A week later, as I hop on my motorcycle in the library parking lot after working on my essay for Purdue’s application, a car that I’ve noticed trailing me for the past two weeks stops in front of me and blocks my path.
A guy steps out of the car. I’ve seen him at the warehouse a couple of times, but I’ve never talked to him. He’s an OG. “Chuy wants to talk to you.”
“Later,” I tell them.
“No, you don’t get it.” A big guy steps out of the back. “He wants to talk to you now.”
I leave the motorcycle in the parking lot and get in the backseat. I’ve been avoiding this meeting. The key Chuy gave me has been like a weight on my conscience.
Chuy is sitting in the backseat, waiting for me. We’re driven randomly through town.
I take the key out of my wallet. “I can’t do it. I thought I could, but I can’t.” The way Nikki looked at me with complete and utter hatred when I tried to console her after she told me she’d been pregnant with Marco’s baby made me realize it was really over for good. She hated Marco, hated the LB, and now she put me in the same category because I’ve betrayed her, just like Marco. The entire week I’ve tried to feel him out to see if he knows about the pregnancy, but he hasn’t taken the bait. Either he doesn’t know about it, or he’s determined to keep it a secret.
“I know you feel a pull toward the LB,” Chuy says. “But you don’t know why.”
I stay silent. Every word he just spoke is the truth. I won’t admit it because I’m ashamed of it.
“No need to hide your true feelings. Tu papá wanted you to be in the Blood, Luis. He made sure you were watched over and protected. He brought you to the warehouse a week after you were born, to be blessed in with LB written on your forehead in his own blood … a full-fledged Latino Blood.”
No fucking way. “My father died before I was born,” I say. “Alex told me he was there, he saw our papá get shot … what you’re sayin’ doesn’t make sense, unless—”
“Your father wasn’t a Fuentes,” Chuy says, interrupting my confusion. He pulls a picture out of his suit pocket and hands it to me. “I was there.”
I look at the picture of Hector Martinez with a huge grin on his face as he holds a baby in the air like a king presenting his newborn baby to the people. The prince. In the middle of the baby’s forehead, written in blood, are the letters LB—Latino Blood.
“That’s you,” Chuy says. “And your papá. Your real papá.”
As soon as the words leave Chuy’s mouth, a feeling of dread washes over me. It can’t be true. But there have been signs. I’ve never seen my birth certificate. When Alex was shot Carlos donated blood, but mi familia never even approached me to do the same. It always rubbed me raw. Were they worried that I’d find out Alex and I weren’t a match, or that I’d somehow find out we were only half brothers? Chuy said I was blessed into the Latino Blood, but mi papá died before I was born. I couldn’t have been blessed in, unless my father was a member of the LB at the time.
I need answers, and I need them now. Did mi'amá shield me from the gang life because she didn’t want me finding out the truth?
I used to know where my loyalties lie. Now I’m not so sure.
“Drive me back to the library,” I say to the dude driving. “I need to get out of here.”
The guy looks to Chuy for direction. Chuy nods his approval. Even when they drop me off by the library and let me out of the car, I feel trapped. He knows where to find me, how to lure me back with threats I can’t ignore. I left the picture in Chuy’s car, hoping to leave the image of Hector proudly holding that baby—me—behind.
I find myself driving to Alex’s apartment. I knock on the door, hoping he’s home. I need answers, and he’s the one person who can give them to me. Alex comes to the door. “Luis, what’s wrong?” he says.
“Are you my brother?” I ask plain and simple.
“Of course I’m your brother,” he says, confused.
“Let me be more specific, then. Am I your half brother?”
He doesn’t answer. He stares at me, with those Latino Blood tattoos on his own chest and arms mocking me.
“Fuck you, Alex!”
“What’s going on?” Brittany says, coming into view with Paco in her arms. “Luis, you look sick. I hope you didn’t catch the flu from Paco. Are you okay?”
“Weese!” Paco yells, clapping and excited to see me.
“No, I’m not okay.” I look at Alex with contempt. “Does Brit know?”
Alex nods slowly.
“Do I know what?” Brittany says innocently as she wraps Paco tight in a blanket. “What’s going on between you two?”
“Alex was just confirmin’ that I’m not his brother,” I say.
Alex stands in front of me, face-to-face. “You are my brother, dammit.”
“Yeah, half. What’s the other half, huh? Tell me.”
“I don’t know what you heard, but—”
“Hector Martinez is my father, isn’t he?”
I glance at Alex’s shoulder where Hector shot him not long after he killed Paco.
“Isn’t he?” I say again.
“Sí, Luis,” Alex says, defeated. “Hector Martinez was your father.”
Brittany puts a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off.
“Does Carlos know, or am I not only the black sheep of the family, but also the last to know who my own fuckin’ father is.”
Alex doesn’t want to tell me. He’d rather keep me ignorant and innocent, but that’s all in the past. I’m not a kid anymore. Far from it.
“Tell me!” I scream at him. My entire body is tense and I suppress a vicious rage that’s bubbling inside me.
“Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. Don’t say another word to me except the absolute truth.”
“Okay.” Alex brushes his fingers through his hair. “He suspects. He brought it up once about ten years ago, and I shut him down. I told him never to bring it up again, and he hasn’t.”
“Well, hooray for Fuentes family secrets.” It feels like I’ve got a lump the size of a basketball in my throat as I ask, “Did he rape our mother? Am I the result of a rape?”
“No.”
“She cheated?”
“Not exactly. Why don’t I take you home and you can ask her yourself.”
“I don’t have a home, Alex.”
“Don’t be stupid, Luis. Your home is wherever your family is. Mamá did things she thought would keep us safe.”
“So she whored herself out. Nice.”
Alex pushes me, his eyes blazing mad. “Don’t talk about mi'amá like that. She did what needed to be done, period. Don’t judge her when you don’t know what went down.”
All this time I’ve been so stupid. The evidence was right in front of my face and I never even put the pieces together. I had this ridiculous delusion that I was the golden child, because I was in my mother’s stomach when my supposed father was shot and killed—the last gift my father gave her was me.
But in reality I’ve never been the golden child. I’ve been the black sheep … I’ve called myself a Fuentes and I never was one.
I step back. “Adios, bro.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m out. For good.”
“You’re not goin’ anywhere.”
“You have no hold over me, Alex. Hell, we don’t even share the same father.” I think of all the times I felt bad for Carlos because he seemed the odd one out. He didn’t have the brains or even temper that Alex and I were born with.
Joke’s on me. I don’t even have the same blood.
“You think your DNA matters?” he asks. “It doesn’t. You were my brother as soon as you came out of Mamá’s stomach and I held you when you were less than an hour old. You were my brother when Mamá worked and I wiped your ass and changed your diapers. And you’ll be my brother until I take my last breath! ¿Comprende?”
“You denied me my history … my heritage!”
“I denied you nothing, Luis. Your biological father was …” He hesitates.
“Go ahead and say it. Come on, Alex, don’t hold back now.”
“Hector Martinez was a manipulative asshole who threatened people with their lives so they did what he wanted. He was a murderer and drug lord. We did you a favor by not tellin’ you that half your genes were from a man without scruples or a conscience.”
“You better be careful, Alex.” I push him back, ready for a brawl. “That’s my blood you’re talkin’ about.”
My words must sting, because Alex pounds his chest. “Wake up, Luis. You’re lookin’ at your blood. I’m your blood.”
I regard him with disgust. “All I see in front of me is an ex–Latino Blood. A traitor to my people.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Watch your back, bro. You never know who’s family … and who’s the enemy.”
I storm away from him, blocking out Alex’s demands to come back, mixed with Brittany’s pleas not to leave. She says we can work it out.
I’m done working things out.
Chuy was right. Being a Latino Blood is my destiny, my birthright. I told myself I wanted to get close to Chuy to gain insider info about the LB. I was lying to myself. All along I wanted to be in it, be a part of the drug deals and danger. I walk into the LB warehouse with one thing on my mind—living up to my father’s legacy.
Chuy is sitting in his makeshift office talking to some OGs. One look at me and Chuy sends everyone else out of the room—except a guy named Tiny, who isn’t tiny.
“I’ll go to the bank and see what’s in the safety-deposit box,” I say. “But I’ve got conditions.”
His ever-present cigar is hanging from his mouth. He takes it out and blows smoke in the air. I watch as it lingers above his head before disappearing into the smoke-filled room. “Conditions?”
“Sí. First, you never threaten Alex’s family, Carlos, or mi'amá again. Second, you initiate me like everyone else.” No more straddling the line. I’ve chosen my side, and I don’t want anyone mistaking me for something that I’m not and was never intended to be.
“Glad you’ve come around, Fuentes.”
“Don’t call me that,” I say roughly. “I’m not a Fuentes and you know it, so stop the bullshit. You agree to my terms or not?”
We stare each other down. “Sure. Hector predicted you’d be a fighter,” he says proudly, reminding me of the picture of Hector holding me when I was a newborn. He nods to Tiny to get the other OGs back in the room. “Luis here wants to solidify his place in the LB family, boys,” he calls out as they pile back in. “Problem is, Luis, you’ve already been blessed in. No need for an initiation.”
“I want it. Jump me in like a new recruit.”
He laughs. “What, you want us to kick the shit outta you?”
“I want to be initiated like Alex. I’m not takin’ the easy way out. I can handle it.” I’ll show them I don’t need to be protected from the truth. I can just hear Hector Martinez from the grave egging me on, challenging me to prove to all these guys that I’m as tough as he was.
He cocks an eyebrow. “You can handle it, huh?”
“I’m my father’s son,” I say stoically. “Bring it.”
“Mi placer,” he says, amused. “Yo, Rico!” he yells. “Round up some others and give Luis here a Latino Blood thirteen-second welcome. I’m gonna join in, too.” He cracks his knuckles one by one. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”