Thinking there was more than disassociating going on here, but who was I to say? I wasn’t a professional, except in gut hunches. I was getting a reputation, with my own street name. How cool was that?

Yeah. Still dissociating. Or something was dissociating. Probably my sanity.

That felt more right.

Raize cursed, crossing and putting his arm around me. “You can’t pass out. I can’t carry you this time.”

He’d carried me another time? When was that? Oh yeah. Oscar’s. Well, I hadn’t passed out that time. He’d taken me kicking and screaming.

I looked down and Gus smiled at me, his tail wagging.

There were three Guses. They were following each other in a circle.

I would’ve loved to have three Guses.

“Sit.” Raize pressed me down to the ground, his hands on my shoulders. He wasn’t rough, just assertive. He was good like that—always knowing the right touch, the right amount of pressure. And that had me remembering another time…

He knelt beside me and pushed my head between my legs. “Breathe. Don’t move until the ground stops moving.”

Yeah. Because that was happening. The ground was a constant ripple, like a gravel river. It was kinda pretty.

Raize was up and talking to someone. I ceased listening. Everything would be fine. Raize was here. He always kept me safe.

Gus licked my face. Man, I really loved my dog.

I threw an arm around him, cuddling his wiggly body up against me, and he started licking the other side of my face. He was having a grand time, cleaning all my liquids. There was probably blood there, mixed with the sweat and tears.

I lifted my head, but the trees started circling around me, so I went back to resting it against my knees.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I could do this.

I felt a little better, but this sucked—always almost dying and then being out of whack because of it. Or killing someone…

You’d think I might stop putting myself in those situations.

But my sister. Brooke.

I was doing this for her.

I didn’t know how, but I’d figure it out. I just had to find her—or find out where she’d gone.

Raize could help me. Maybe I could even tell him about her.

Something bothered me about that… I didn’t know what.

Maybe I wouldn’t tell Raize about her, not yet.

Oh boy.

The ground had stopped its river impersonation, but now I could see stars blinking at me in the gravel.

I was about to pass out. Again.

“Bronski called you Brooke,” Raize said, as if we were having a conversation.

Oh…

No.

Had I?

Dammit.

I looked up and he was staring at me, his phone in hand.

I gulped. “Is someone on that line?”

He looked, as if he’d forgotten he was using it, and shut the screen off. “Bronski called you Brooke before. That’s the name you gave them?”

Shit.

So much shit.

“I was talking out loud?” I whispered.

He ignored that, coming closer. “What other names have you given?”

Brooke.

Miriam.

Suzie.

So many more.

All different names until Girl, then Carrie.

I didn’t reply because he didn’t understand. He couldn’t.

He wouldn’t understand.

But something transpired. He was doing his ‘watching’ thing, and he must’ve seen something because he knelt at my side.

He leaned in, but didn’t touch me.

That was good.

For some reason, I didn’t want him to touch me.

I felt raw. Exposed. I didn’t know why.

Then I was crying again. Or had I stopped? Had I been continuously crying this whole time? Killing and crying? That was kinda badass… or wasn’t it?

Everything was starting to swim around me again.

I didn’t know what was going on.

Until Raize’s voice was soft. “You asked how I knew Estrada?”

The ground was starting to settle, a little.

I heard more, “The sister he mentioned? I know her because she’s mine, too.”

My head snapped up. What?!

26

Ash

He stepped back, standing. “She’s my half-sister—same mother. Her other half is Estrada’s father. He took my mother as a mistress—didn’t care what family she had to leave. My dad’s from Connecticut, but was living down in Oaxaca.” He paused. “He was there for the surfing, met my mom down there. Estrada’s father knew my mom. He threatened to kill me when I was eight. He did kill my dad. I grew up in foster care, went into the army, and when I could, I went in search of my mom. Met my sister for the first time. My mom knew who I was the second I showed up. Morales. He runs the Morales cartel. Estrada was considered a bastard until he just took over another cartel. No one gave a fuck to question where he came from. Morales stepped back, let his son take power in the next region—because he considered Estrada his. But Estrada wasn’t. They hate each other, but they also love each other. The two cartels are linked by blood, and no one knows except the leaders. When I showed up, I got a job for Morales. My sister grew fond of me, started joking that I was like a big brother to her. My mom freaked and sent me to Marco. I don’t know when my sister found out who I was, but at some point, she went to him. She told him, asked that I be allowed into the family.” He stepped closer, enough so I could see his eyes flash. Hard. “He sent a hit squad after me. I got out and went north to the States, as far north as I could. I needed protection, and at the right time, Roman Marakov found me. He found me. He recruited me.” He took a break. I felt the conversation shift. He grew more, just more. I didn’t know what he was before, intent? But it was more now. He knelt back down. “You gotta talk to me. I told you my shit. You tell me yours. You gave your sister’s name because why? I gotta know what storm I’m walking into with you. I can’t see the landmines if I don’t know where to look for them.”

I stared at him, overwhelmed by what he’d shared, but I couldn’t respond.

A lump filled my throat, and I felt tears threatening.

His sister was alive. I didn’t know if mine was.

“What’s your real name?” he asked.

I could not go there. I would not. “Ash.”

“Bullshit. What’s your real name?”

“Miriam.”

His eyes went flat. “What’s your real name?”

I continued, “Sandra.”

“You’re lying.”

I didn’t wait to be asked again. “Melanie.”

I stared at him. Hard. Fierce.

Again, “Suzie.”

And then, “Brooke.”

His eyes lit up, speculating. “Your sister.”

“The first girl I found out he took.”

I had a thing about names.

I saw the thoughts moving. He was connecting the dots.

He said, “Brooke. Suzie. Melanie. Miriam.”

“You missed Sandra.”

“Sandra.”

I felt like fucking cement inside. “My sister fell in love—Leo this and Leo that. All she wanted to do was talk about him. She was obsessed. Then I met him, and I hated him. Didn’t matter. Our mom died, and Brooke needed an escape. He was inside her already, got her taking drugs. Got her skipping school. She ran away. Cops never looked for her. They considered her another junkie runaway. Such a sad fucking cliche story, right?” I didn’t tell him the other times the cops were at my house. I didn’t tell him the looks I got, given the family history. Made so much sense to them, that’s what one social worker said. I wanted to scratch her eyeballs out. “But I knew where she went. You know where she went. Her name was Brooke. Then I found out the other girls he took. Suzie. Melanie. Sandra. Miriam. You came along, and I was Girl. You never asked my name.” I didn’t wait. I whispered, “I have a thing about names.”