G-A-N-G BABY

by j4nelle

Summary:

Soraya Flores (OFC) is the daughter of the right-hand man of Crack, the leader of the Prophets. But when the Prophets get busted, she has to make a run for it. She finds herself in enemy territory and gets captured by the Santos, what will she do when she gets offered a place with the Santos by Cuchillos?

Chapter 1: 1. Busted

Soraya was born and raised a prophet, her father a big figure in the gang. Her entire life had been green and yellow. She was taught about gang etiquette, their culture, and had been living with violence all around her since childhood.

It was a normal afternoon, she had just come out the shower and was now sat at the table with Latrelle, doing her homework. She wore a green t-shirt of her dad’s and a pair of dark green boxers. The color stood out to her caramel skin, her dark hair hanging by her face, still wet and smelling like the sweet-scented products she used for her curls.

She was writing out an answer for history when she glanced at her nails, fresh green paint on them. She put down her pen, running her nail over the polish to try and chip it, scratching it off.

“Aye,” Latrelle signed with his chin. Soraya glanced up at him, humming in response. “Do your homework, girl.”

Soraya scoffed with a chuckle, Latrelle’s lips stretching into a smile. “Shut up, pendejo,” Soraya answered, sticking out her tongue.

“Who you callin’ a pendejo, you tryna fight?” Latrelle grinned.

“I’ll pull on you,” Soraya smirked, leaning forward as she said it with her face playfully scrunched up. Latrelle laughed as he leaned back in his chair, snatching Soraya’s pen.

“Hey!” Soraya tried to grab it back, but Latrelle leaned his chair back onto the two hind legs to stay out of Soraya’s reach.

“You gon’ pull on me huh? Your papi let you hold a gun yet?” Latrelle teased, Soraya letting out a fake gasp, when loud shouting sounded outside.

Both Latrelle and Soraya sat up immediately, staring out the window. They looked at each other, then Soraya rushed over to the window. She saw their men outside being attacked by men in black.

“It’s the feds!” Latrelle shouted; the door being kicked down. Soraya squeezed herself into the corner, watching as two prophets sitting on the couch charged the cops.

“Soraya go, go! Come on, this way!” Latrelle shouted, grabbing her and running toward the back door. Soraya jumped up to go after him but saw her bedroom door open. The thought of her father spilled into her mind, knowing he was probably in there.

“Wait, my dad! Latrelle my dad!” She cried. She ran to her bedroom door, shoving it open. She was met with the sight of her dad on his stomach with his hands on his back. A fed had a knee on his back, keeping him down, while another climbed in through the window, proving how they’d came in in the first place.

“Soraya correr!”  (run) Her father shouted. Soraya stumbled back with wide eyes, then booked it down the hallway on bare feet. She went right through the backdoor, the storm door slamming against the outer wall of the house.

She jumped off the back porch steps into the grass, seeing Latrelle being restrained not far from the alleyway on one side of the house. The policeman looked up, pointing at her. “Hey, there’s another one! Get that girl!”

Soraya sprinted the other way, shouldering through the gate on the other side of the house. She made it out onto the street, panting heavily as she ran over the hot pavement. She didn’t look back, continuing to run until her feet hurt too much to go any further.

Her curls stuck to her face, getting in her mouth as she panted. She was walking around, incredibly stressed and having no idea where she was. The sun had started setting, and she was wearing no pants and no shoes, walking around in a hood she didn’t recognize.

She had always been her father’s little girl, and he kept her away from his business. She never went with him when her father went to other neighborhoods to talk to other gang leaders, so she had little to no knowledge of what was Prophet territory and what was Santos or 19^th street.

She swallowed thickly as she looked from side to side at the houses, holding her upper arms. She was holding back tears, contemplating to go back, but she knew there was nothing there for her to go back to.

“Aye, is that a prophet?” She heard someone shout in the dark, coming from a house with no lights. A bunch of lights started turning on around the street, and Soraya heard the cocking of a gun.

Her eyes widened and she started running the other way, hearing the men shouting and running to go after her. Adrenaline filled her as she ran into someone’s backyard, ending up in a closed off alleyway.

Damp grass tickled her feet as she pressed herself against the wall, making herself as flat as possible to not catch anyone’s attention. The automatic sensor light on the wall turned on, Soraya cursing herself silently.

She looked at the wall in front of her, seeing a santos cross spray painted on the side of the beige wall. She stared at it, then sighed deeply, letting her head fall forward. A man whipped around the corner, gun pointed at her. He’d heard her sigh while stalking through the area.

“Aye! La encontré!” (aye! I found her!) The man called, inching over to Soraya. Soraya whimpered with a closed mouth, taking a step back.

She held her hands up, “lo siento, señor. Lo siento, yo iré,” (I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry, I’ll go) She spoke in a shaky voice, eyes wide and focused on the man, like a wild animal was approaching her.

The Santos didn’t say anything, only having a mean look on his face. “You comin’ without a fight, mija?” He questioned. “Or do I gotta make you?” He looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her bare legs.

“Vete a la mierda,” Soraya spat, the man scoffing at her. Soraya’s bottom lip was trembling, tears wringing out of her eyes, making her look a lot less intimidating than she wanted to be.

The man lunged forward and grabbed her. Soraya let out a scream, fighting him. He lifted her up, carrying her out of the alleyway. She kicked her legs, scratching at his arms. “Dad, dad help me!” she sobbed, trying to wriggle out of the man’s arms.

More Santos had gathered, another man stepping in to help restrain her. “No, no stop! Stop!” She ripped her arm out of the grip of one Santos, starting to push and punch at the other to release her other arm.

A hand slapped over her mouth, and she was pulled back against a hard chest, being dragged backward. It was hard to fight when she couldn’t see who she was fighting. She was pulled up the steps into someone’s house, Soraya screaming while trying to hold onto the door post but being violently pulled away, loosening her grip on the wall.

She was hurled onto the ground, and she looked up, panting with extortion. About ten bald men were standing around her, one stepping forward and slamming the bud of his gun into her temple, knocking her out. Everything went black, and she didn’t remember a thing after that.

. . .

When she woke up, she was laying on a cold concrete ground. Her hands had been tied behind her back and she was blindfolded, a piece of tape over her mouth. Her ankles were starting to hurt, being tied together, creating a pressure bruise.

The door opened, and she could feel a presence in the room she was in. She couldn’t hear him or her, but she knew he was there. She could feel his gaze on her, observing.

He stood in the doorway, observing this prophet girl found in their hood, now currently hogtied in his garage. Spooky sighed as he ran a hand over his head, trailing it down his face when he saw the state his men had left her in.

They hadn’t even covered her up, leaving her in just the dark green boxers and a green t-shirt on the ground in the garage for the entire night.

The girl was heavily breathing through her nose, obviously scared and able to hear him. He stepped over and kneeled, pulling the tape off of her mouth, as gentle as he could. The girl shifted her breathing, now releasing shaky breaths of fear through her mouth.

The fear radiated off her, from her body language to the obvious tell of the nervous tears drenching the blindfold. Sad Eyes came out of the house, standing in the doorway. Spooky looked back at him.

“Well?” Sad Eyes drawled. “Qué te parece?” (what do you think?)

