Page 87 of Miguel

“My Vieja is suffering from nightmares,” one of the older Diablo generation members growled. His tone was accusatory and there was a fire in the depths of his dark eyes as he stared at Loco and I.

“Your Vieja isn’t the only one,” I snapped back. “My Vieja and son were just as affected as anyone else. Trust me when I say we aren’t going to be sitting idle anymore. They fucked with Los Diablos, and now it’s time to watch those motherfuckers burn.”

“How are we going to do that?” Ink asked. There was a quiet rage in his voice as he took me in. He was as mad as the rest of us, maybe more considering Xiomara had been too close to the blast. She’d suffered second degree burns on her back and was at home on bed rest.

I knew his Vieja hated to be idle. She, more than anyone, had wanted to take a swing at the gringos for what they’d put her through.

Now she wouldn’t get her chance, so Ink would have to do the swinging for her.

“We end them,” I said. “And I have the perfect plan on how to do it.”

They all sat back and listened as I laid it all out there. Every fucking detail, every fucking brutal idea that I’d mulled over every night since the explosion. With Lorena in my arms, shaking in her sleep, with Zeke waking up screaming in fright, I’d mulled over the vengeance I would wreak upon those who dared hurt my family.

I didn’t hold back, either. Every dark thought took hold and my hermanos widened their eyes in surprise.

Level-headed Miguel?

I was bloodthirsty now.

I didn’t only want them dead.

I wanted them wiped from the face of the fucking earth until not even their memories could whisper through the wind. They would be nothing by the time I was through with them.

Fuck with the devils, suffer an eternity of damnation.

“Shit,” Loco whistled, calmer after I laid the plan bare for them to pick apart. His eyes found mine and the anger had receded. In its place, respect. “I didn’t know there was tanta maldad in that brain of yours.”

My eyes narrowed. “My Vieja was hurt by this. I promised her it would never happen again.”

Loco nodded as if he understood, then turned to our hermanos. “Say goodbye to your families, Diablos.” He smiled, malicious and devilish and frightening. “It’s time for us to reap.”

Chapter Thirty-three

Lorena

AprospectdroveZekeand I to Xiomara’s house.

My new friend had been released recently from the hospital and I’d wanted to see for myself that she was alright. To calm the anxiety that had burst to life like little fireworks in my chest. Maybe there was another reason for me visiting her as well, one I wouldn’t contemplate or analyze until I was alone with my thoughts and doubting my relationship with Miguel.

Xiomara’s mom, a small, dark-skinned woman with frazzled graying hair, let Zeke and I into the house. While she put on cartoons for Zeke and got him a glass of juice, she pointed me to Xiomara’s room.

The inside smelt like pomada, the air stuffy and warm. And Xiomara lay on a bed in the small space, face down, burying her face into a pillow. She lifted her head as I entered, wincing, yet still offering me a smile that looked far too pained.

“Pecas,” she greeted. Her voice was hoarse, like she’d inhaled too much smoke.

Seeing her like this seemed to break something inside me. At the party, she’d been so full of life, so intense. Here, without her shield of makeup, topless save for the gauze wrapped around her upper body, she looked vulnerable.

“Xio.” I walked over and took a seat on the available stool near her bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a bomb set off at my back.”

I winced at the descriptor, but it only caused her to chuckle.

“Lighten up, Pecas. It’s fine.” She winced and groaned. “I could do without this fucking pain, though.”

I leaned forward on the chair, grasping for her hand. Almost as if she could transfer her pain to me via touch of our skin. Tears pricked my eyes, and I couldn’t exactly say why my tears fell. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

Warmth seeped from Xiomara’s eyes as she took me in. Tears pooled from the corners of her own and seeing the strength in someone as tough as her fracture before my eyes made something inside me break as well.

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