On the Edge (12 page)

I TWIRLED SPAGHETTI AROUND MY FORK IN A DAZE.
The same daze I'd been in all day. I was reeling from the euphoria of being with Ortiz, and the horror he had shown me.

Mom watched me eat. Stared, actually. She had no clue that I'd been out all night, and was obviously wondering why I'd called in sick to work and had lain around in my pajamas all day.

“Have you and Iz made up yet?” she finally asked. So that's why she thought I'd been sluggish today. She thought I was depressed about Iz. Made sense.

“Iz is just being Iz. It'll blow over. She did the same thing to me in seventh grade. It lasted a week.”

“I remember. It's definitely seventh-grade behavior. All this because you were spending time with Julia?”

I nodded. “Abby keeps trying to talk her down, but she's not done punishing me yet.”

“I'm sorry you're going through this, Maddie. Iz hasn't changed for as long as we've known her. Still as melodramatic as ever. On the upside, she's a lot of fun. The downside's the temper.”

“True, and true.”

She gave me a pointed look. “Don't forget, there's nothing she wouldn't do for you.”

“Except
talk
to me,” I said with an eye roll. “But yeah, I know what you mean.”

“I wonder if she's jealous of all the attention you've been getting lately.”

“Jealous? She wouldn't want to be in my shoes, Mom. No one would.”

“Not consciously. But you see this sort of thing in the siblings of drug addicts. They can be resentful of all the attention the addict is getting.”

“It's not a bad theory.” I raised my brows. “Dr. Drew?”

“You got me.” She smiled. “Don't you worry, honey. Iz will come back. And when she does, don't give her too hard a time, okay? She's flawed but . . . we all are.”

“I know, Mom.”

At that moment, my phone lit up.

It was Ortiz. I'd had a feeling it would be.

Last night when he'd dropped me off, there'd been no “I'll call you” or “See you later.” We both knew we'd be together as soon as possible.

I smiled. I'd forgotten how much he knew about me—my work schedule, my routines.

I put down the phone, feeling a rush of adrenaline. An hour and fourteen minutes until I'd see him again.

“Sorry,” I said. Mom hated when I texted at the table. Usually I didn't.

“Who was that?”

“It's . . . this guy I'm seeing tonight.”

Mom's mouth dropped open. “You have a date?” Shock quickly became panic. “You should've checked with me. Who is he?”

“Ortiz.” I didn't know his first name, but I wasn't going to admit that. “He's a good friend of Eric's.”

She put a hand to her chest, relieved. A friend of a friend was always a good thing. “How old is he?”

I didn't know that either. “Maybe twenty. You actually know him already. He's the cute guy who works at Sasso's.”

She tilted her head. I could tell she was mentally scanning her interactions with him. Then she relaxed some more. “He's always been nice, polite.”

“We're just hanging out,” I assured her. “Don't worry, Mom. I trust Ortiz. And . . . he's looking out for me.”

At eight o'clock, the doorbell rang. Dex skidded to the door, and Mom grabbed his leash.

“It's all right, Mom. You can let him go.”

She gave me a
yeah, right
look and kept hold of the leash.

I opened the door. The second Dex saw Ortiz, he sat down, wagging his tail. Ortiz got down on one knee and petted Dex.

In shock, Mom mouthed to me, “Are you serious?”

“Dex loves him,” I mouthed back.

Ortiz got up and said, “Nice to see you, Mrs. Diaz.”

Ortiz was all confidence. He had the
you can trust your daughter with me
role down to a tee.

“Nice to see you, too,” Mom said. “Where are you headed tonight?”

He turned to me. “A walk on the beach, maybe? Then a coffee?”

“Sounds great,” I said, grabbing a sweater.

Mom nodded with approval. As we stepped out the door, she said, “Have fun, but not too much.”

I rolled my eyes.

The dark cabin of the car was thick with electricity as he pulled out of the driveway. “You look really good,” he said, glancing my way.

“Thanks.” I'd put more than the usual effort in, but hopefully he couldn't tell. I wore my favorite jeans, the faded ones that time had molded to my body, and a white lace shirt with a black cami underneath. I'd initially undone three buttons, which would give him a good peek of cleavage, but the moment I'd heard the doorbell, I'd chickened out and done up two of them.

“I like when you come into the store early in the morning in that big T-shirt and flip-flops,” Ortiz said.

I laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“I'm serious,” he said with a huskiness that made me shiver.

“So are we really going to the beach?” I asked.

“Yeah. We can talk there without any worries.”

We reached the beach in minutes, and Ortiz parked at a strip mall lined with cheesy tourist shops.

The boardwalk was pretty at night. Colorful lights from the hotels and casinos reflected off the water. There was a coolness in the air, so I put on my sweater.

Ortiz took my hand and we walked for a while. Whatever this was, this connection between us, it didn't need words.

“I wanted to bring you here because this is where it started. The Destinos, I mean. It's where we made a pact to take down Salazar.”

“How many of you are there?” I asked.

“Twelve.”

“Seriously? From your reputation, I'd have thought there were more.”

“Good. That's what we want people to think. Believe it or not, twelve of us can do a lot of damage.”

“You guys have proven that. How did you find each other?”

“On the streets. Some of them met in juvie. We were all magnets that stuck together, whether we wanted to or not.”

“Destiny,” I said.

“Yeah. I told them what I planned to do. Told them the risks. I had a mission, and I think they all needed one.”

I watched him, waiting for an answer to the big, obvious question—why was he doing this?

Ortiz reached into his coat pocket and handed me a neatly folded piece of paper. I opened it.

My hand trembled. “Are you Daniel?”

“Yes. It's from my sister.”

“What does it mean?”

He gazed out at the water. It took him a while to find his voice. “I'm from Houston, Madeleina. The shit-hole side of Houston. My mom was . . . I think she was bipolar, but she was such a heavy user it was hard to tell. She died when I was ten and Andrea was fourteen. Auntie did the best she could for us, but she already had three kids.” His mouth twitched, and I could see that it was hard for him to get the words out. “My sister had big dreams for me. She thought I'd go to college, be a big shot someday. She saw an ad online about nanny positions in Miami. Figured she'd moved down here for a couple years and save up some cash. So we could have a better life, the two of us.” He looked out at the horizon. “That was the illusion.”

My heart was in my throat.

“There was no job. They locked her in an apartment, shot her up with drugs, and sent in one john after another. She fought. I know she fought. But she had no chance.”

Tears filled my eyes. “Oh, God.”

“She did it for me. That's the thing. Her dream was for me.” For a few moments, he was far away. I felt the rage pulse through him, the grief. When he came back, his voice was perfectly calm. “She escaped, eventually. I don't even know how she pulled it off on her own, with all the security Salazar puts on the girls, but she did. It was too late, though. She was so broken that she only wanted to escape so she could end it. And she sent me this letter.”

I started to cry, and reached out to touch his arm. “I'm so sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

There was a hollowness in his voice that scared me. Like he'd been hurt so much he'd gone cold.

“She wouldn't want you to feel responsible,” I said.

“I know. It's ironic, though. This letter was supposed to bring me peace. To tell me to move on.” He shook his head. “I couldn't do that. Not when I knew there were others like her.”

“I can't speak for her, but I'm not sure that she'd want you to risk your life for this. I bet she'd want you to be safe.”

“If not me, then who will help those girls?” He looked at me, as if I could actually answer him. “Who?”

But I had no answer.

“It's satisfying, you know. It really is. When I help a girl, I feel better. Every time I fuck with Salazar, I'm happier.”

I knew there'd be no talking him out of this. No coaxing him to a safer path. Ortiz was determined to shut Salazar down no matter what the cost.

Even if it was his own life.

AFTER THE BEACH, ORTIZ BROUGHT ME TO A BAR
in Little Havana filled with cigar smoke and grizzled Cuban men. But I didn't for a second think he'd taken me to the wrong place. The music was the real thing—pure, soulful salsa played by a lone man in a red fedora.

Ortiz led me to an isolated table in a dark corner of the bar. We sat with our backs to a brick wall, pressed close together.

“The performers are always good,” he said. “I come here sometimes to relax.”

I wasn't feeling relaxed right now. Maybe I should try to kiss him. Would that cut the tension between us, or amp it up?

He was studying my face. My lips, to be exact. I suspected we were thinking the same thing. Suddenly shy, I looked away and tried to focus on the guy playing music. I tapped my foot, and he put a hand down on my knee. I wasn't sure if he wanted to feel more of me, or if he was trying to steady me.