Spooky raised to his feet, sucking his teeth as he looked down at the shivering girl. “We gotta take her to Cuchillos.”

Soraya listened to the men talk, forcing her mouth to shut and regulate her breathing. She was trying to calm herself down, but that was hard with the enemy’s presence.

“Tiene miedo,” (she’s scared) Sad Eyes said, Spooky nodding. “Aye. Tiene que prepararse para Cuchillos, todos modos.” (Aye. She has to prepare for Cuchillos anyway)

Soraya listened in fear, wondering who Cuchillos was. Was he their gang leader? What was Cuchillos gonna do to her? She heard footsteps walking away from her, then the sound of the door closing. She was left alone in the garage once again, the only thing she could do being overthinking.

She cursed herself for being so stupid, to just run in some direction and hope she’d come out somewhere safe, especially when she was in her gang’s colors. She let out a sob, thinking about her dad. What had happened to him? Did he escape? Maybe he was coming to get her.

She sniffled tiredly, rolling onto her other side since her shoulder started hurting. Who was she kidding? Her father wasn’t coming. She curled up tightly, crying until she was too tired to, and fell into a restless sleep.

A long while later, the door opened, startling her awake. She was immediately alert again, adrenaline surging through her body. There were a lot of people around now, talking.

A hand touched her hair, smoothing over it. She startled at the sudden touch, wishing she could move the blindfold.

“Ssh, sh. You’re okay,” a low voice drawled, though there was no real comfort or emotion behind it. He just wanted to make her feel a little safer, so she wouldn’t put up such a fight like last time.  “I’m gonna pick you up now, niña,” the man said, then two noticeably strong arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her up.

She was thrown over someone’s shoulder, Soraya silently letting him. She didn’t say a word. She wouldn’t. The light pierced through her blindfold, proving they were outside.

“Hey! Look at little milk chocolate with the buns over there!” She heard a male voice call.

“Aye portarse!” (aye, behave!) The man whose shoulder she was over called, gaining some laughter from the other man and a chuckle from her carrier. “Eres malo,” (you’re bad) he grunted.

A car door opened, and she was laid down. She immediately knew she was in a trunk, panic overtaking her. “No, no please- por favor, señor-“ she started pleading, fear evident in her voice. She started fighting trying to sit up.

“It won’t be long, okay? Stay calm, or you’ll run out of air in there, prophet,” the man said, his
voice apathic. Soraya continued pleading and sobbing, “no no, por favor, por favor.”

The man shoved her down by her shoulders and before she could shoot up again, he closed the trunk. Soraya screamed at the top of her lungs, crying loudly and kicking at the liftgate, but failing because she was tied too tight.

The car turned on and she was jostled as it sped off, leaving her with hitching breaths, unable to breathe. She went into a full hysteria, feeling like she was suffocating. She knew the man had said that it wouldn’t be for long, but she laid in the trunk for what felt like hours.

She’d stopped crying about halfway through, laying curled up in the dark with her finger in her mouth. Her shoulders hitched with aftershocks of her crying, small hiccups rising up her throat simultaneously.

The car slowed down and eventually halted, the man coming to open the trunk, but by then Soraya was near catatonic. He picked her up bridal style, her head falling against his shoulder. The man grunted softly, then walked away.

Soraya had given up trying to move the blindfold, starting to accept that she was caught and there was nothing she could do about it. “Cuchillos,” the man holding her spoke in a low voice.

“Is that her?” A woman’s voice sounded.

“Yes. Now can I put her in the back? She’s heavy,” the man said.

“Now, don’t be rude, mano. Besides she doesn’t look that heavy,” Cuchillos brushed him off, signing to the backdoor. “Go.”

The man opened the car door and put her inside, Soraya silently sitting in the middle, feeling the man’s arm touch her own. She shrugged, scooting away from him, but he grabbed onto her upper arm painfully tight and pulled her back.

The car ride was silent, almost uncomfortably so. Soraya had been mulling over the idea to speak in her head, but something was holding her back, telling her not to, or it’d be the death of her.

She opened her mouth, her voice coming out in a soft squeak. “I want my dad.” No one said anything, not even the man next to her. The car came to a halt, and the man next to her reached down to untie her ankles.

He grabbed her by her upper arm and pulled her out of the car, Soraya trying to keep up with his fast pace. She stepped into the house after stubbing her toe on the doorway, her bare feet smacking on the cold tile.

“Why is she half-naked?” Cuchillos asked. “Did you do something to her?” Her voice was stern, and Soraya pictured her to be looking over the rim of her glasses. She probably didn’t wear those.

“We found her like this,” the man said in a monotone voice. He squeezed her arm and pushed her forward, jostling the girl. “Tell her.”

“No, n-no he didn’t,” Soraya said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Take off her blindfold, would you?” Cuchillos demanded. Then finally, finally, Soraya felt the man pull it off her. She blinked a few times to adjust to the light, squinting. She looked around the huge house, admiring the interior.

Cuchillos, the woman in front of her, looked a lot different than her voice. She grabbed onto Soraya’s chin, turning her face to either side. “Oh isn’t she gorgeous? What a nice one.”

“She’s a prophet,” the man snarled. Soraya shyly looked at him, seeing a mustache and goatee, a shaven head.

“Doesn’t mean she can’t be pretty. I might keep her all for myself,” Cuchillos smiled. Soraya’s face dropped as she looked from the man to Cuchillos. “Wait what? Are you selling me?” she questioned in a panic, pulling away from the man, but he had her in a tight grip.

“Shut your mouth,” the man sneered, Cuchillos looking rather bored. “Come, we’ll sit outside.”

Cuchillos snapped her fingers at a help and then walked out into the yard. The man and Soraya followed her, the man forcing Soraya down in a chair and then sitting down in the one next to her.

Soraya stared down at her lap while Cuchillos and the man conversed, talking about how the Prophets had been taken down because of marked bills. Cuchillos glanced at Soraya, “Spooky go get her some water.”

“Don’t you have someone for that?” The man who was apparently named Spooky asked with a scoff.

“Yeah, you,” Cuchillos answered, waving him away. “Now go, mijo.”

Spooky sighed as he got up and walked back into the mansion. Cuchillos leaned forward, hands clasping together. “Did he touch you?” She asked in a serious voice.

Soraya looked at her, eyebrows raised to her hairline as she stammered. “I- no, no he didn’t touch me, señora.”

“Then where are your clothes?” Cuchillos raised one eyebrow.
“I was wearing only this when..” Soraya trailed off, swallowing thickly. Her eyes filled with tears, her gaze darting around, “uhm,” her voice broke in the middle of the small word, her breath starting to hitch.

“Don’t cry. Don’t cry about it, never cry,” Cuchillos spoke harshly. “Or I’ll have him kill you.” She signed with her chin.

Soraya glanced over her shoulder, seeing Spooky coming back with three glasses of water and a lime. “Cuchillos,” he warned.

“What? She’s a prophet,” Cuchillos repeated Spooky’s earlier words. “She’s a child,” Spooky countered.

Cuchillos held Spooky’s eyes for a while, something obviously brewing in her mind. She looked at Soraya, a sly grin spreading across her face. “What’s your name, cariña?”

“Soraya,” she answered.

