Spiders are crawling over me, and I'm in a jungle surrounded by webs, but no matter how much I swat my arms, the critters keep coming. A machete appears in my hand, so I hack through the sticky labyrinth, looking for a way out. However, it's useless. With each step, more spiders latch on, to the point I can no longer see my flesh underneath them. The only thing I can do is chop off my limbs so they can't bite them anymore. Taking a deep breath, I raise the sharp blade and bring it down with a thwack!

I flinch awake, my heart racing.

Fuck. That was a wild dream. I pat myself down, and thankfully, my body is still intact, but my arms are tingling all over. I must have fallen asleep with my head resting on them, which would explain the sensation crawling up my arms like little bugs.
The clock on the wall shows that two hours have passed since requesting to speak with an attorney. Maybe I'm never getting out of here?

However, there's a familiar voice somewhere distance, so I rub my eyes with a yawn and listen.

"I said, which one is he in?" my mother barks, and the shadow of her silhouette moves behind the closed blinds of the interrogation room windows.

"Now, Mrs. Gomez, you cannot come here and boss us around. If you continue this charade, we will escort you out."

"I'm not leaving my son alone with you crooks for another second!" my mom exclaims. "Now, show me where he is."

The interrogation room door flies open, and in marches, my mother, with her platform wedges, clomping across the scuffed linoleum floor. She must have been running errands because she's wearing skinny jeans and a black leather jacket with her hair quaffed in a stylish bun and her purse slung over one shoulder. She smells like her sweet perfume, too.

"Don't tell them another word, Mijo. I've brought your attorney," she says, her face twisted in a scowl.

An older man is with her, wearing a designer pinstripe suit and a gold watch that probably costs more than my bonus check from Augusta. He rests his Italian leather briefcase on the table and flicks the lock release buttons with a clack clack. Then, he glances over his shoulder at Shapiro in the doorway.

"We need privacy and the camera off."

Shapiro rolls her eyes but closes the door, and my new lawyer waits until her shadow retreats from the windows before turning to me.

"Alright, Miguel. I am Henry Kominsky, and your mother hired me to represent you. From what your girlfriend told me, the police have no tangible evidence against you."

"But what about his friends?" my mom asks. "They confessed."

He shrugs. "It doesn't look good, and if this goes to trial, they'll use that against him, which means we have to be smart and devise a solid plan."

"What will happen with my friend Jackson? They said they would offer him a deal. What does that mean?"

"Likely, they'll try to get him to rat on you so he gets less time. I'll look into it."

"Jackson wouldn't sell himself out. He's not like that. If he refuses a deal, what happens?"

"Depends. They might want to get a trial out of this. Perhaps one with a jury, which means his fate will be in the hands of twelve strangers."

"I see." I stare at the table. "And if they find the body?"

Henry looks up from his glasses. "Will they find one?"

"Shapiro said she's going to get a judge to sign off on a warrant to search my storage shed and property."

"I see." Henry scribbles across the notepad, then turns it to face me.

It asks if the body is buried there, with the words yes and no in capital letters. He taps no, but I don't respond, so he taps yes, and I blink slowly.

"Dios mío..." my mother mutters, and I try avoiding her gaze.

"Hmmm." Henry rubs his chin. "Did they offer you a deal, too?"

"They said something about reducing my sentence to five years and early parole."

"That's not bad." He nods and begins tapping his pen against the notepad. "Your girlfriend explained they want something from you. Dirt on the Abramovitz family and about what happened last night. Why do they think you would know these things?"

My gaze slides from him to my mom, then back again. "I don't know what they think I know, but I know some things. Not sure what help it would be, though."

"Well, it's something. First, let's work on getting you out of here. If they're not making an arrest, then you're free to leave. Give me a few minutes." He stands and collects his things.

"Thank you, Mr. Kominsky."

"Don't thank me yet. We still have a lot of warm shit to wade through."

∆∆∆

It's almost supper time, and we're sitting around my dining table, going over details with my lawyer about the timeline the night Chloe killed Barry. Sometimes, he'll stop, ask questions, and continue taking notes as I spill my guts. My mom and Steve are sitting in the living room, drinking coffee and whispering to themselves about the closet my mom wants to renovate to fit all of the shit she loves to shop for. Shoes. Handbags. The dresses she wears on dates with Steve, and he's more than willing to make her wishlist come true.

The woman is a damn princess, but I have to admit that I love how in love Steve is with her.

