Coming to the Luna Club was just another bad call. Add it to the endless questionable decisions I’ve made tonight. Letting Nena roll ahead of us instead of staying close during our patrol. Allowing the ANT to mess with me in ways I can’t pinpoint. Because I was too wrapped up in flashbacks of my family, this guy caught me with my guard down. I can’t fall victim the way Manos did. I need to think quick, because it’s me or this guy.
When he pokes me again, I make my move. I inhale deeply and duck my head into the water. As I go down, I grab hold of him and pull as hard as I can. I drag his upper body into the bath. Gushes of water splash everywhere. I waste no time in whipping my body around and using my strength to keep his head in the water. He thrashes violently. Everything around me disappears as I concentrate on using my anger to keep him down. He kicks and makes gurgling noises. The room no longer exists. The candles. The papi chulos. Time is at a standstill. I won’t let him breathe.
The rage of having a punk disrespect me rises. No one touches me. No one invades my space. I hold him down. Harder. Harder.
And then it hits me. My eyes focus away from my hands and examine the person. The familiar build. The clothes. Holy Mega. I know him.
“Santo!”
I lift his face from the water. He coughs uncontrollably and spits. The cough soon changes into laughter. Santo drops to the floor and cradles his stomach in between gulps of air.
“Have you lost your damn mind!” I yell. “What is wrong with you?” I could have killed him. What he did was dangerous.
He laughs and flashes his almost perfectly straight teeth, which shine against his olive complexion. The more he cracks up, the more I want to slap him. I get up and wrap a towel around my waist. When he won’t stop laughing, I kick him. Hard.
“Hey,” Santo says. “Is that any way to treat a brother?”
I kick him again.
In his hand he holds a harmless decorative figurine, a statue he probably grabbed from the hallway. Idiot. Although Santo calls himself a brother, he’s more than that. He’s been on Las Mal Criadas’ side for a long time, ever since the day he approached me after a battle and commended me on my skills. He kept coming around, offering me tips, better weapons. The friendship became something more. We are not partners or in love—don’t believe in love—we just have a strong connection.
“What are you doing here?” The initial shock has worn off. I throw him a towel.
“I should be asking you the same thing. What are you doing here with a chulo?” he says. “You don’t need him when what you need is right here.”
I slap his cheek playfully. He takes off his wet shirt and places it against a seat. His arms are covered in ink. You can spend hours reading the elaborate tattoos on his body. There are quotes and symbols, animals and beautiful women. There’s a story behind each design. He even has LMC letters inked on his right arm. I did the tattoo myself. Everyone in Mega sees the letters and knows he stands with us.
Santo pulls me toward him. We smile at each other. I’m happy to see him even after the stunt he pulled. Soon we will be together in the Towers. Me and him. There will be no need to pretend he doesn’t play favorites even when everyone can see it as plain as day. Santo leans in for a kiss. His callus-free hands and soft full lips remind me of my future.
“You didn’t venture out of the Towers to reprimand me for hanging with a papi.” I pull away and put my clothes on. “What did you do to Books anyway?”
Santo shakes his head, giving a look of disapproval. “I sent the boy to Truck. She needs that trash, not you. This place makes you weak,” he says. “You’re wasting your energy when you have bigger things to be thinking about.”
Wow. He’s here for less than five minutes and he’s managed to cut me with a dose of harshness. This anger must be jealousy. What is there to be jealous of? I don’t worry my head over what goes on in the Towers. He’s free to do what he wants with who he wants. Our connection is built on openness. It has to be. There’s a whole lot of baggage that comes from being Déesse’s only son. Struggles I am privy to when he shares. Those moments are rare.
“I’m sorry if my being here makes you uncomfortable. Next time you want to see me, send a message on the Codigo instead of springing up unannounced,” I say. “Now, drag your sorry ass out of here and leave me alone.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about papi chulos.” He hands over my pants. “We’re cool even if these places are pathetic excuses for fun.”
I snort. Fun? He should talk. I’ve heard of the craziness that goes on in the Towers. The lavish parties, scenes, anything you want to happen can happen with the snap of a finger. Of course, Déesse would never admit to the debauchery. We hear about it down on the streets. That’s why so many people want to have access. Live the high life and do what you want without any repercussions, without having to deal with hard labor. Everyone has their own way of coping. Most people work under the burning sun or in the factories. Others pay with fists. I would rather fight than work in one-hundred-degree weather, the sun beating down on me day in and day out. Until I make it to the Towers, the boydega clubs are my sanctuary. Who is he to judge?
Santo caresses my arm. This is his way of sort of apologizing without having to say a word. I lean in to his hand. I don’t want to argue. Too much has happened tonight. I don’t want to end with Santo mad at me. I need him.
“Where are your guards?” I change the subject.
“I’m here alone.”
When Santo leaves the Towers, he usually travels with at least two bodyguards. This is unlike him. To come and look for me when he could have easily sent me a message only adds to the seriousness. I search for clues and find none. He holds my stare, the only person who can.
“Who did this to you?” He lightly touches the scratch under my eye. He kisses my forehead and then gently kisses the cut.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
He pulls away and picks an uncomfortable stool to sit on. I can tell he’s nervous by the way he toys with the lit candle, dipping his hand in the melted wax without flinching from the pain.
“As promised, you are to meet with Déesse this weekend,” he says. “I’ll take you to her after the fight. Before that happens, I need you to do one thing.”
I let out a sigh of relief. This is what I’ve been waiting for, to be able to speak to her in person. Only she can grant access to the Towers.
Residents in the Towers are sent packing when they fall out of favor with her. Santo’s been letting me know when there’s been a vacancy. There is a weekly newsletter that lists people who are kicked out of the Towers and the reasons why. Infractions can be anything from not pulling your weight to starting beef with others. Santo has been giving me copies of the newsletter although he’s not supposed to. There are a few apartments available, enough room for my whole crew to create a new home. Those apartments won’t stay vacant for long. Finally, we can make a move.
“I need you to fake the fight.”
Wait. What the hell did Santo say to me? I must have heard him wrong. He didn’t ask me to throw a battle. Did he?
“Your crew will let the Deadly Venoms win this weekend. There will be no victory for you,” Santo says. “You’ve got to let them win.”