Page 2 of The Prez

A shout tears from my throat and I buck Raul off me, rolling on top of him. He cries out when he lands in some of the debris that litters the floor from his angry tirade. My hands land in glass shards from the vase that was broken in the scuffle between Mama and Raul. I palm the first large, jagged piece I come in contact with and slam it down into his neck.

Raul struggles under me, his eyes wide and stunned as hetries to free himself from my grasp and from my glass wielding hand, but I’m more determined than he is. I have to save Mama. I have to save Elena.

I swat away the hand that tries to reach for the glass shard and stab again and again, impaling the shard into any bit of flesh that I can. I keep stabbing, my hearing a dull hum. Nothing matters but keeping Elena and Mama safe. Until I know Raul can never cause them harm again, I won’t stop. I can’t. I’m all they have to protect them. It’s up to me and I will make things right.

It’s like I watch myself from far away, my hand moving up and down without my command. I’m surer than anything that Raul is dead, but my body doesn’t get that memo. My arm raises and lowers over and over, cutting my own palm and embedding it with glass pieces as I keep stabbing.

A whisper breaches the hum between my ears and I stop, turning to look at a pale faced Elena. She whispers my name again and I snap out of the trance I was in. I look down at the state of Raul’s body and know for sure he’ll never torment my girls again.

At my return to awareness, all the pain in my body rushes back, my face, my palm, my side, it all hurts. But I can’t think about that right now. I can’t address it. Mama needs me.

Climbing off Raul’s body with a strangled cry and loose limbs, I crawl over to where Mama is. A large puddle of blood surrounds her head, but I ignore it. She has so many wounds on her face, it could be from any number of those injuries. It doesn’t mean?—

I shake her shoulder, hoping to get a response from her, but she doesn’t move. She hasn’t moved since I entered the room and stood between her and Raul. Her eyes are closed, but that could mean she’s resting, tired from having the shit kicked out of her by a man that can’t stay away even when he’s not wanted. She’ll be fine when we get her some help.

“Mama,” I whisper, shaking her again. Tears burn my eyes and my vision swims because I know what this means, but I keep shaking. I have to keep trying. “Mama, wake up. It’s okay. We’re safe now. We don’t have to worry about Raul ever again.”

Elena sits beside me, gut wrenching sobs wracking her small body. I pull her into my arms, rocking her gently as her tears join Raul’s blood on my shirt.

I yelp when Elena wraps her spindly arms around me and squeezes me tight. She jumps back, looking down at her hands. They’re covered in blood. I look down at myself, expecting to only see the spatter from the injuries I inflicted upon my papa. What I don’t expect to see when I lift my shirt is the long, deep gash that’s leaking blood like a faucet. Fuck, when Raul hit me in my side, he must have stabbed me. That’s why it hurt so much.

“Raffy!” Elena sounds frantic. She rushes to the kitchen and gets a towel, holding it against my side.

“Go,” I croak, then cough and clear my throat so she can hear me. “Go to the neighbors. Get Fernando and tell him to bring his truck. I need a ride to the hospital.” The nearest hospital is thirty minutes away. I’m not sure I’ll make it, but I can’t have Elena see me die. She’s seen enough in her ten years to last her a lifetime. She sees her mother dead, my papa dead, and me wounded. She doesn’t need to see her brother’s body on top of that. “Go!” I give her a push after I take the towel from her hands to press to my wound.

“Please don’t die on me, Raffy,” she says in a tear drenched voice.

I snort at the absurdity of her request, but I honor her with a promise anyway. Anything to get her to just go. “I won’t. Now go.”

“I love you, Raffy.”

“Love you … too. Elena … go.”

She gives me one last searching look, then gets to her feet and rushes out of the door to run the mile down the street to our neighbors.

I blow out a long breath, look at Mama’s body and allow myself a minute to cry for her. The tears mingle with the blood I know is streaked on my face. I press my forehead to hers, her blood joining Raul’s. I hate to sully her body like this, but I need to touch her and connect with her in this way one last time. “I’m so sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I was too late.” She can’t hear me in this realm, but maybe her spirit stuck around long enough to see that I tried. For her and Elena, I tried.

After another minute, I sit back on my heels, trying to stop the bleeding from my stab wound with the towel. It’s no use. My fumbling hands aren’t able to keep the soiled towel there for long, feeling leaden by the slight weight. The towel drops from my hand without my permission and my fingers are too clumsy to pick it up again.

It’s just as well that I die too. What do I have to live for? My mama is dead because I was a coward. I wasn’t able to protect her. I failed her when she needed me the most.

With a long sigh, I slump back against the broken sofa and finally surrender to the darkness that’s been swimming at the edges of my vision since I killed Raul.

CHAPTER 1

RAFAEL

Unlike the restof the people assembled, my eyes are dry as I look down at Christian’s casket. I don’t cry, though I don’t hold it against anyone that does. Feelings just ain’t my thing.

My brothers are stoic as we listen to the priest speak about Christian and what a good man he was. Tears streak their faces, but no one sobs. It’s not how we’re built, though we all feel this loss deeply.

Christian was the vice president for the Devil’s Mayhem MC for the past ten years, working alongside me, keeping these knuckleheads in line while making sure we get money with our drug sales and our legal businesses stay on track.

Now he’s gone. A fucking heart attack took my guy out, making him lay his bike down, narrowly avoiding being hit by more than one car. The only silver lining in all this shit is the doctor said he was dead before he hit the ground, so he didn’t suffer. A widow maker heart attack for a confirmed bachelor is not the kind of irony I appreciate.

“If any assembled would like to say a few words, pleasecome forward,” the officiant says, clasping his hands in front of him and looking around.

Zeke, our enforcer, steps forward, his boyfriend Shane by his side. Zeke has a tear leaking from his right eye, but he makes no move to wipe it away. Shane is a complete fucking mess, his face wet and red with tears, his sobs low but audible.

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