Page 3 of Liar

And despite a strong sense of Catholic decency whispering how wrong it is to idolize a man in charge of murdering people, I find my curiosity is piqued—something Diego belatedly picked up on. Leave it to my brother to stir my interest then change his tune entirely.

“Stay far away from him, just like the others. Got it?”

“I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“A bastard, Luciana. An ugly, old bastard with ice in his veins.” Diego had pinned me with that stern, overprotective look of his.

I can’t lose him. My heart won’t survive another bout of grief.

There’s no other choice but a man I know by reputation only, someone my brother respects.

El Bastardo, it is.

My wild card.

I glance down at what I’m wearing, faded gray sweatpants that hang low on my hips and a cropped, pink tank exposing my stomach and upper arms. No time to change. Diego has a fondness for mouthing off. I might not be in time to stop a beating but if I hurry, I can interrupt this whole cartel initiation process and what I suspect is my brother’s half-baked plan to get close enough to Arturo to murder him.

I hope I’m wrong.

But why else would he pledge himself to the Cobras?

I hurry back inside, slide my feet into a pair of pink flip-flops with flowers on the straps, and head out into the dim, depressing streets.

Only fools and criminals roam about at night so I’m careful to keep to the shadows, hugging the walls of homes and shops, which change into run-down industrial buildings and warehouses the further south I head.

If the Bastard is so powerful, so intelligent, why live in this barren wasteland? Why not do as Arturo’s done and take over the nicest section of Loreto?

The thought plagues me, but I can’t give in to my doubts. I have to do something, and fast. I pause as the frame of the dilapidated building I’ve been shadowing ends. An empty, overgrown lot separates this building from the next. I can either continue straight by it or cross the street toward the long line of interconnecting warehouses that trail further up the road.

I step into the street.

That’s when I see them. Men tucked into the shadows of a building. Cartel members, identifiable by the colored bandanas worn around their necks. Green representing the Mexican Machotes. Yellow, the bright symbol of Los Zetas cartel. Black marking the Pitón Salvaje. Red is missing, María Fernanda’s Z22. The snakeskin pattern of the Cobras is also missing as are the purple bandanas of Ignacio’s Sureños. Too busy chasing young girls around the clubhouse table? The Lobos don’t wear bandanas, preferring to blend in with everyone not affiliated with a cartel. This makes it difficult to know if you are buying gas from a real attendant or somegamberroout to rip you off.

The cartels don’t usually rub elbows together. What could they possibly be doing, assembled like this?

A flicker of lights, small yet numerous, spreads out across the darkness, like a wave of fireflies coasting along the streets. A sight that would normally make me feel more appreciative of Loreto’s unpredictable beauty.

But a swarm of fireflies isn’t right.

My fantasy shatters as I recognize what’s causing the dancing lights—moonlight reflecting off scores of steel gun barrels, all pointing south.

I’ve interrupted something big.

An ambush.

I take off running, praying no one noticed me. Hoping the darkness will swallow me up like an oversized blanket.

Shots are fired and dirt kicks up around me. I wince, and my arm burns as a bullet grazes my skin, but I keep moving. To slow down is to be caught ... or worse. I can’t let that happen, even though the road before me seems endless, and my outrunning the men pursuing me hopeless.

The wind’s knocked out of me as I’m slammed to the ground. Hard enough to see stars. Not hard enough to stop me from forming a fist and punching my assailant in the temple. He weighs a ton and his breath smells of sour milk.

My fist connects once more.

“Spy. I will fuck you up right here in the street.”

“Get off me and we’ll see who fucks who up,” I hiss. Yeah, maybe Diego and I have more in common than I’d like to admit.

His weight lifts off me, and before I can catch a breath, he hauls me to my feet.