Page 16 of Blackwood

Zeke struggles, but Carlos shoves him hard. Zeke hits the wall, panting, fists bloody. I rush in and grab him, pulling him back into the hallway.

“Zeke, it’s okay. I got him. We need to go, now!” I’m rambling, breathless, trembling.

A gunshot.

For a second, the house goes silent. Like even the walls couldn’t believe it.

Then Mariela screams.

Zeke and I run toward the screaming. We get to the master bedroom and Dylan’s on the floor.

Small.

Still.

Blood spread beneath him, a dark halo against the cream carpet. The gun still clutched in his little hand. Too big. Too heavy.

Mariela is sobbing in Spanish, collapsed against the wall, hands over her face. Zeke lets out a noise I’ve never heard before—part gasp, part growl, part broken plea—and drops to his knees.

“No,” I whisper, stumbling forward. “No, no, no, no.”

But I know. Even before I touch him, I know. His eyes are open. Empty. His chest doesn’t rise.

My hands hover over his body. I don’t know what to do. What to fix. What to scream. Zeke presses his forehead to the floor beside Dylan’s body, his bloodied fists balled so tight they shake.

“I hid him,” I choke out. “I told him to hide. I told him we were going to get out. Zeke why would he—”

“Because he was fuckin’ terrified,” Zeke rasps. “And he thought that was all he had left.”

Tears blur everything. I can feel the numbness setting in. He’d taken the gun. He’d taken the choice. Because we hadn’t made it back fast enough.

Raised voices echo down the hall. Carlos and Vince screaming at each other. Something crashes. A door slams. Loud. Violent. Then silence.

The bedroom door bursts open. Carlos storms in like a loaded weapon, all twitching fury and barely leashed violence. His shirt is unbuttoned, stained with sweat and alcohol.

He looks into the room, his eyes land on Dylan’s body and widen. A beat of shock. Then… nothing. No sadness. No grief. Just cold calculation.

He turns to Zeke. Picks up the gun and points it at him. Mariela cries out. I scream. Zeke doesn’t move.

“You just cost me the biggest sale of my fucking life, boy,” Carlos hisses, voice slurring around the stench of whiskey. “Lost me a real important ally. Vince was a major customer. A major connection.”

He stalks forward, pistol still aimed at Zeke’s chest. “If I can’t fix things with Vince,” he says, lips curling back, “it’ll be you sitting in a pool of blood next time. You understand?”

Zeke stays still. Carlos tilts his head. Smiles a grotesque, slow thing.

“And once you’re gone,” his eyes slide to me. “There won’t be anyone left to keep me from that sweet little ass of a sister you’ve been playing bodyguard for.”

He laughs, once. Low. Dead inside. “No more protector. No more rules. Just me… andIsabella.”

Zeke moves so fast I barely see it. One second, he’s frozen in shock, the next he lunges and cracks his fist across Carlos’s face. The sickening crunch echos through the room as Carlos stumbles back, blood spraying from his nose.

“You slimy, twisted piece of shit,” Zeke snarls, breath hitching with rage. “Say her name like that one more time, go ahead. I’ll shove your teeth so far down your throat, you’ll be choking on ‘em.”

Carlos raises the gun to Zeke’s face. Zeke freezes.

“Brave now, aren’t you, boy?” Carlos sneers, blood running down his lip. “You think you’re some little hero?”

He steps closer. “You’re not a man. You’re not even a real threat. Just another mouth I’m legally required to feed. And trust me, the clock’s ticking.”