Page 7 of The Vows We Keep

“By whose measure? Yours? I find them clean and effective. Sodium thiopental has many uses. A barbiturate. A general anesthetic. It can induce medical comas and also stop epileptic seizures. Oh, and of course it can be used for euthanasia. It’s also drug one of three for lethal injection in about thirty states. So, you have to be pretty certain of your dosage.”

I’ve killed many men. The first because my father asked me to. The second because the president of the club realized I could be useful. And the third because he molested Mini in the bathroom of a fast-food restaurant.

The first, I prayed novenas for nine days for his soul.

The second, I placed a vase of cempazúchitl, flower of the dead, next to my bed.

The third, I did nothing because that fucker deserved every bullet.

From the fourth on, I stopped caring. Killing at this point is just rounding numbers.

“You’re going to kill me?” King asks. There isn’t so much as a waver in his voice. If anything, there’s something that sounds like relief.

I smile. “Oh, no. This is the best bit. The right dose of sodium thiopental acts as a truth serum. It stops you from being able to ... what’s the word ...censoryourself.”

“Given what you said, it has the power to stop everything, including your heartbeat. Hope you know what you’re doing with that chemistry set,” he says, looking over at Neva, who rather dramatically flicks the syringe to get the air out.

“Chem major. You’re safe,” she replies, and I smirk. If by chem major, she means the woman who runs her father’s weed grow op and his opium supply chain.

“Don’t do this,” King says looking up at me.

“Then tell me what I need to know.”

3

NIRO

She thinks I’m King.

She’s about to hit me with some fraction of a lethal injection.

She’s looking for a dead Los Reyes we didn’t kill.

I don’t know how you prove a negative. I’m shit with names, but great with faces.

We didn’t kill the man in the photograph because I was there that day in the Pines. I watched those motherfuckers arrive. I watched their formation. And if that patch on the photo is to be believed, that her dad was the VP, then they drove into the clearing in the wrong formation. Because at the front was some punk with half the build and brown hair, not black.

“You can put that in my arm, but I’m going to tell you the same story. I don’t know who that man is.”

“I guess we’ll find out if that’s true or not.”

The woman looks down at me. Still don’t know her name. But she’s hot as fuck. Reminds me of those Russian secret agents inJames Bond—all doe-eyed but holds herself like a killer—except Latina. Hispanic, maybe. With richly tanned skin, thick dark hair and equally dark, intense eyes.

And lips that would look great sucking my cock.

I also need to stall her while I figure out what the fuck I’m gonna do. Or give my brothers a chance to notice I’m missing. Maybe Vex caught the capture on video monitors.

“Don’t I get a last meal?” I’m sobering up fast and can still taste the thought of those chocolate chip cookies on my tongue.

“We’re not killing you.”

“Yet,” Neva adds.

“You know my name. I know your dad’s name. I know Neva’s name seeing you said it earlier. Why don’t you tell me your name?”

“If I thought for a millisecond you needed to know it, I’d tell you.”

I think about Vex’s skills. “I’ll find it out on my own.”