⊰ 4 ⊱ My Brother's Keeper

No one talks about how the first man that you choose to give yourself to holds power over you—even if it’s the slightest bit of it.

I guess that’s why you’re not supposed to give your virginity to a man you’ve just met.

Although, the problem wasn’t that I gave it to him. The problem was that it was him I gave it to.

Still, he was kind to me. Instead of up and leaving immediately after deflowering me, he stayed and held me until morning came and I sprung up from my bed when I heard my brother’s car pull into the driveway.

I gasped loudly, my hands trembling with adrenaline as I tapped on Marcel’s shoulder, anxiously calling, “Marcel! My brother’s home!”

When his eyes snapped open, he didn’t seem remotely fazed, and in that moment, I should’ve known. I should’ve known that the man who merely appeared interested in the fact that the girl sitting in his car was the sister of the town’s infamous thug, and not cautious, was someone who was far more menacing than the thug himself. After all, he did warn me that he was dangerous. I just didn’t think he could be much worse than the man I was living with.

But I was wrong.

He was worse.

He is so much worse.

My gaze lingers on the pair of men laying out the money from the duffle bag on the kitchen counter, counting it for Marcel as he eyes me. With my arms crossed beneath my breasts, I occasionally shoot him a sideways glance, attempting to swallow the dryness in my throat. While I’m sure that I have an idea of what the gravity of the situation is, I’m almost desperate to walk to the fridge and grab a cold bottle of water.

That is until I remember that there’s a half-full glass still sitting on my nightstand.

Am I allowed to move..?

My gaze falls back to Marcel as he leans back on the black stool. After releasing me from his hold, he pushed me back onto the bed and sat back down without saying a word. Well, without saying anything other than his command to his minions, telling them to count his money.

I’m just drinking water. Where the hell am I gonna go?

I swallow my cowardice and reluctantly stand up, straightening on my feet. The pair of eyes that scrutinize me make me falter, and as a shaky breath passes my lips, I reluctantly turn on my heels and cautiously move to the nightstand. Outside of my skin, you can hardly see the quiver in my hand as I reach for the glass and bring it up to my lips.

It’s puny, but the cold water kissing my tongue is a relief that briefly makes me forget that there’s a bullet in Marcel’s gun with my name on it.

It’s funny, really.

That day, I thought that there was a bullet in my brother’s gun with his name on it.

I had considered begging him to jump out the window until I remembered that my bedroom didn’t have a window and his best bet was to sneak out the backdoor while I attempted to distract Levi.

Out of my bedroom, I hurried to the front door, practically sprinting down the hall only to find that Levi was already standing in the kitchen. His hand, bruised and bloody, was wrapped around the refrigerator handle, his gaze fixed on the leftovers from the rice and honey garlic chicken I’d made the night before he left.

“Hey…” I called nervously as I looked at his swollen knuckles. “Are you okay?” My voice quavered ever-so-slightly as I furrowed my eyebrows in concern.

He arched a brow, averting his hazel green eyes to meet my own. I didn’t notice the bruise on his cheek until he turned his head to me, allowing the refrigerator door to shut before him. “I’m good,” he responded nonchalantly as he lowered his wounded hand, subtly attempting to hide it from me. “You’re up early.”

“Let me look at that,” I dismissed his acknowledgment, moving around the kitchen island and toward him.

“Mercy…”

I ignored him, taking his hand into my own. “What the hell did you do?!” My voice was louder than I intended, my eyes snapping up to his as he pulled his hand away from me.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, turning his head away from me.

“Fine?” I mused as I impulsively grabbed his square jaw, snapping his head to the side. There it was: a large purple bruise on the side of his face and a busted lip. “You don’t look fine, Levi. What the hell happened?”

He shot me a look I was all too familiar with, the one that said he wasn’t going to tell me anything but would be grateful if I helped him clean himself up.

I sighed hopelessly, motioning for the chair at the dining table. “I’ll get the First Aid kit,” I muttered in defeat, but before I could turn toward the cupboard, his hand suddenly grabbed my arm, protectively pulling me out of his way and behind him.

