Page 7 of The Silent Night Stalker
“Enzoismy business!”
“The fuck he is. He’s being punished for disobeying me again! You know the rules.”
“Please, Enrique… I was just studying. I-I was late, is all.”
My foster father ignored Enrique and belted me again. I’m crying harder now, still gripping the table, not daring to move because he’ll just beat me more.
“That’s it! I’m fucking over this.”
I look up to see Enrique rush our foster father and slam him against the counter. He fists his shirt and pulls him close so they’re face-to-face. He’s gotten so much bigger at sixteen. And stronger. “Enough, you abusive son-of-a-bitch! If you lay one more hand on Enzo or any of the other kids, you’re going to know what it feels like to be beaten and belted. I’ve fucking had enough!”
“Whatcha gonna do, little man?” our foster father said. That’s what he always called Enrique, but Enrique isn’t small anymore.
I turn my head just in time to see Enrique punch him in the face. He drops to the ground and glares up at him, holding his cheek, but he says nothing.
“That’s what I thought,”Enrique said, spitting on the ground. “Expect more of that if you do this again. Or I can just fucking report you, prick.”
He comes over to me, pulls up my underwear and pants before buttoning and zipping them back up. I haven’t dared move yet out of fear, but I don’t need to worry about that because Enrique lifts me, turns me to face him, and grabs my face in two hands.
“Are you okay?”
A sob escapes me again, and I shake my head. I’m relieved he saved me, but I’m in so much pain, and I’m so tired of being afraid all the time.
Enrique takes me out of the kitchen, leads us to the bedroom we share, and pulls me into a hug, holding me until I calm down. I cling to his back, my fingers twisting in his T-shirt.
“I’ve got you. I’ll always protect you, En. Always. He’ll never hurt you again, I swear it. And when we age out of the system, you and I will take care of each other. We’ll get you strong so no one ever hurts you again.”
I rest my face in his chest. He smells of stale coffee and hot dogs from working at the convenience store, but I don’t care. He’s Enrique. My brother. My best friend.
“I love you, ’Que,” I say.
“I love you, too, En.”
I clench my jaw hard enough to chip my teeth as my eyes water after the memory hits me. I have to hold all my emotions in until I’m alone. Showing grief is a sign of weakness. When I get home, I’ll let it all out. Or I’ll take it out on my sparring partner in the ring. One way or another, I’m going to get this fucking anger out.
Over two decades of my life flash before my eyes as I stare down at my foster brother, Enrique, dead in the alley, next to a dumpster, with two bullet holes in his head as if he’s nothing. They tossed him aside like he’s fucking garbage.
Then memories of roughhousing, playing kickball in the streets, Enrique protecting me over and over whenever our foster father beat me… He took care of me the entire time we were in foster care together. I fondly called him ’Que.
He’d always protected me, and I wasn’t there to protect him when he needed me. The urge to kill something is all-consuming. It’s a raging fire inside me, burning hotter and brighter the more I stare down at his lifeless eyes. Someone needs to fucking pay—a life for a life. Ineedmy revenge.
I squat down and rest my palm on his cold cheek before closing his black, dead eyes with my fingers, while my eyes stung from grief.
As I stand, Alfonzo Valente, leader of the Diablos Carmesí, grips my shoulder fondly, but firmly enough to remind me of who’s in charge. He knows I want revenge, so he keeps me tethered to him. I’m not allowed to behave impulsively unless ordered to.
“They will pay,” he promises in a low growl.
“Who did this?”
But I already know who killed Enrique. It has to be the Da Costa family, a rival of ours. Ithasto be. For the past year, they’ve been trying to push through our territory on the lower west side of Chicago. Our territories are bigger, but our enemy is expanding too quickly and aggressively.
“We’re still investigating.”
“You know damn well who fucking did this.” I know better than to snap at him, but I can’t help it.
“Enzo, we cannot jump the gun. I want retribution just as much as you—”
“Notas much as I do!” I turn to face my leader and father figure. His thick, wavy black hair is salted with white. It’s his eyes that stand out. They’re always birdlike. They’re amber with a touch of green. It’s why we call him Halcón, or ‘hawk’ in English. “Notnearlyas much as I do. Enrique and I weren’t bound by blood, but he was still my brother. He was everything to me.Everything!”