“Don't be nervous,” he said. I wished, for once, that he wasn't so good at reading people. I wanted to project confidence, not jitters.

I turned to him. His face was inches from mine, and so beautiful. “Do you, um, come here with the guys?”

“No. We don't go out together. Too risky. I come here alone.”

“Oh.” I fought for something else to say. “So how do you know so much about dogs, anyway?”

“My neighborhood was full of
perros callejeros
—street dogs. Someone had to keep them in line.”

“You're a born leader. Of dogs. Of people.”

He shrugged. “Aren't you in charge of your school newspaper?”

“Yeah, but it's not so easy for me. I'm no alpha dog.”

“Are you sure about that? You're different from most people. You've got a leader's strong energy, but you can play the beta role, too. Like with that friend of yours. The one who was always hitting on me at Sasso's.”

“Iz. We're not exactly friends anymore.”

He looked surprised. “Why not?”

“Because I've been hanging out with Julia and she feels left out. She called it a betrayal.”

“Strong words. You gonna patch things up with her?”

“Hopefully. If she decides to talk to me again.”

The compassion in his eyes surprised me. After all he'd gone through, he actually felt bad about my broken friendship with Iz?

“She doesn't know who she is without you. But you know who you are without her. That's the problem.”

“How can you tell?” I doubted he was watching Dr. Drew like my mom.

He shrugged. “It's just what I see.”

“You see a lot.”

“Hope that doesn't creep you out.”

“Only a little.” Then I smiled. “Your instincts have kept me safe.” That brought something to mind. I might as well go for it. “I need to ask you a question—about the Reyes who attacked me.”

I felt him draw back slightly. I'd gone and killed the mood. But I just couldn't let this go.

“You said it yourself, Madeleina. I've kept you safe.”

“I know but . . . people are saying I'm connected to the cartel. You know why, right?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “There was no other way.”

I turned away from him. I couldn't stand to think of Ortiz or one of his guys cutting off people's fingers, no matter who they were or what they'd planned to do to me.

Ortiz brought my face back to his. “It was that or kill them. If we'd killed them, we'd have even more Reyes to deal with. And I've never killed anyone. The
only
thing that would scare off the Reyes is the cartel.”

“You're not working with the cartel, are you?”

“Of course not. Never. Is that what you thought?”

“I didn't know what to think.”

His mouth made a grim line. “The cartel deals in drugs, not girls. But they're just as sick as the Reyes, trust me.” His hand reached out to touch my face. “I'd do anything to protect you, Madeleina. Anything.”

“Why?”

His hand fell away. He looked at me as if to say,
You really don't know?

“You're the one who works with words, Madeleina. Not me. Anything I say's gonna sound phony, like a line from a soap opera.” His eyes burned into mine, as if he could make me understand. “The strangest thing happened to me that night at Eric's party. It's like you've been with me ever since. In my head, I talk to you, and you get me. In my head, I think about you and what I want to say to you and . . . do to you.”

I swallowed, overwhelmed. And then his mouth was on mine. It was more than a kiss. I breathed him in and our mouths slanted, kissing deeper, devouring each other. My hands fisted the back of his jacket, pulling him closer. I felt him groan, and then his body ground against mine, pressing me into the brick wall.

He muttered something against my ear, something in Spanish, and I felt his lips and teeth against my neck, then he was back to my lips, his tongue sliding in my mouth. I was on a roller coaster, hanging on to him, desperate for him.

My mind flashed with images—of his body against mine, of what it would be like to be naked against him—of me grabbing and tearing at him and urging him on.

We both pulled back at the same time, breathless. Before things got completely out of control.

“Holy fuck.” His hazel eyes had gone quicksilver. His mouth was half open, still hungry, as if he were debating pulling me to him again.

I was gripping his jacket, both holding him close and keeping him away. The kiss in my backyard had been restrained need. This one had been raw, feral hunger.

We'd both known the hunger was there—we'd touched the edge of the fire before. But it still left us stunned.

He took me home at midnight. We had a brief kiss in the dark of the car, then pressed our foreheads together.

“I want you with me,” he said roughly. “All the time. Day and night.”

“Me too. Are you heading home?”

“No.” He sat back, gathering himself. “We're moving someone tonight. Two hours from now.”

“Will you text me when you get home? Just so I know you're safe?”

Something in his eyes softened. “I will.”