My mom is in good hands, and I like seeing her happy.

Every once in a while, Cha Cha will trot over, rest her little paws on my knee, and stare with pleading eyes until I scratch her head. The loyalty that dogs give humans is such an unwavering, unconditional one, and all they ask for in return is love and protection. If only people were that simple. I glance at Angie. She's in the kitchen, scrubbing every surface, and has barely looked at me since we got home. It could be anxiety, or she might be mentally setting Chloe ablaze for betraying me.

One thing is for sure: I could learn something from Steve.

A partner is supposed to bring you peace, not chaos, but Angie and I have never truly been each other's peace. For a glimpse, we got to experience some bliss, and I want to get back to that, but the future is uncertain.

Our future is uncertain.

Angie flinches from the sudden banging on the door, and our gazes meet. Steve stands, his hand subconsciously going to his hip where he used to carry a gun for thirty years.

"I've got it, Miguel," he says.

Each step he makes toward the door booms in my chest like a subwoofer. Maybe it's the cops returning to arrest me? However, that would mean they not only got a judge to sign a warrant, but they also searched the storage shed in under a few hours.

Impossible.

Yet, I clench my jaw anyway, bracing for the cuffs to be slapped around my wrists.

As soon as Steve opens the door, Alma comes barreling inside, and I foolishly exhale a sigh of relief.

"Oh, so you're sitting here comfortable with a damn lawyer while Jackson is in jail. You're a fucking asshole, Miguel! I ought to chop your damn balls off since you don't need them. Fucking coward."

"Hey!" I stand. "What did you expect me to do? Jackson confessed."

"I expect you to be there with him, so he's not alone!"

"How was I supposed to know Jackson would incriminate himself?"

"Fuck you! You're here cozy with a fancy lawyer. Meanwhile, Jackson can't afford one." She places her hands on her tiny baby bump and begins pacing. "It's bad enough my ex-husband's parents still have custody of my kids, and now this? I should have known you weren't a real friend to Jackson. You only look out for yourself!"

"Alma..." Angie steps closer. "You can't blame Miguel for this."

"Oh, yes, I can! Him with his shitty ideas."

Angie takes a deep breath and places her hands on her hips, a wash rag still in hand. "Yes, and one of those shitty ideas got you saved from being shipped off to lord knows where to be pumped full of drugs and sold to sweaty men paying for a chance at your snatch. Or did you forget?"

Alma sucks back hot tears. "It's not fair."

"Not shit, but this isn't Miguel's fault," Angie continues. "He only went to Chloe's that night because Evan told him she was in trouble, and when he arrived, Jackson was already there. Remember? Jackson also made the choice not to go to the police. No one forced him. Besides, Chloe ratted to the cops and pointed her finger at Jackson and Miguel, so you should direct your ire at her."

"Whatever." Alma turns away and glares at me with watery eyes. "What are you going to do to help him?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know!?"

"This isn't his fault," Angie repeats, but Alma isn't thinking rationally.

"Stay out of it, hoe!"

Angie reels back. "What did you just say to me?"

"Ladies..." I place myself between them. "We're not going to accomplish anything by bickering."

"Fuck off, Miguel!" Alma wipes her eyes.

"Hey." I rest my hands on her shoulders. "Jackson is my best friend. I'm not going to let him rot." I turn to my lawyer. "Can you represent him, too?"

"That's not wise. Right now, the detectives are probably working with the DA to present a deal to Jackson and have him turn against you."

Alma folds her arms. "Jackson isn't a snitch."

Henry teeters his head. "When prison awaits, and you've got a lot to lose, like a baby on the way, you'll do anything to get less time."

"And if he can't find a good lawyer to fight for him?" she asks.

"If he gets a court-appointed attorney, there is a chance the lawyer might see him as just another case to be cleared from the roster."

"Miguel, you have money." Alma turns to me, wiping away more tears. "A shit ton of it. You can hire a good lawyer for him. We can't leave him alone in there. Jackson is strong but not prison-strong. It will destroy him. He won't come out of there the same person." She takes my hands and brings them to her face, pleading. "Please, help me. Help him. Help us. Forget what I said earlier. I'm sorry. I'm just mad as hell and desperate. Please, Miguel. Don't abandon him."

"I'm not going to abandon him. We'll figure something out."

"I can't do this alone..." She drops her gaze, her trembling hands returning to her tiny baby bump. "We need Jackson."