“Wh- ‘cariña’? Cuchillos ella es una Prophet,” (sweetheart? Cuchillos she is a prophet) Spooky exclaimed.

“Aren’t you undecisive?” Cuchillos narrowed her eyes. “Not another word from you.” Cuchillos took in Soraya, who hadn’t touched her water. “Why haven’t you started your water?”

“My hands are tied,” Soraya spoke softly, twisting a little to show Cuchillos her tied hands. She sighed exasperatedly, “untie her, Oscar.”

Spooky did as Cuchillos asked, Soraya rubbing her red wrists once she could finally move her arms again. Spooky looked extremely annoyed, glaring at Soraya. He cast a glance to her hands, seeing her green nail polish. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it disgusted him now.

“Fix your face,” Cuchillos said, unprovoked. “So, Soraya. What’s your story? How did you end up with the Prophets?”

“My uhm, my dad,” Soraya said, gingerly taking the glass of water and drinking. “My dad is or uhm.. he was a good friend of Crack’s.”

“Ah, so you were born in?” Cuchillos questioned. Soraya nodded, the sun making her start to sweat. Or it was Cuchillos. Maybe both.

“How would you feel..” Cuchillos put her hands on the table, “if we gave you a place to stay?”

Soraya opened and closed her mouth. “I’m a Prophet.”

“That isn’t what I asked. The Prophets are done, pick a new one,” Cuchillos sneered, slamming her hands down. It startled Soraya, making the chair tip, but Spooky grabbed it before it could fall over.

“Now, how would you feel if we gave you a place to stay?” Cuchillos asked again. “You know what it’s like to be loyal to a gang, why not this one?”

Soraya hesitated, her gaze flicking to Spooky and then back to Cuchillos. She tried to mask her trembling hands by gripping her glass of water, but the weight of Cuchillos’ stare made her feel as if she were on trial.

“Why me?” she managed. Cuchillos leaned closer, her lips curling into a slow, predatory smile. “Because you’ve already proven yourself, Soraya. Surviving as a Prophet? That takes guts. But loyalty? That’s a skill. And with the Santos, loyalty is currency.”

Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, each beat hammering home her point. “You’ve got nowhere to go, no one watching your back anymore. We can change that. I can change that.”

Soraya swallowed hard, her mind racing. She wanted to protest, to remind them that her allegiance wasn’t something to be handed over so easily, but the truth gnawed at her. Cuchillos was right. The Prophets were done. She had nothing left.

Cuchillos’ gaze bore into her, daring her to refuse. “So?” she asked, tilting her head. “You in, or are you still playing for a losing team?” The question lingered in the air, heavy and sharp as a blade.

Soraya’s chest tightened as the thought crept in, unwelcome and suffocating. Betraying the Prophets wasn’t just about severing ties with a broken gang, it was betraying her father, his memory, and everything he’d sacrificed to give her the chance to grow up.

She could still see his face, stern but proud, as he’d handed over her first set of colors, the weight of legacy and loyalty pressing down on her shoulders.

Walking away felt like ripping out the roots that had kept her steady, even as the ground around her crumbled. But wasn’t loyalty a two-way street? The Prophets were gone, scattered like ash in the wind.

And what did her father leave her anyway, except a name tied to a gang that couldn’t protect her? Still, the guilt clawed at her, whispering that turning her back would make her no better than the ones who had abandoned her first.

Soraya chewed her lip, shyly looking at Cuchillos. “Where would I stay?”

“You’d go right back with Spooky,” Cuchillos said, leaning back in her chair and resting her hands on her crossed legs.

“What?” Spooky exclaimed, arms crossed as he looked at Cuchillos in disbelief. “You can’t do that.”

“Yes I can. If she says yes, you jump her in and she’s yours. You kidnapped her,” Cuchillos snarled, “so she’s your responsibility. Finish what you started, pendejo.”

Spooky clenched his jaw, standing up with balled fists. “Up,” he signed toward Soraya. Soraya was scared and confused, looking from Cuchillos to Spooky.

“Get the fuck up!” Spooky shouted, Soraya standing up while keeping her head firmly down. Spooky grabbed onto her and dragged her along, through the house. “We’re leaving.”

“Have a good time, say hi to Cesar!” Cuchillos called after them, teasingly.

Chapter 2: 2. Homesick

Soraya was sat on the couch, silently eating some food Spooky had made her. She watched him pace around the house, clearly upset by her presence. She swallowed her food and waited a second to take another bite.

“I’m sorry,” Soraya said softly, Spooky turning to her.

“Don’t FUCKING talk to me!” He screamed, leaning over and pointing at her. He ran a hand over his head, sighing as he turned his back. He barged out of the room, leaving Soraya with an unsafe feeling and a lump in her throat.

She put her unfinished plate down on the coffee table, pulling her knees to her chest. She laid her chin down on them, trying to make herself as invisible as possible. She felt her eyes well up with tears, thinking about her father.

After about half an hour of staring at the clock with slow tears welling up in her eyes and trailing down her cheeks, Spooky silently came back in. His shoulders were looking a lot less tense and he was holding a small white cloth, kneeling down in front of Soraya.

He saw that she had tear streaks on her cheeks, but he didn’t say anything. He took her hand and started cleaning the nail polish off her fingers. Soraya winced when he ran the cloth over a small cut on her finger.

“That hurts, what is that?” Soraya questioned.

“Turpentine,” Spooky answered her, taking her other hand and taking off the green nail polish. “Come on, you gotta shower. I’ll get you somethin’ to wear.”

Spooky walked away and Soraya trailed after him, still on bare feet. When she walked into the bathroom with a towel that Spooky had lend her, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

She sighed deeply as she looked at her tousled hair, her green eyes dull and lifeless. Spooky was right, she really needed a shower. She locked the door and undressed, getting in the shower.

She looked around for some soap, only finding a men’s body wash. She made do with what the man had, and got out, drying her hair to the best of her abilities and then wrapping the towel around herself.

She unlocked the door and peeked out, “Spooky?” she called. She stepped into the hallway, looking around the house. She was trailing back and was about to turn around, when her back bumped into a sturdy chest.

She whipped around, seeing Spooky with a stack of clothes. “These should fit you. If you need anything else let me know.”

Soraya took the stack of clothes, nodding. “Okay,” she whispered and went back into the bathroom. She pulled on the shirt he had given her, it being a simple white t-shirt, though it smelled like the man’s cologne. Next came the pants, a pair of sweatpants that were obviously Spooky’s.

They were huge on her, but Soraya made do. She pulled on the socks that came up to her knees, letting her sweatpants fall over them. She had reused her underwear, since Spooky didn’t give her any.

She walked out of the bathroom, seeing Spooky standing in front of the TV with his arms crossed and the remote in his hands. He looked at her, then looked back at the TV.

“What?” Soraya questioned, walking over. Her face fell when she saw what was on the news. The Prophets, lined up on the streets. Her dad’s face was right in the camera, staring down at the curb in shame.

Soraya’s breathing sped up, her bottom lip trembling. “I need to go,” she squeaked. She rushed toward the door, but Spooky caught her wrist. “No,” he said in a low voice.

“Señor, you’ve been so generous by letting me stay here and lending me clothes, but I need to go to my father. He needs me,” Soraya emphasized.

