Page 9 of Born Sinner
Finally, silence.
Tossing it on the mattress, I flop back onto my pillow, when it hits me.
“Shit! Santi…”I’m supposed to meet my brother for lunch.Adrenaline spikes through my veins as I throw my comforter across the bed. It isn’t until my feet hit the floor that I realize I’m naked.
Dread fills my chest as Iforcepieces of last night from behind the distorted opaque window clouding my mind.How did I get home?
Slowly, more jagged memories work their way out of the fog and into the light.
No.I couldn’t have.
Troy Davis.
His hands.
A bed.
“Trust me, baby. I’m gonna treat this pussy good.”
Trust me…
“No…” I breathe again, searching between my legs for signs of my worst fear. But there’s no blood on my thighs, and I don’t feel violated.
That’s when a dark crimson stain catches my eye. The one smeared across the inside of my white comforter. It mocks me, daring me to come closer.
So, I do.
But as I twist toward the stained blanket, I draw in a sharp breath as another stinging pain shoots from my hip. Slowly, I glance down to see what could’ve caused such an ache.
What I see turns my blood to ice.
I’m bleeding all right, but not from a dick. Midway between my navel and left hip bone, someone carved a letter into my skin.
No, not someone. Troy Davis.
A fucking S.
I scream out in anger and frustration. I don’t have to guess what that letter stands for. It speaks for itself.
Slut.
That bastard has no idea what he’s done. One word—onewhisperfrom me—and I can’t count the number of ways he’d suffer, or the pieces of him that would end up scattered across all five boroughs.
And then I’d end up right back in Mexico behind the iron bars I just escaped.
Thisis why I’ll be keeping Troy’s assault and desecration to myself, as will every single one of my friends if they know what’s good for them.
As far as they know, I’m María Diaz, the child of Cuban immigrants. They smile their plastic smiles, flip their blonde hair, and link arms with me, all while pretending they don’t know exactly what I’m capable of.
They do. They just choose to lock it behind their gated suburban lies.
Fear is a deceptive spiritual guide.
Wrapping the sheet around myself, I shove everything away to deal with later.Always later.I can’t afford to let the great Santi Carrera, my big brother and the heir apparent of my father’s empire, see weakness.
Because God forbid I have a say in anything.
Santi left me alone in Mexico City two years ago to come to America and take control of our family’s New Jersey’s cocaine distribution. No one asked me what I wanted.