"You won't do this alone," Angie says. "I'll go with you to ultrasounds and throw you a baby shower. I'll even help you push when you give birth."

Alma inhales sharply, her eyes wide. "You think Jackson will still be in prison when I give birth?"

"No, I just meant--"

But Alma wails, her body swaying as she covers her face and cries heavy sobs that leap into my chest and reverberate. My mom approaches and takes her by the elbow.

"Come on, mamita. You should sit down." She guides her to the couch. "I'll make us some tea."

For the rest of the afternoon, we talk strategy for my case, and Henry seems like a hell of a lawyer who will fight for me, but I can't help but think of Jackson and what will happen with him.

Night comes, and while Angie sleeps with her arm draped across my bare chest and the serene sensation of her naked breasts against my skin, I find myself wide awake. Augusta is gone, which means I no longer have her protection. She's not here to whisper to a judge to go easy on me or Jackson. Chloe can get fucked, though.

What will happen if Jackson can't find a good lawyer?

Sure, I have the money Augusta gave me, but I can't let my mom pull from her savings to pay for Henry. So, I selfishly need the dirty cash for myself.

Brushing a few curls away from Angie's face, I study her eyes, shifting under their lids as she snores quietly, lost in a dream. It's wild how we ended up here. I couldn't stand this woman before and wanted her as far away from me as possible, but now? I don't want to let her go.

She is part of me, and I am part of her.

Maybe it's a trauma bond.

Or maybe two broken souls can find one another and mend the shattered pieces of their hearts when others can't?

Angie figured out a way to burrow into the nucleus of my being and alter it with the traces of her love. So if I lose it now...

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth while I trace my finger down the tip of her nose, absorbing the warmth of her body pressed to mine. When I inhale, my nostrils fill with the intoxication of her passionfruit hair wash, and I think about how Jackson doesn't get to hold Alma tonight.

He might not touch her again for a long time. Or see their baby until they are much older.

Coiling one of Angie's curls around my fingers, I recall how Alma said that Jackson isn't prison-strong and won't come out of there the same person.

She's right.

Jackson was built to run into burning buildings and rescue people--to be a hero. However, the night we saved Alma, he lost sight of himself as he beat the fuck out of that Hellion. He reached into the abyss of his soul where demons live and hurled out a malevolent man I had never seen before. If Jackson goes to prison, he will lose himself in the chaos of having his cortisol levels jacked from looking over his shoulder for shanks aimed at his kidneys, day after day.

To survive, my friend will become the violent man I saw that night at the raid, and he will leave prison as someone none of us recognize.

Then it hits me.

I know what I must do when morning comes.

So, I close my eyes, and my lungs deflate with the realization as I wrap my arms around Angie. Too many poor decisions and mistakes have been made in my haste to protect the people I love, but it's time I grow up. It's time I atone for my sins. I will make a deal and give the detectives what they want, but only if they let Jackson go.

I will take the blame.

I will take the fall for his part in getting rid of Barry's body.

I will serve the maximum sentence if I have to.

Unlike my previous choices to help the people I love, this one is the right decision, and I finally fall asleep.

*
*
*

We are so so close to the end, and I realized today that I've been writing this damn book for 3 years 😳💀😂

I'm ready to move onto book two in the series now lol.

That said, I'm writing a little bonus book that is part of this same universe for the Open Novella Contest 👀. So, it will be a short read. I know, I know... I can't help myself 🤦🏽‍♀️

Look for this one on Sunday 😎

Description:
When Mara Santiago is laid off from work and dumped by her boyfriend, she moves in with her parents. Struggling to find another job as a ballerina, she begins working as a go-go dancer at Penthouse—a high-end nightclub in San Francisco where her brother Lucas bartends. He warns that underneath the glitz and glam is a dangerous world she should stay away from, but Penthouse pays well, and Mara is determined to get back on her feet.

One night, an older gentleman tips her handsomely. At first, it seems like a one-time thing, but his generous tips continue. Curious, she asks him why. After all, she’s a go-go dancer, not a stripper. He confesses he overheard her talking about her struggles, and he wanted to do something kind.

However, it’s not the only reason. 

Enzo Esposito is looking for a “companion.” If Mara agrees to accompany him to important work events and dinners, he’ll pay her a thousand dollars each time. No strings attached. Not even hanky panky. The offer is too tempting. So, Mara agrees.

But nothing is ever that simple—especially regarding to whom she entrusts her heart. Not when there is a murderer on the loose, with sights possibly set on her.