An audible gasp parted my lips, my head snapping to the side only to find Marcel standing just before the hallway, a few feet away from Levi and I.

“Mercy…” Levi’s voice, threateningly low, resonated with caution, warning me, “Go to my room, and don’t come out until I tell you to.”

He pointed across the kitchen, down the opposite direction from where Marcel stood with a smirk on his lips and a flash of amusement in his eyes—a look I hadn’t seen on his face before.

My heart was at my throat, pounding as I pressed, “Levi? What’s going on..?”

“You’re high,” Marcel’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, my gaze averting to meet his golden-brown irises as I lower the now empty glass from my face, placing it on the back nightstand.

Not high enough…

Without a word, I walk back to the foot of the bed, and I lower myself back onto it.

“What happened to you, doll?” He almost sounds sincere, curiosity gleaming from his hard features as he retorts, “You used to be so…innocent.”

I scoff lightly, amused at the reminiscence of my naivety. There are moments that I wish that I could go back, moments that I wish that I didn’t know everything that I know now.

Oblivion is bliss.

I breathe out, unfortunately, “I grew up.”

After that day, I stopped trying to make friends because it stopped mattering that I didn’t have any. It stopped mattering that without my brother, I was utterly alone.

It was better to be alone than to make the same mistake again—or so I told myself.

I paced in Levi’s room, my heart thumping wildly against my chest, each step a painful second of waiting. When the door finally swung open, the knob nearly punched a hole in the wall, Levi storming in, his face contorted with rage as his eyes blazed like a wildfire.

“When I tell you to do something, you fucking do it!” He snarled, his voice resonating with a fury unlike anything I’d ever seen from him.

I flinched, stepping back involuntarily. “Stop it…” I whispered, my voice barely a tremble in the air. “You’re scaring me…” The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as his presence loomed over me.

It was evident that Levi knew more about Marcel than I did, and as naive as I was, he didn’t have to spell it out for me. I knew that I had fucked up.

His anger didn’t wane. If anything, it only intensified when I lowly asked, “Who was that?”

He didn’t respond immediately, his nostrils flaring as he took long, deep breaths, attempting to settle his rage. For a moment, it seemed as though he was searching my features for a hint of jest on my behalf, and when he realized that he wasn’t going to find it, he scoffed in disbelief.

“You slept with him and you don’t even know who he is?”

His words stung, a harsh reminder of how I had blindly walked into the lion’s den. While I knew that it wasn’t going to take a genius to figure out why Marcel was standing in the middle of our home, I could feel my face flush at my shame.

And if I wasn’t utterly mortified before, I was when he said, “Marcello Saldívar.”

A deafening silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. Levi’s expression changed, his anger morphing into something darker. He paused, his gaze piercing as though he could see right through me. His jaw clenched tightly and he seethed through his teeth, “You fucked the son of the man who killed mom and dad.”

“One million, boss,” the deep voice of the bald headed man echoes as he tosses the last brick of cash into the duffle bag, pulling me out of my thoughts once more. The sound of him zipping it shut makes a string of chills shoot down my spine, fear of what Marcel plans to do next looming over me like gray skies with the promise of a storm.

I watch as Marcel rises from the stool, a thoughtful look playing on his hard features. I expect him to turn to his buddies, to give me a moment to try to calm my nerves, but he never does. Instead, he moves toward me, and before I have a chance to attempt to move away from him, he grabs me by my arms and pulls me back onto my feet.

“No!” I cry, but it’s useless. He tightens his hold on me, daring me to fight back.

“Relax, doll,” he hums, and in the next moment, he throws an arm around me, pulling me into his side. His unoccupied hand reaches into the lapel of his suit jacket, and when I think he’s going to draw his gun, I’m surprised when he draws his phone instead.

He navigates to the camera app with the pad of his thumb, waving his phone up in front of us. He turns his head toward me, pressing his lips against my cheek as he captures the distasteful moment with pride.

With this, he shoves me back onto the bed, a yelp tearing from my lungs.

