a single part of my body wanted to push him away.

"Do you know what a brain looks like smeared all over the walls? How it smells?" I looked at him, and while his eyes held so many emotions, he didn't speak. Instead, he shook his head. "Well, I do."

"I don't know what to say." He looked down at the floor.

"You don't need to."

He removed his hands from my arm, my skin already missing his touch.

"After that… where did you and Iván go?"

I leaned back on the couch and crossed my arms over my chest. "We were left with my dad. I hated her for that." The taste of resentment felt like a poison on my tongue because I didn't want to hate her. "You see, she didn't only take her own life that day but also ours, leaving my brother and me at the mercy of a monster. What the fuck did she expect would happen?" My muscles tensed. "A few months after, he was arrested again, so Iván and I moved to live with my uncle in Florida. He was just as bad, if not worse, considering how he didn't give the slightest fuck about us. We were just a tool, stray dogs to train into hounds. It worked. By the age of fifteen, I'd been to juvie three times." I snorted. "And look at me now, working as a fucking prostitute."

"You're not a prostitute," Shay-Lee snapped.

"Really?" I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, my eyes unfazed. "Didn't you pay to see me get undressed? To book meetings with me?"

He swallowed hard, and I watched his throat work. Shit, I really loved his neck.

"It doesn't matter what I or others paid for. You always went by your rules. No one could ever tell you what to do, Camilo. It's why you're so special." As if suddenly realizing what he said, he quickly looked up, his cheeks flushed red.

"You think I'm special?" I smirked.

His brows pulled together as embarrassment took over, and he averted his gaze. "Fuck off."

"Why? I like it. Go on. Tell me I'm handsome, too."

"You're ugly," he huffed.

"Sure…" I couldn't help but smile. "Also, since when did I stop being Diesel?"

"What?" His eyes shot to me.

God. The bastard was so damn gorgeous.

"Just now, you called me Camilo. It's the third time today."

Jumping to his feet, Shay-Lee took both of our empty mugs from the table and walked to the kitchen. "Well, you have too many names. How could I not get confused? Nero, Diesel, Camilo, Asshole. I need a fucking list just to keep track."

"Asshole? Is that an official name?" I asked, following him into the kitchen.

"More like an official title."

"A title, you say?"

"Yeah. A title."

"What other titles did I earn?"

Placing the mugs in the sink, he turned to face me. "Crazy son of a bitch."

"Funny." I smirked, getting closer until he was pushed against the counter. "We share a mutual title, then."

Resting his hands flat on the counter and leaning back, he gave me a mischievous smile. Once again, I found myself too close to him. It was insane how my body acted on its own whenever he was in my proximity.

"I also call you a mutt," he purred, the word coming off so sexy out of his filthy mouth.

Grabbing his jaw, I tilted his head so he'd look me straight in the eyes, then shifted even closer, our hips nearly touching. "A mutt, huh?" A half smirk drew on my lips. "That's rich coming from a puss."

Putting his hand on my chest, he snorted. "Well, I am rich. Filthy rich." The next thing I knew, he pushed me aside and walked back into the living room.

Shaking my head, I turned to look at him, thinking how much I enjoyed this dynamic. I noticed it back when he was Llorón and I was Nero, but we both had the ability to dive deep into hard conversations before rising back to the surface, only to tease and flirt with the other.

"I have one question, though," he said, cutting the light atmosphere with a hard look. "What happened to the monster who raped your sister?"

"Nothing."

His forehead creased as he looked confused.

"Thanks to her dancing, Carmen got a scholarship to this prestigious school. Her rapist was a classmate. A rich, privileged pig who got away with it because he simply could."

Crossing his arms and tucking his hands underneath his armpits, he shook his head before letting out a deep sigh. "No wonder you hated me so much, then."

"But you're not the same." Shay-Lee looked at me wide-eyed before he schooled his features.

"Don't get me wrong. I have no doubt you use your money and connections to get shit done, but not like this." I knew Shay-Lee did bad things, such as beating Andrei and breaking his arm, but I couldn't act all self-righteous, considering the number of limbs I had broken in my life.