“And what are you gonna do?” Spooky asked, flicking his chin. “Go out there, get yourself arrested?”

Soraya went silent, tears in her eyes. “That’s my dad, I need to help him.”

“You ain’t gotta do shit for him,” Spooky grunted. “He’s a grown man, ain’t he?”

“Look at him!” Soraya exclaimed, signing to the TV with the hand that Spooky wasn’t holding. She pulled at her arm, trying to loosen Spooky’s grip. “I’m going and you can’t stop me.”

“Looks like I can, and I am,” Spooky spoke nonchalantly. Soraya glared at him, tears in her eyes. “No. You wouldn’t. Spooky he’s my dad.”

“Soraya you’re not going,” Spooky sneered, dragging her closer by her arm. Soraya startled, looking up at Spooky with doe eyes, until she looked down. Her shoulders slouched, eventually starting to shake with sobs.

Spooky sighed, “c’mere.” He wrapped a stiff arm around her, looking off to the side while Soraya cried, just as rigid in his arms as Spooky was. Spooky released her and turned the TV off, “you’re with the Santos now. There are no Prophets to come save your ass.”

“I’m not a Santos,” Soraya snarled. “I’m not and I never will be.”

“Until you’re jumped in. You got no choice, chica. Cuchillos put you with me, so you’re with me,” Spooky clarified. “You familiar with gang rules about women getting’ jumped in?”

Soraya glared at him, “yea. They don’t get jumped in.”

“Good, so you know,” Spooky said, looking down at Soraya. He released her wrist once he realized he was still holding it, clearing his throat. He was violently avoiding eye contact as he spoke: “I won’t do it until you want me to. I ain’t gonna let those other guys touch you, alright? If it’s happenin’, I’m doin’ it.”

“Well it ain’t fucking happening,” Soraya bit at him. “I’m a Prophet and ain’t never gonna be a Santos!”

“Yea yea,” Spooky scoffed, fed up. “You’ve said that enough.”

“I want my dad,” Soraya whispered, her voice a mere squeak. Spooky let out a breath. “I know, chica. But you can’t go to him right now, they’ll lock you up right with him.”

“At least I’d be with my dad instead of with a Santos,” Soraya said, disgust in her voice. Spooky nodded, “alright, get it all out.”

“You’re disgusting, proposing to jump me into your shitty little gang. You’re never gonna be what the Prophets are,” Soraya went on, while Spooky only hummed and nodded.

She went on a rant about how horrible she thought the Santos were, and how the Prophets weren’t disbanded, just apart for a little. “—And I know that I’ll be back with my dad in no time, because you and Cuchillos can suck a dick!”

Soraya was out of breath by the end of it, chest rising and falling rapidly. Spooky nodded slowly, looking off to the side. He looked back at Soraya, keeping eye contact so intense that it made Soraya want to cry again.

“I wouldn’t say that to Cuchillos if I were you,” Spooky grinned.

“Yea well you also have a stupid name,” Soraya sassed. “Oscar.”

Spooky smiled, shaking his head. “Alright, c’mon. We’re goin’ somewhere to get your mind off your dad.”

“I’m goin’ nowhere with you. And not in these clothes,” Soraya crossed her arms, cocking her hip.

“You came here in a pair of panties and a t-shirt,” Spooky said and raised an eyebrow.

“They were boxers not panties.”

“Alright, well, come on,” he put a hand on Soraya’s back and led her out the door. Soraya shrugged his hand off, “don’t touch me.”

“Yea, yea,” Spooky said as he opened the car door for her. Soraya got in and Spooky closed the door, walking around the car and getting in the driver’s seat.

“Where are we going?” Soraya questioned while fastening her seatbelt.

“You’ll see,” Spooky said, wrapping his arm around Soraya’s seat and looking back as he backed up off the driveway. He sped off, Soraya grabbing onto the door. Spooky looked at her, frowning.

“What?! You drive like a maniaco,” Soraya grumbled, watching the houses go by. They ended up at a baseball court, Soraya squinting at the sun as she watched Spooky get them a bat, glove and a few balls.

“You ever done this before?” He questioned.

Soraya shook her head, “nah, never.” She looked at the machine in the field, recognizing it as one of those things that shot the ball at you so you could practice the swing. She’d seen it on TV.

“I love baseball,” Spooky said as he threw the ball up and down. “Here,” he gave her the bat, then put the glove on himself, holding the ball in the middle of it while he stepped back. “You know what to do, don’t you?”

“Yea I gotta swing it and hit that ball,” Soraya said. “I know how baseball works.”

“You said you never played baseball,” Spooky countered, starting to throw the ball up and down again while going toward the ball machine.

“Okay, okay. We get it. Just throw that damn thing already,” Soraya said, Spooky putting the ball in the machine. The ball shot out and Soraya swung but missed.

Spooky chuckled, “too bad. Try again.” He put another ball in, and it shot out after a few seconds, Soraya swinging and missing again.

“Fuck,” she sighed, Spooky watching her with half a smile. “You can do it. Try again.”

After three more missed attempts, Soraya gave up and threw down her bat. “Let’s just do a game of toss or somethin’.”

“Yea a’ight, hold on, let me hit first,” Spooky said, the two switching positions. Spooky adjusted his stance a few times, the bat held over his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me to do all that?” Soraya exclaimed, holding out her hand to sign to him. She shook her head, looking away with crossed arms. “Esos Santos..” (those Santos..) she murmured.

“Shut up and watch,” Spooky said, right when the ball shot out. He swung and hit the ball, it going far over the fence. Soraya watched it fly with amazement. “Wow, that was great!” she said, looking back at Spooky with a big smile.

“See? Ain’t so bad for a Santos, aye?” Spooky smiled back at her. Soraya allowed Spooky to hit a few more balls, before she complained about being hungry.

They ended up at a place called Dwayne’s joint, eating barbecue chicken. Soraya was poking through her food, looking out the window, when Spooky noticed and spoke up: “What’s wrong, chica? Thought you were hungry.”

“I was, I am,” Soraya sighed. “I’m just thinking about my dad. And my clothes.”

“Your clothes?” Spooky questioned.

“Look at what I’m wearing,” Soraya gestured. “I look like a Santos. I want my own clothes back.”

“Nah. You can’t wear green if you’re livin’ with me. We’ll get you something new, something nice,” Spooky paused. “Something Santos.”

“Hell no,” Soraya mumbled before continuing to eat. Spooky chuckled and resumed too.

. . .

Soraya trailed through the store, looking at various shorts, jeans and tops. “What about this?” she questioned, pulling out a green cropped top.

Spooky grimaced, “no, put that back.”

Soraya rolled her eyes and put it back. “Fine, you pick something out then.”

“My pleasure,” Spooky said with a cheeky grin on his face, then disappeared into the store. Soraya roamed around a bit, before sitting down in the bored-husband-designated chairs.

When Spooky found her again, he was holding a lot of clothes. “And,” he said, looking through the pile he was holding, showing her some underwear. “You need those.”

Soraya grimaced. “Those are hideous.”

“You rather have men’s boxers?” Spooky questioned with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes,” Soraya spoke sarcastically, mimicking his facial expression.

Spooky chuckled, shaking his head. “Go try this on.”