“Now, let’s see how long it takes for your brother to get me the rest of my money,” he says as his thumbs tap on the screen.

I furrow my eyebrows, tears filling my eyes as I ask, “What are you doing..?”

He chuckles darkly, telling me, “I’m giving him an incentive to bring me my money.”

“But you have your money!” I argue.

He arches a brow, and this time, when his gaze lifts from his phone, it finds me once more. “No. You see, Mercy: when someone steals from me, regardless of whether the money finds its way back into my hands, they owe me twice as much plus 50% interest compounded daily for each day that it’s missing.”

What..?

With the phone in his hand, he waves it at me. “You’re smart,” he says. “Dime muñeca."

("Tell me, doll.")

"It’s been two days since he disappeared with that bag,” he nods at the duffle bag still sitting on the counter. “How much does he owe now?”

“You’re insane…” I mutter, wearing disgust on my face like the smirk he wears on his lips.

“Wrong answer, Mercy.” My disdain only serves to satisfy him, and just when I think he can’t be any more repulsive, he urges me, taunting me condescendingly, “You can do it. Tell me, doll. How much does he owe?”

Screw you.

He arches a brow, crossing his arms as he presses, “I’m waiting.”

I clench my jaw, my nostrils flaring. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of answering, but when he suddenly reaches back into the lapel of his jacket, taking his gun from the holster, I mutter, “Four million, five-hundred thousand.”

He raises his eyebrows excitedly, exclaiming, “Atta girl!”

It’s hard for me to believe that Levi would do this to me. It’s hard for me to imagine that he’d take the time to track me down only to break into my apartment, drop off a bag of money, and disappear without so much as a hello.

Then again, he’s done it before. Except the last time he did it was right before I left for college and it wasn’t money that didn’t belong to him nor was it anywhere near the amount sitting in that duffle bag.

What the hell did you get yourself into, Levi..?

Silence falls for a brief moment, and in the next, an audible buzz emits from his phone. My heart skips a beat, watching him reach for it. He glances at the screen, a glint of satisfaction beaming in his eyes as he sings, “Well, what do you know? Big brother’s calling.”

Levi..?

With the phone on speaker, he answers, but before he can mutter a sound, Levi’s voice roars with rage, “You stay the hell away from her! You hear me?! I’ll kill you, Marcel. I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Levi!” I cry out. “Levi, I–”

My words come short, halting in my throat as Marcel suddenly lifts his gun. He points it at me with his finger on the trigger, his eyes warning me to make another sound.

“Mercy?!” Levi’s voice yields despair, a heartbreaking plea lingering as he says, “Mercy, it’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of this. I promise.”

“Pity,” Marcel suddenly says. “She wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t stolen from me. I want my money, Levi.”

“I didn’t take your fucking money!” Levi snarls. “I delivered it and left it right where you fucking told me to!”

A low hum emits from the back of Marcel’s throat, his voice tinged with sarcasm as he says, “Well, that’s odd seeing as my client never received it and I found it in your sister’s closet. Now, if you didn’t take it, why did it take so long for you to return my phone calls?”

He pauses for a moment, still pointing the gun at me as he says, “Why make me come looking for your sister if you’re not a thief?”

“I didn’t take your money, Marcel,” Levi’s voice is calmer, his tone softer.

The silence that hovers over them makes my heart stop in my chest, anticipation clawing at my insides. It doesn’t last very long, and this time, when Marcel speaks, his voice darkens, telling Levi, “You have until the end of the week to deliver four and a half million or I’m putting a bullet in your sister’s head next time.”

Next time..?

He doesn’t give Levi the chance to respond, hanging up a second later. His hand never wavers, my eyes still staring down the barrel of the loaded gun as he turns to his men and says, “Call an ambulance, Frank. I don’t want her to bleed out.”

No…

Before I can mutter a sound, Marcel turns back to me, shifting his gun to point it at my shoulder. My heart drops to my stomach, tears falling from my eyes, and before the darkness draws me in, all I hear is the drum bursting pop of his firing gun.