{Chapter Fourteen}
I snap back to reality and train my eyes on Angel who is glaring at me.
"You don't even have to do anything, you know there are people who don't take part, they're there for back up. I can make sure you won't have to do anything. Angel, this is the only way. I can't leave, and I can't have this mysterious friend I spend all this time with. They'll find out." I say.
"I know. I know. I just... dammit, why couldn't you be some rich prick with daddy's money? No, you had to be a rich prick with blood money." He mutters.
My veins heat with the frustration; if it weren't for Andre leaving, I wouldn't have to worry about this. No, everyone knows Andre left because he was gay, no one would ever bring it up. They know if they did, it would be the last thing to leave their lips. Yet, Angel grew up in this, why can't he see this is the only way?
"You know this is the only way." We both hear my unspoken words, it's the only way to keep us both alive.
"You do realize I just got the shit beat out of me, getting beat in right now? Not the brightest idea."
I know he's right, as always. I can't beat him in when he's already suffering fractured limbs and probably internal bleeding. If I wait they're going to get suspicious, though.
Fuck.
"When you get out of the hospital. You won't be beat quite as horribly, though. No broken bones." I say with a playful tone. He doesn't look amused, but sighs.
"Fine. Fuck, you're a pain in my ass." I brighten at this but he continues. "I'm not having any part of that shit. I'm not selling anything, not buying shit, none of that. I'm under the radar and unless something horrible happens, I'm not to be bothered. And by horrible I mean everyone is dying and we're under attack by aliens or cops."
Just that small statement of 'we're' gives me hope. I can't counter this, he has every right to choose not to partake. No one is going to be suspicious of it either. He's the son of our late enemy, there are still people who would love to hurt him, so no one will question his motives. It's perfect.
"That's completely fine, when are you being released?"
"Tomorrow, or the day after. They have to make sure I'm stable. I am now but they're worried my body may still fail and go into a coma." I don't like the sound of that, but I don't comment on it. I don't need him to see just how worried I am about this; him being in the hospital and having to be beat in.
Instead I just nod and sit on the edge of the small hospital bed next to him. I reach up and cup his face with my hands. I run my finger over his cheek, feeling his stubble against my fingertips, the warmth of his skin radiating into mine. God, this man could ask me to jump off a cliff and I would do it without a second thought.
He's perfect.
"Have I told you I'm glad you're okay? You have no idea how worried I was when I came here at first." I say. I run my fingers down his jawline, caressing his plump lips with my finger. He averts his eyes and shifts slightly on the bed. The heart monitor beeps a bit faster and I smirk at that.
"Shut up," he mutters. I lean down and press my lips softly against his. I savor the relief that's still flooding through me after the worry of him being severely injured, if not on his death bed.
"Angel," I pull away and look into his eyes.
"Don't." He warns.
"What?"
"Don't say it unless you truly mean it. Don't say it because you think it will make me happy or feel better, say it because it's the truth."
"I'd say some sappy shit to make this sweeter but I took a few vicodins before I came here and I'm a bit high so I can't think of much. So I'll just say it, because it is the truth, and I want you to know. I love you, Angel. I'm glad your ass dented my hood." His cheeks color red in frustration while he facepalms and scrubs his hand down his face.
"Yeah, I'm glad you ran me over, too."
"I hit you, there's a difference."
"Of course, dear." He counters sarcastically. "Now get over here."
He manages to pull me down with his good hand so I'm lying down next to him. I rest my head on his chest and smile as my eyes close.
"Who knew the big bad gang leader would like to cuddle." Angel muses.
"Only for you, baby," I mumble. Nausea and exhaustion wash over me, and my eyes shut as a fuzzy feeling washes over me.
"Isaiah, get your fat ass up," Angel says. I open my eyes and realize light is shining through the blinds. Which means it's morning, Angel must be getting released. I don't have to ask because he's no longer wearing a hospital gown. A black shirt is covering the minor cuts and scrapes on his chest, a pair of black jeans and boots, with a white cast on his arm to prevent movement.
"Are you just going to stand there to stare or are you going to lead the way to your car?" I blink and nod as I rub the sleep from my eyes. I head towards the exit with Angel by my side, and with every step, I'm reminded of the decision we came to yesterday.
We'll have to do that today.
At least the docs gave Angel a week supply of painkillers; he won't be feeling anything for a while.
~ ~ ~
"You know what you're getting into?" I say. Ángel nods, his posture confident but eyes swirling with worry.
"Yes."
"Once you become a part our family, there is no going back. If you betray our family, leave our family, we have no other choice than to come after you for hurting us. Do you understand?" Everyone is crowded around, forming a circle around us and cheering, sadistic smiles and laughs fill the room. The excitement radiating off everyone in waves is almost tangible. A heavy feeling, making the room stuffy and hot, leaving the taste of bile in my mouth. It's disgusting how excited they are about watching someone get beat, to near death.
"Yes."
I can't say anything after Angel agrees with a strong tone in his voice. He's sure about this, he knows what he's getting into. The fact that he's getting into this life again for me, truly amazes me. Although, if I pussyfoot around this any longer, everyone is going to grow suspicious. So I do what's expected of me.
