Page 29 of Liar
“Joining a cartel is your career goal?”
“It’s the hand I was dealt. Why not learn how to be a better, smarter fighter? Why not learn all I can from someone like him?”
“You keep calling him Boss. Is he no longer a Bastard?”
Diego snorts. “I didn’t say that.”
My brother admires him. And I find myself growing more and more curious about the man. If my future is here in Loreto, and my brother is the most important part of that future, then by default, Hayden will be part of it. Suddenly, my future seems that much more interesting.
“It’s time I become more independent too.”
Diego chuckles. “You own and operate your own business. How much more independent can you be?”
“Well, as a matter of fact ...” I take a deep breath, “... I want to carry a gun.”
His eyes grow wide.
“For protection.”
“You hate guns.”
“I used to hate brussels sprouts. Now I eat them.”
He snorts. “Liar.” Moving forward, he stretches out his long legs. Biding time while he considers what I’ve told him.
“A gun will help if things deteriorate.”
“Boss is hoping that won’t happen.”
I sigh. “He’s not God, you know. He can’t control the future.”
“Well, it won’t be from lack of trying.” He turns to me. “I’ve been after you to learn to shoot for years. What brought this on now?”
I swallow hard, disliking the need to withhold the truth yet knowing I’m done if I tell him about El Calaca.
“If I’m armed then you’ll worry less.”
He gives me a tight hug. “I’ll always worry about you, Luciana.” His eyes soften. “Mamá and Papi would be proud of you.”
And just like that, I melt.
Gah. Sometimes having an overprotective brother is a nuisance. Yet, times like these, when we’re simply two orphaned kids who’ve survived heartbreak and loss, who’ve leaned on each other in tough times and who despite our hot tempers love each other unconditionally, I wouldn’t want us to be any other way.
8
“Rise and shine.”
I slap Diego’s hand away from my shoulder to stop him from shaking me and pry my eyes open. My bedroom is pitch-black and the streets are silent. No work. No dance practices. I had big plans for sleeping in today. “Go away,” I grumble.
“Do you or don’t you want to learn how to shoot?”
I sit up in bed.
“That’s what I thought. Be ready in half an hour,comprende?”
“It’s four in the morning. What’s the rush?” My brother has his own way of doing things, like waking me up before dawn. But he’s an excellent shot and instructor, even if his patience isn’t up to par.
He stalks to the door, whistling as he goes. Far too cheerful to be dealing with at this ungodly hour. Weapons. Fights. Cold beer. It doesn’t take much to get him excited.