The first outfit consisted of a black tube top that barely covered her chest and some knee length jean shorts, Soraya hunching over as she walked out, turned in a circle and went back into the dressing room.

“Hey, holdon, let me see,” Spooky called, sitting in the chair across from the dressing room. Soraya came out again, standing there so Spooky could see.

“No, stand up straight. Act like you like this,” Spooky snapped his fingers.

“Don’t snap your fingers at me, Santo,” Soraya scoffed, but straightened up anyway.

“I like it. I’m getting you those. Okay, next!” Spooky called.

Next came a white baseball jersey with a pair of jeans, Soraya turning in a circle again and giving Spooky a second to see.

“Hmm nah, that jersey ain’t it. Try it with the white tank top,” Spooky gestured. Soraya disappeared into the stall and came out again with the white tank top on.

Spooky nodded, “that looks good.”

“You only think it looks good ‘cause I look like a Santo,” Soraya countered. Spooky nodded, “yea, exactly.”

After trying on numerous more outfits, Soraya was drained. Spooky paid for her clothes after picking out some more underwear with Soraya and getting her a few pairs of knee-high socks in her own size.

“Now you’re gonna look like a real Santo,” Spooky grinned as he put Soraya’s bags in the back of the car, then opened the car door for her. Soraya got in the car and shrugged, fiddling with her nails, that still had some green residue on them.

“I’m tired,” she sighed.

“I know.” Spooky started the car, driving to his home. Soraya was silent, staring out the window.

“You okay?” Spooky questioned, looking from Soraya to the road, then to Soraya again.

“Yea, fine,” Soraya said, though she sounded absent.

“You had a good time?” Spooky asked another question.

“Yea, it was fine.”

“You don’t sound like you’re fine,” Spooky said. Soraya looked at him, disbelief in her eyes. “Of course I’m not fine. I should be doing this with my dad.”

Spooky sighed, “Soraya you have to let him go.”

“How can you say that? He’s my dad!” Soraya exclaimed.

“Yea well, this is what dad’s do. They tell you that they love you and then they leave,” Spooky sneered, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white.

“Take me home,” Soraya said, staring at Spooky. “Take me home right now. I want to go home.”

“We are going home,” Spooky drawled, disinterested. “No, my home. Spooky, or Oscar whatever your name is, take me home right now or I’ll call the cops.”

“With what phone?” Spooky questioned. Soraya quickly looked around, but soon realized Spooky was right. She didn’t have a phone, nor did Spooky. She glanced at the door, then unbuckled her seatbelt as fast as she could and pulled at the doorhandle.

Spooky was faster, pressing the lock. All the doors let out a soft click and locked before Soraya could throw herself out. “Let me out right now,” Soraya snarled.

“No, can’t do that,” Spooky shrugged. “Let me out! Stop the car!” Soraya raised her voice.

“I. can’t. do. that!” Spooky raised his voice too. Soraya lunged at him, trying to reach his door to unlock all the other doors. “Wh- hey!” Spooky shouted, the wheels squealing as Spooky tried to keep the wheel straight.

The car swerved from side to side, Spooky trying to push Soraya off while also trying not to crash into another car. “Get off!” He shoved her back, Soraya hitting her head on the window. She curled up in her seat, holding the back of her head in pain.

“Soraya,” Spooky spoke, looking from her to the road. “Soraya I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Fuck you,” Soraya spat as she kicked him, Spooky grunting and clenching his jaw. He said nothing for the rest of the ride, using all his self-control to not lash out at her.

The moment they got to Spooky’s house, Soraya jumped out the car when the sound of the lock clicking open sounded. She barged into the house, right passed a young man sitting on the couch. She ran into Spooky’s room and slammed the door.

Spooky sighed as he walked in after her, flinching and closing his eyes at the sound of the door slamming. “Who is that?” Cesar questioned, sitting on the couch.

“That is uh... Well, her name is Soraya,” Spooky ran his hand over his head, sitting down on the couch next to Cesar. “We found her in the hood, took her to Cuchillos. Cuchillos is makin’ me take care of her.”

“And…?” Cesar questioned. “She’s an ex-Prophet, and I made her mad in the car,” Spooky confessed.

“Wh- an ex-Prophet? Here?” Cesar’s frown deepened. “Spooky she can’t stay here.”

“I know, but Cuchillos is making me. If Cuchillos wants her here, she needs to be here,” Spooky said, staring at the coffee table in front of him, defeated. “I don’t know what to do with her. She lost her family, her dad, a few days ago. She’s angry, she’s sad and doesn’t wanna listen for shit.”

“Does Cuchillos want you to..” Cesar trailed off. Spooky nodded, “yea, she wants her in. Soraya knows what it’s like to be in a gang, to be loyal, but I don’t think Cuchillos is makin’ the right call with her.”

“Hell, if you’re not gonna sex her in, I’ll do it,” Cesar said with a half grin, Spooky side-eyeing him. “Yea, whatever. Don’t touch that girl.”

Cesar held up his hands, “just saying.”

Chapter 3: 3. New acquaintances

Summary:

Soraya meets the Santos

“Stay close,” Spooky ordered, walking up to the men sitting on the benches by the basketball court. Soraya did as he asked, trailing after him.

“Aye, esta es Soraya. She’s gonna be a new member of the Santos,” Spooky called, the men looking at them. Soraya nervously looked around, standing next to Spooky, Cesar walking up to sit down on a bench with the Santos.

“We gonna jump ‘er in then?” A man in the back called, the Santos starting to laugh and whistle. They raised from their seats, starting to come over.

“Aye chica, you wanna join the Santos? You know how we jump in girls like you?” A man to her right said, reaching out and groping her. Soraya gasped, turning away so her back was pressed to Spooky’s side.

Spooky turned and caught the man’s wrist before he reached out again, wrapping his arm around Soraya’s shoulders and pulling her back against his front. “Nah, she’s already in.”

“Says who?” Another man scoffed. Spooky looked at him, “Cuchillos. If you want to go up against Cuchillos, fine, but I ain’t cleaning your blood off the sidewalk.”

The men seemed to back off at the mention of Cuchillos, Soraya’s heart hammering in her chest as she held onto Spooky’s arm around her, digging her nails in. “Soraya’s with me, and you’ll respect her. You got me?”

Affirming nods proved the Santos accepted her, taking their seats again. “Good. Now let’s play some ball,” Spooky grinned.

Soraya sat down at a picnic table next to Cesar, two other Santos sitting across from them. Soraya watched Spooky make teams, the basketball under his arm. They started playing, lots of shouting and laughter coming from the court.

“Nice to see Spooky’s finally settled down,” the man across from her told Cesar with a playful look in his eye. He then looked at her, nodding his chin. “I’m Sad Eyes.”

“Soraya,” Soraya introduced herself. “But I’m not his hyna.”

“Sure seemed like it,” Sad Eyes said, looking at the court too. “I better go play.” He stood and walked off, the man he was with going after him, leaving just Cesar and Soraya at the table.

“You gotta be careful,” Cesar said. “You can’t just tell him you’re not his hyna. You might mess up Oscar’s plan.”

“Plan? What plan?” Soraya questioned Cesar.

“You know, to get you in without having to..” Cesar gestured. “You know what I mean.”

“Without having to have sex with me, you mean?” Soraya grumbled. Cesar nodded, “and.. I don’t think you’d wanna do it with all these guys here.”