He sighed. "You give me too much credit. I'm a piece of shit, and we both know it."

At least he owned up to it, but again, I was in no place to judge. "Actually, I did a little digging," I said, scratching my jaw.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "How so?"

"I did some research about the girl who killed herself last semester. Laura."

Shock crossed his features, telling me my suspicions were right.

"You got rid of those twins not only because of what they did to Jordan but also because they raped that poor girl. Didn't you?"

After a moment of hesitation, he nodded. "I did."

"And why's that? Why care about a girl who probably meant nothing to you?"

Anger stirred within his eyes. "Because she was a human being." He took a deep breath, clenching his fists. "I am many things. I'm cruel and unfair. I'm selfish and vain, but I'm not a fucking rapist." The way he spat that one word with nothing but disgust told me everything I needed to know. "Truth is, I should have done a lot more and a lot sooner, but I didn't," he hissed, angry with himself.

"You did something, and that counts."

We held each other's stare again before he picked his phone up off the table to check the time. "It's almost evening. I should go."

It never occurred to me that at some point he'd have to leave to go back home, to a place that scared him.

"You don't have to go."

He snorted. "Really? Are you going to shelter me forever?" He tried to make light of it, but it fell flat.

"I'm dead serious. What about your dad?"

"What about him?"

"What will he do to you?"

"The fuck are you talking about?" he snarled, anger sweeping over his face.

"I'm talking about that piece of shit who abuses you. Does he do it himself? Or is he using that other asshole to do it? Orson, right?"

Rage throbbed in his eyes like a heartbeat before he clenched his hands into fists. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about." He started to walk toward the bedroom as if he could escape my questions. "Where the fuck is my suit? I need to send it to the cleaners."

I followed him into the corridor, grabbed his shoulder, and forced him to turn around. "Shay-Lee."

"What?"

"After everything I just told you, you can trust me. You can tell me what he does to you."

He frowned. "So that's what this is all about? You share your sad story with me as some sort of emotional blackmail, expecting me to do the same?" He shrugged me off and walked into the room.

"Of course not."

"Good." He took off the clothes I'd lent him and then reached for the suit he'd worn last night. "Because I don't have shit to tell you, okay?" He fumbled with his pants. "My dad is great." His bottom lip quivered. "He's the fucking best." His voice almost broke with the lie.

"You don't need to hide the truth from me. I've seen the bruises on your skin, Shay-Lee."

"They're from football."

I grabbed his shirt before he could reach for it. "Bullshit. The season has been over for months."

"Give it to me."

"No." I put a hand between us, not letting him take the damn shirt. "Not until you tell me the truth. Let's start with this." I grabbed his arm and raised it between us so his bruised wrist was in full view. "Why did he do this to you?"

"He didn't do it." He snapped out of my hold and hugged his wrist close to his chest, hiding the purple marks. "You have no right to ask these questions."

"You're right, but I don't give a shit."

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head. "Well, you should because you're hurting me."

His biting and tormented words made me pause because that was the exact opposite of what I wanted. The idea that he was defending those monsters drove me insane. Even worse, I was disappointed to learn that even now, he still refused to take down his mask while I had clearly let go of mine.

"I'm okay, Diesel. You don't need to worry."

And we're back to Diesel.

"If you're okay, what were you doing on that hotel balcony that day? What were you doing on the beach last night?"

He shrugged, and then I noticed the tears in his eyes. "I-I don't know," he admitted, sniffing. "But please don't force me to say things I don't want to say."

It was like a punch to the gut, but I had to pull myself back together.

"My God, you're impossible to deal with." I sighed, reached for him, and pulled him into a hug. We'd already fucked more than once, so what harm could one more hug do?

Shay-Lee leaned into the embrace and snuggled his head in my chest, allowing me to hold him tight. Resting my chin on his head, I smiled. "I'd never do that. I'd never force you into anything."

Shay-Lee needed someone in his life, someone who'd care for him and understood him.

And as it seemed, so did I.