Page 27 of Faded Gray Lines

Mateo

October – Four and a Half Years Ago

“Let me go!”

The frantic tone in her voice commanded my attention. Normally, I was oblivious to the incessant chattering of the women who hung around this corner. However, her frightened voice crashed through the barrier I kept between myself and the rest of the people in this part of town. I knew she didn’t belong here without looking up. A voice that sweet and innocent could never blend in among the jaded reality I lived in.

Lost little lamb. Shame.

I forced myself to tune her out. On the streets, we kept our heads down and our minds on our own business. Less blood spilled that way, and I dealt with enough of the stuff during normal business hours.

Just as I counted through the money I’d been paid, a gruff voice carried from across the street. “This isn’t a freeway, baby. This here is a toll bridge, and you’re about to pay up.”

“Stop it! Don’t touch me!” The innocent voice from before shifted from sweet to terrified. It unsettled me, and I fought a natural instinct to look up.

Not my problem.

“Check it out, Julio. We got us a fighter on our hands.” He laughed, and she screamed. “I love when they’re like that. It makes it better.”

Her scream was what did it. Glancing up, I finally saw her—a ray of sunshine bathed in darkness. Golden hair tumbled down her back and settled at the top of her ass. The yellow dress she wore stood out like a siren among the crowd of working women who ignored her pleas. They couldn’t be bothered. She wasn’t one of their own, and time was money.

If I had any common sense, I’d have followed their lead. The darkness had always been where I’d felt most comfortable. It was where I’d found a brotherhood who never judged me for who I was or how I survived.

But the fear in her voice called to me, her yellow dress drawing me in like a moth to a flame. Her eye caught mine, and something passed between us. I knew in that moment that getting too close would end with incineration.

I didn’t care, though, because when they touched her, I saw black.

Not red.

Black.

Cold, blinding, uncivilized rage. A need for them to die a slow death.

The whole time my feet moved, I cursed myself. This was stupid. Part of me wanted to turn around, finish my deal, take my money, and forget I’d heard her voice.

That was the smarter part.

But the part that kept walking had taken control. I had no idea if that part had a hero complex or just a death wish.

Maybe both.

The man groping her had his back to me, so all I saw was his bald head. Which was convenient because when I flipped him around, the tattoo that covered it all the way to his chin provided the perfect target for my fist. Bone splintered against bone, and the girl gasped, stumbling backward as the guy hit the ground with blood spurting from his busted lip.

“Don’t just stand there, Julio,” the guy ordered. “Kick his ass!”

When I turned to take care of Julio, I saw her eyes. They were deep pools of dark-cinnamon stained with raw emotion and untold truths, and she wielded them like a weapon. It wasn’t like me to leave a man unfinished, but they held me captive. Within that split second between Julio rushing forward and me reaching for my gun, they widened in fear. It wasn’t because of my gun. I had it tucked away on the side facing away from her. No, the panic on her face was for me, and what she did next had me breaking all my own rules.

As Julio rushed, the girl jumped in front of him, blocking his path with her arm outstretched. “No!” she screamed, her limbs shaking. “Leave him alone!”

Whereas before, no one gave a shit to acknowledge her, now, the whole street fell silent.

Julio leaned over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at me while flicking his thumb in her direction. “Is this bitch for real?”

I wondered the same thing.

Ignoring him, I stepped forward and whispered into the girl’s ear. “I appreciate the gesture, but, duck.” When she just stood there, I didn’t bother holding in my annoyed grunt.

“Duck?” She turned halfway around, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “What does a duck have to do—”