Page 1 of Tainted Blood

Prologue

Santi

Ten Years Ago

The snow is falling harder now.

It’s settling on the windshield. Fading the whole world to white.

I check my phone again, my pulse kicking into overdrive when I see RJ’s text.

Got it. Call you in five.

I knew it.

I’m already stepping out of the SUV by the time Tito, my cartel-appointed babysitter, shakes his fist at me across the console. “¡Maldito niño estúpido! Get back in the fucking car, kid!”

“I’ll only be a minute.”

“Where the hell are you going?”

I shift my gaze toward the old church. “To prove a point.”

Slamming the door, I make my way across the street, a thick blanket of snow climbing up to my calves and soaking my jeans.

I can hear my father’s voice with every step.

Choices have consequences, Santi.

Even as a reckless thirteen-year-old, I understand the meaning of the phrase, and the warning that comes with it. He’s drilled it into me so many times it’s become like second nature.

Today, I’ve made three choices, but the consequences are still a mystery. The first was crossing the Mexican border into America. The second was my decision to join this war. And the third? That happened ten seconds ago, when I chose to ignore a direct order.

The snow is up to my knees. I decide I’m not a fan as I trudge a path through it, adrenaline rushing through my veins.

I can’t screw this up.

I won’t screw this up.

I glance down at my phone.

Three minutes to go.

I slow my stride as I reach my destination, the muted yellow street lights above me casting a wide glow. With its menacing stone gargoyles, Sacred Heart Church looks out of place on the quiet street in Hasbrouck Heights, New Jersey. It’s a little town right outside Hackensack, coated in Americana and family values. Mom and Pop shops line one side of the narrow streets, while parks and little league fields dominate the other.

Simple.

But that’s another thing I’ve learned. The simplest solutions are often the smartest, like hiding in plain sight, for instance.

While I wait for RJ’s call, my gaze strays toward the jagged New York City skyline. Something stirs inside me. Something I can’t explain. Those bright lights might as well be spelling out my name. One day, I’ll rule the entire East Coast. Not just New Jersey. I’ll take New York too, and the Carreras will rule it all.

My breath comes hot and heavy at the thought, billowing out in front of me like a cloud of smoke. The gun shoved in the waistband of my jeans feels even heavier, pressed against the small of my back. I want it in my hand. I want to feel the grip. To curl my finger around the trigger… To know the power of deciding someone’s fate.

Just as I reach for it, my phone rings.

“Well?”

“Definitely stolen,” he confirms.