Soraya sighed, “no, I don’t want to do it with anyone here. I wanna go home.”

“That’s gonna be hard. Ex-prophet and all, is your house even still up?” Cesar questioned. Soraya shrugged, looking at her hands. “Don’t know.”

She reached into the back pocket of her jean shorts, pulling out a green bandana. “I don’t care about your colors, I was born and raised a Prophet. That’s what I’ll always be.” She tied the bandana to her belt loop, Cesar looking down at it.

“You’re brave,” he mentioned before getting up and signing her along. “Let’s go.”

They walked over to the basketball court, Soraya leaning against the fence while Cesar joined in. There were some other girls a little further up the fence, looking her up and down, but once they spotted the green bandana, their faces fell, and they gave her glares.

Soraya stood in the blazing sun, bored out of her mind, until Oscar and Cesar finally returned, Oscar sweaty and shimmering. “You smell,” Soraya giggled as they walked next to each other, on their way to Oscar’s car.

Oscar playfully raised his arms, leaning over Soraya. Soraya squealed, pushing him away. “You’re disgusting, you Santo.”

Oscar winked at her, looking down and seeing the bandana tied to her belt loop. “Hey, what the hell is this?” he asked, his content facial expression making place for anger. “You can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Soraya asked, though she knew exactly what he meant. “Wear those colors,” Spooky snarled, grabbing the bandana and pulling it off.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Soraya reached out to it, but Spooky threw it away and grabbed Soraya’s arm. “Cesar, c’mon!” He dragged her to the car, pushing her into the backseat.

Cesar and Soraya sat in the backseat like two punished kids, Soraya not really caring that Spooky was once again upset with her. She didn’t like him either. Soraya was looking out the window, but her gaze drifted, and she looked at Cesar.

Cesar glanced at her, holding in a laugh. Soraya immediately looked away, snickering. Cesar let out a belly laugh and soon the two were nearly crying with laughter. Spooky pulled into the driveway, getting out of the car and opening the door for Soraya.

“Yea yea, we got it,” Spooky grumbled as Soraya came out the car laughing, holding onto the side of the car and holding her stomach. “Oh god, I’m gonna get a stomachache!”

“Get inside,” Spooky said through gritted teeth, pointing at the door. Cesar and Soraya went inside Spooky trailing after them. He got three beers from the fridge, letting himself fall down on the couch. He handed two beers off to the people on either side of him, draping his arm over the backrest on Soraya’s side.

They sat and watched TV, silently drinking their beers. It was quiet for at least three episodes of the show they were watching, until Oscar whispered to Soraya: “What you want for dinner?”  

Soraya looked at Oscar in the dim light, eyes tracing the shape of his face. “Don’t know. Ask Cesar.”

Oscar looked at Cesar. “Cesar?”

Cesar opted for take-out, so Oscar ordered. It wasn’t long before their food was delivered, and Oscar paid the driver with cash at the door. “Aye, dinner’s here,” Oscar called as he set it down on the coffee table, starting to unpack everything.

They each had a burger and fries, Soraya crossing her legs with her plate on her lap while she ate her dinner, watching the TV. She glanced to her left, seeing Cesar and Oscar eating and watching TV.

She looked down at her plate, thinking that maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. She resumed eating, trying to focus on the TV show again, but she couldn’t get her mind off her father.

When they finished their dinner, they were all sat on the couch a lot more comfortable. Soraya had her legs in Oscar’s lap, who had his hand on her foot, massaging it without really seeming to notice. Cesar had his head on Oscar’s shoulder, dozing off.

“Cesar, time for bed,” Oscar’s low voice interrupted the sound from the TV. Soraya slowly looked at them and then back to the TV, twirling her hair around her finger.

Cesar got up, walking and looking like a zombie as he trailed into his room, shutting the door behind himself. Oscar sagged on the couch a little, two hands now massaging Soraya’s foot.

“Your father ever do this for you?” Oscar questioned. Soraya looked at him and hummed, “sometimes, when I was little.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, you can take my bed,” Oscar said, then looked back at the TV, giving her no room to argue.

After another hour of mindlessly staring at the TV, Soraya’s eyesight had started turning blurry, her eyes sagging shut. She tried to fight it, opening her eyes again, but they slipped shut just as fast. She was exhausted, falling into a deep sleep.

After what felt like minutes, she woke up a little because she was jostled. She realized she was in bed, and Oscar was tucking her in. Oscar heard her breathing change, seeing he’d woken her up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered. Soraya only hummed in response. “What time is it?”

“It’s 1, go back to sleep,” Oscar murmured, tucking her shoulders in a little tighter before leaving the room and closing the door behind himself.

. . .

Soraya woke up late that morning, but when she left Oscar’s room, Oscar was still knocked out on the couch. She smiled at the sight of him, then looked at him a moment longer to admire his face.

He seemed so relaxed, his usual frown lines non-existent. He didn’t have a scowl on his face, and he wasn’t trying to look so tough as usual, either.

She walked into the kitchen and made the two of them coffee, putting the cups down on the dining table. She walked over to the couch and chewed her cheek while looking at him, unsure of what to do.

She shyly bend over him a little, reaching out to touch him but then hesitating and dropping her hand again. Then finally, she touched his arm. “Oscar,” she whispered, shaking his arm. “Oscar wake up.”

Within a split second Oscar had tackled Soraya onto the ground and pulled his gun out of his waistband, aiming it at her forehead. Soraya had wide eyes as she stared up at the man, hands beside her head.

Oscar sighed exasperatedly and put his gun down on the coffee table. He stood and pulled Soraya up with him, “sorry.”

“No, I uh.. I shouldn’t have woken you up. I made coffee, though,” Soraya gestured to the cups on the dining table. “Oh right, thanks,” Spooky murmured, walking off and leaving Soraya standing in the living room with heart palpitations.

She held her chest as she walked over to the dining table too, taking a seat across from Spooky. He had his entire face tucked into his hand, only giving her a glimpse of his teardrop tattoo. In his other hand he held his cup of coffee, finger twitching when Soraya looked at him.

Soraya sipped her coffee. Spooky sighed deeply as he dropped his hand from his face, taking a sip of his coffee too. Soraya looked around, noting how quiet the house was.

“Where’s Cesar?” Soraya questioned.
“School,” Spooky answered curtly, leaning back in his chair as he stared into his cup.

“Should I make you some breakfast?” Soraya proposed, but Oscar interrupted her. “How old are you? Should you be in school?”

“I’m 18, I’m supposed to graduate in May. I have some extra assignments to finish up for my honors class, but other than that I’m free,” Soraya explained to Oscar, who slowly nodded.

“So no school?” He asked, clearly confused. Soraya smiled, “no, no school. I’ll go fix you that breakfast now,” she said as she stood, sliding her hand across his shoulders as she walked away.

Oscar watched her go, clenching his jaw. He looked back at his coffee, confusion welling up in his mind while something else welled up in his chest.

He patiently waited, until the pull from the smell coming from the kitchen became too great and he stood to investigate. He leaned against the doorway, watching Soraya put a piece of bacon straight from the pan in her mouth and wincing, trying to cool it off by opening her mouth.