I swing my fist from my side to Angel, connecting hard with his cheekbone and busting the stitch on his lip. Blood pours down his mouth, onto the cement floor that has seen far worse than a few drops of blood.
The next blow is to his stomach, causing him to groan and double over while his casted arm wraps around his stomach. I throw my leg into his shins, causing him to fall completely to the floor.
The next few minutes are a blur consisting of punches, kicks and blood. Everyone is cheering, almost rioting with how excited they are, how pleased they are to watch someone beat the hell out of another man.
The entire ordeal takes less than ten minutes, but those ten minutes have to be in the top ten of worst moments I have experienced. Right up there with beating Andre out and waking up to my parents being gone.
I thought I did something wrong, for the longest time. I thought they hated me. I didn't understand why my parents would leave me to grow up in this horrible place. By the age of sixteen I had already killed someone, done every drug known to man, been arrested, bailed out, beat, shot at, shot in the leg, stayed in a nut house. For years I tried to kill myself, just so I would never have to live another second in this life. The worst part is, everyone was to high or just too much of an asshole to give a fuck that this twelve year old is opening his wrists in the bathroom.
What parents would leave their child in this life? What kind of parents are so cruel to allow all of this to happen to their baby? I'll never understand it.
Now I don't care, beating Andre out was the moment I realized I would never leave this. This is my life now, and for the first time ever, I accepted it. I don't want to leave anymore, not when I've screwed up so much. What employer would hire an ex-mental patient with a criminal record and no high school degree? No one will ever hire me, and I need to survive. I do that well here, I make more money than a lot of people could dream to make in their lives.
No, I don't need to leave, I don't need a blue collar job and a house with a white picket fence. All I need is my Angel, and with him by my side I can continue with this shit and keep us happy.
I extend my hand out to Angel to help him up. He takes my hand, his having dried blood and spit coating his normally soft hands. I pull him up and into a half hug where I pat him on the back.
"Welcome, to the family."
Everyone cheers, overzealous about Angel joining, and being able to watch me beat him. I don't understand how they can be so excited over that, although maybe when I'm in my thirties, I'll finally be able to understand.
Angel gets swallowed by people, welcoming him, girls grinding against him, guys patting his back. I can tell he isn't enjoying the warm welcome, and I don't blame him. This isn't a college frat, or a club to have fun in. This life is dangerous, he could be killed, he may have to kill, and regardless if it's necessary or not, that's blood on his hands for the rest of his life.
No one should be forced into this, let alone choose it.
"Alright guys, lay off. He needs to get back to class." I say. They grumble and shout that he doesn't need college anymore when he has us. Nor Angel or I dispute those comments, and instead Angel follows me out of the disgusting crack den.
Surprisingly enough the house has gotten worse since the last time I was here. The carpet is disintegrating, the walls have so many holes I can see the inside of the bathroom from the living room, and the smell. A mixture of skunk and burning rubber with a hint of sewage, stale vomit, sweat and sex.
We leave the house, walking through dead weeds and grass to my car. The expensive red sports car looks so out of place in this neighborhood full of drug addicts and homeless. No one pays any mind to it, of course, being that they're high or barely alive to notice such a valuable thing up for the taking.
I click the remote and the locks release, allowing us entry into the clean, leather-scented space, a relief from the stench of the neighborhood. Angel sits gingerly in the car, occasionally shutting his eyes in pain. We both shut our doors and I turn the key but I keep the car in park.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"I know." He doesn't say anything more and I don't expect him to.
We drive in silence to my hotel, the dingy, run down, one star hotel. The place is crawling with drug addicts and prostitutes, some are drug addict prostitutes, selling their body for their next fix.
I help Angel into the room, help him clean up, and the entire time we're silent. I help him onto the bed and he falls asleep, still not having said a word to me.
While he sleeps I clean up the room a bit. I pick up dirty clothes and toss them in a corner, throw away empty bottles, food wrappers, and baggies that once held drugs. But when I'm done, I take a seat on the uncomfortable bed.
The filthy comforter is balled up in the corner, leaving just the white sheets to hide the piss and jizz stains on the mattress. I glance at Angel, noticing how much more relaxed he is when he sleeps, his lips are parted slightly, his thick eyelashes lying still under his eyes. I look away as I place my elbows on my knees and cup my face in my hands.
What was I thinking? This can't work. At some point in the future, be a week from now or ten years from now, one of us is going to slip up. We're going to say something, or do something that shows who we really are. They'll find out, eventually, and when that day comes, they will kill us.
Faggots have no place in any gang.
"Isaiah," Angel says. His voice is hoarse, his eyes shining with tired tears. "Don't do that. Come here."
I follow his instructions without pause and I crawl across the bed to lay next to him. He smiles but winces slightly with the pain of his busted lip. He rests his head on my chest and I wrap my arms tight around him.
"This was my decision. I did it because I love you." His tired voice tells me.
I know, mi amor, and I'm doing this because I love you.