Oscar laughed, shaking his head. “You should probably wear something more covering if you’re gonna cook with that amount of grease.”

Soraya glanced down at her tank top and panties, then looked at Oscar. “Are you insulting my cooking?”

“Yea, I am, Morena,” Oscar snorted, then left. Soraya kept looking at the doorway with a smile, replaying the word in her head. Morena.

She finished up their waffles and bacon, putting them out on the dinner table. “Oscar, breakfast!” she called.

Oscar came in through the backdoor, a rag covered in oil stuffed into his pocket. He used it to wipe his hands, then sat down at the table about to dig in, when Soraya stopped him.

“Uh, I think not! Kitchen, now. Wash your hands, you beast.” Soraya pointed to the kitchen; eyebrows raised. Oscar sighed and got up, slouching into the kitchen and washing his hands.

He came back and made a plate for himself, Soraya doing the same. They ate together, talking about plans for the day. Soraya looked around, “yea I’m actually not sure what I’m gonna do. Laundry, probably.”

Oscar hummed, “you don’t have to, you know that right? I usually do laundry ‘round here,” he said, taking another bite of his waffle.

Soraya shrugged, swallowing the bite she had in her mouth. “It’s fine, I don’t have anything else to do anyway.”

They finished their breakfast, and after, Soraya went to do laundry while Oscar cleaned his car in the backyard. After a while, she came out with a laundry basket on her hip, going to hang it up to dry.

Oscar squinted at the sun as he watched her walk over, having pulled off his tank top a while ago. Soraya smiled at him, “hey.”

She was wearing a bikini top and once again a pair of Oscar’s shorts. “Those are mine, aren’t they?” Oscar asked, briefly signing with his hand, though he had a smile on his face.

“You mind?” Soraya grinned, starting to hang up the laundry.

“Not at all. You got a hyna in the house, you gotta offer up some clothin’,” Oscar spoke absentmindedly while coming over. “Let me help you with that.”

Soraya stepped aside, the two of them hanging up laundry together. “Tell Cesar to wipe his ass, he got skid marks that I can’t even wash out,” Soraya said, disgust in her voice.

Oscar snorted out a laugh, “I ain’t tellin’ him that.”

“You better, Oscar Diaz,” Soraya held up her finger.

“How’d you find out my last name?” Oscar questioned. Soraya shrugged, “Cuchillos mentioned it.”

“Did she? When?” Oscar asked, looking at Soraya intently. Soraya looked back at him, but quickly looked away. “When we were there, obviously.”

Oscar dropped it after that, not really minding that she knew. When they were done hanging up laundry, Soraya took off Oscar’s shorts and sprawled out in a lawn chair, Oscar’s sunglasses on.

“Am I tan yet?” she questioned, having been laying in the sun for approximately ten minutes. Oscar looked at her, washing the soap off his car with the hose. “Yea, very,” he said sarcastically.

Soraya lifted her sunglasses, looking at Oscar. “I’m serious! Am I tanning?”

“Yea yea,” Oscar answered. Soraya noticed three heads sticking out over the fence, grinning from ear to ear as she signed to the fence with her chin. Oscar glanced back, then aimed the hose at the fence.

Shouting sounded as the three Santos broke through the door, drenched in the water. Oscar looked back at them with a grin, “were you spyin’ on my hyna?”

“No, no! No we weren’t,” Sad Eyes smiled, along with two other men that were profusely apologizing and murmuring about going to sit out front and smoke. Oscar fondly shook his head, winking at Soraya, who rolled her eyes and put her sunglasses back on.

Oscar finished up shining his car, pressing a kiss to his fingers and putting them on the logo on the front, then quickly running his rag over the mark of his fingers. “I’m gonna go check on them. You comin’?”

Soraya sat up, nodding as she grabbed her tank top. Oscar handed her his shorts that she’d discarded in the grass, Soraya putting them on and fastening the belt to keep them up.

“C’mon,” Oscar put a hand on her shoulder, feeling how warm her chestnut-colored skin had become. He led her out to the front, the Santos quieting down as they all watched the two of them walking up.

Oscar sat down on the steps, Soraya sitting down next to him. She gave a tight-lipped smile to a man leaning on the little wall surrounding the front steps.

“Smoke?” Oscar held his pack out to her. “Oh yea, yea thanks,” Soraya said, taking a smoke from his packet while the Santos moved on, conversation in both English and Spanish resuming.

Oscar had lid his cigarette up, Soraya waiting for the lighter, but Oscar leaned over and pressed his cigarette to hers, lighting it up. “There you go,” he murmured in a voice pitched higher then usual, then exhaled his smoke.

Soraya silently smoked her cigarette while Oscar laughed and conversed with his fellow Santos. Soraya looked out over the streets of the Santos, acknowledging how different this was from sitting outside with the Prophets. With her father.

She stared down at the steps in front of her, finishing her cigarette and pressing it out next to her. “I gotta- I gotta uhm..” she squeaked out, standing up and rushing inside. The Santos watched her go, including Oscar.

“Hold on,” Oscar murmured, then went inside, after her. “Raya?” he called.

He didn’t see her in the house, walking through the house and seeing her pace in the backyard through the kitchen window. He heard her crying as he went through the backdoor. “Soraya?”

Soraya had the back of her hand pressed against her mouth as she cried, heaving for a breath in and releasing it in a sob. “I can’t, I can’t,” she cried, walking over to Oscar and letting herself lean against his chest.

Oscar was a little shocked but wrapped his arms around her nonetheless. “Aye querida…” Oscar sighed, one hand carding through her curls.

“I’m not a Santos, and I miss my dad. I can’t do this alone,” Soraya sobbed. “No puedo hacer esto sin mi padre, Oscar.” (I can’t do this without my dad)

“Me tienes, verdad?” (you got me, right?) Oscar comforted her. “Hey, mìrame. You’re not alone. Yo sigo estando para ti.” (I’m still here for you)

Soraya clutched onto him, Oscar trying to keep his stoic expression. “There, there.” He gently pulled her back, “lighten up, have a cigarette.”

Soraya chuckled, reaching into Oscar’s pocket and grabbing his packet. She pulled out a cigarette, putting it between her lips and using the lighter in the packet to light it.

She took a drag, then handed the packet back to Oscar, who took one, lit it, and then put the packet back into his pocket. “C’mon,” he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her back to the front of the house, sitting her down on the chair on the porch and taking a seat next to her.

“You’re alright, mija,” Oscar murmured to her before handing her a beer. They were roped into conversation with the Santos, leaving Soraya smiling and making new acquaintances.

Chapter 4: 4. Knives

Summary:

i never update dont hate me

Soraya was laying in the garden, having been tanning and reading a book the entire day. But now, the afternoon sun was setting, and it was cooling off, making her shiver in her bikini. She closed her book and got up, leaving her towel behind as she walked in.

“Oscar?” She called through the house, standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Yup,” Oscar grumbled back, sitting on the couch with a beer, some other Santos lounging about the house. Soraya walked in, feeling the Santos’ eyes on her.

Oscar looked up too, a sly grin on his face, his dimples appearing. “Tell me what you need, Morena.”

“What are we having for dinner? I’m hungry,” Soraya said, glancing around the room with a raised eyebrow. “What are you looking at?”

Oscar grinned as he inched over to Soraya, smelling like beer and cigarettes. “We’re lookin’ at you, cariña.” He walked passed her, Soraya’s gaze following him. She turned on her heels and went after him, watching the man grab another beer.

Oscar straightened up and shook his shoulders, frowning at Soraya. “It’s getting chilly.”

“Yea, I know. I’ll go get us some clothes, but what’s for dinner?” Soraya nagged.

“Uhh,” Oscar looked around. “Paella.”

Soraya smiled at Oscar as he came toward her. “What are you doing coming over here?” she teased, looking up at Oscar as the two each leaned against a door post, across from each other.

Soraya’s legs were between Oscar’s, Oscar’s slightly spread to make room for her. “You mind?”

Soraya nodded. “Yes.”

“Doesn’t seem like you do.” Oscar ran his hand over his goatee, trying to subtly get a look on Soraya’s body, but she noticed anyway.

“Yea, I’ll go get those clothes,” Soraya sighed as she walked away into Spooky’s room, Spooky watching her go.  

She came out wearing a gray t-shirt with ‘California’ in print on the front, a pair of Spooky’s chequered boxes underneath. She handed him a black blouse, Spooky handing over his beer and putting the blouse on.

Soraya sipped his beer as she watched him, Oscar and her making eye contact. Soraya held it for just a second before walking over to the couch and sitting down between the Santos making lines on the coffee table.

Oscar chewed his cheek as he watched her sit down with his beer, then disappeared into the kitchen to cook dinner. When he came out with plates for everyone, Soraya was laughing with his friends, the five talking to one another in Spanish.

“Okay, eat,” Oscar said, handing everyone plates. “Little Nicky put that away,” he ordered to the man sitting on the ground by the coffee table, tapping a rolled-up bill on the table next to his line.

“Nah I’m good,” Little Nicky declined, putting the bill to his nose again, but Spooky inhaled deeply and blew the line away. Little Nicky paused, Spooky sternly staring down at him.

“HM? What’d you say?” Spooky asked.

“Thanks for the dinner,” Little Nicky murmured, pulling a plate toward himself, silently starting to eat.

Soraya watched it all go down from the couch, slowly chewing her food, her plate in her lap. Oscar sat down next to her with a grunt, starting to eat. They all talked and watched TV together, the men finishing their plates way faster than Soraya.

“C’mon girl,” Spooky said as he put his empty plate down on the table. “You’re never gonna grow an ass like that. You’re too skinny, flaca.”

Soraya gave him a playful side eye. “And maybe you should eat a little less,” she raised her eyebrows, now fully looking at Spooky.

The Santos were all shouting ‘Oh’ loudly, pointing at Spooky. “She got you! She got you!” but Spooky wasn’t laughing, not really.

He just had this half-grin on his face, one dimple showing fully while the other barely made an appearance. He had this look about him that vanished the smile off of Soraya’s face and replaced it with something else entirely.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” Spooky said.
“Oh yea? What are you gonna do?” Soraya added on.

Spooky put Soraya’s plate on the coffee table, and before she could call out ‘hey’ he’d slung her over his shoulder, walking toward his bedroom. “Out, all of you,” he ordered the Santos, pausing in his doorway before closing the door.

The last thing Little Nicky and the other Santos saw was Soraya’s wide eyes and shocked expression, her curls falling around her face. The door slammed shut, leaving the Santos to pack up and go.

Oscar threw Soraya down on his bed, straddling her waist and starting to wrestle her. Soraya was laughing as she tried to avoid Oscar getting both her wrists in his grip, kicking her legs and trying to buck him off.

“Stop it, you Santo! Pare, pare!” (Stop, stop!) Soraya laughed, tears running down from her eyes. Oscar had a grin from one side of his face to the other when he succeeded in getting Soraya’s wrists in one hand.

“What are you gonna do now, huh?” Soraya panted, having stopped her fight because she was out of breath. Oscar only grinned down at her, chuckling. “Yea, that’s what I thought!” Soraya bit up at him.

Oscar pushed her back down with ease, earning a grunt from Soraya as she was pushed back into the mattress. Oscar scooted down to be straddling her upper thighs, using his free hand to start tickling her.

Soraya screeched out in laughter, starting to wildly buck and scream, begging him to stop. “Oscar, Os-“ she gasped for breath, Oscar finally stopping.

“Are you gonna say sorry?” Oscar pressured. Soraya widely grinned. “No!”

Oscar immediately shoved his fingertips between her ribs again, Soraya letting out a scream.

“Mierda, hyna! You’re gonna make me go deaf,” Oscar snickered while continuing his assault.

“Stop! Stop, Oscar!” Soraya laughed, her cheeks wet with the tears continuously seeping out of her eyes.

“Are you gonna say sorry? Say you’re sorry,” Oscar smiled, still having a tight grip on both her wrists.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Soraya screamed through her bucking and fighting.
“Sorry who?” Oscar raised his eyebrows. “Huh, baby? Sorry who?”

“Sorry señor!” Soraya shouted, finally able to catch her breath when Oscar stopped. She completely sagged into the bed, her arms loosely hanging from Oscar’s clutch. “Pare, señor.”

“Señor wasn’t what I was goin’ for, but,” Oscar shrugged. “I’ll take it.”

“What, you want me to call you daddy?” Soraya teased, smirking up at him. “You want me to tell you sorry, papi?”

Oscar got a look in his eye and he bit his lower lip as he smiled. “You’re just tryin’ to rile me up.”

“Is it working?” Soraya laughed out of breath as Oscar released her wrists, the girl letting them fall on the bed on either side of her head. Soraya sat up, her back against the wall, while Oscar stayed on his knees in front of her.

She looked at her wrists, rubbing them. “It hurts,” she whined. “Look at how red they are!” She held her wrist out to Oscar.

“Oh, I’m sorry, mi hermosa princesa,” (my beautiful princess) Oscar cooed exasperatedly, grabbing onto her wrists and kissing them. “Forgive me, mi reina.” (my queen)

Soraya smiled. “Oh, so now I’m going from princesa to reina?”

“I cannot tell you how sorry I am,” Oscar faked a whiny voice, rolling off her to lay down next to her.

Soraya got an evil grin on her face, then straddled him instead. “My turn.” She grabbed onto his wrists, trying to grab him the same way he did her, but she couldn’t get her hand around both his wrists.

Oscar laughed, an honest belly laugh; his head thrown back. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Shut up, I’m trying!” Soraya shouted, grabbing onto his chin and turning his head away. Oscar pulled his chin from Soraya’s grip, using his one hand to do the same to her, but he pulled her down.

Oscar pulled Soraya down toward his face, pulling her lips onto his. He interlocked their lips, kissing her passionately. He could feel Soraya go rigid, then felt her shoulders slowly relax as her hand came up to hold onto his forearm.

Their lips parted with a soft smack, Soraya’s eyes fluttering open to see Oscar was already looking at her. Soraya immediately leaned in again, unable to resist him.

Oscar hummed low in his throat as he took a hold of hers, turning them around so he had the upper hand. He briefly pulled back to brush the curls out of her face and out of the way of their kiss, before diving into the deep waters that were her again.

He let himself drown in her, feeling the inexplicable pull between their chests. Soraya parted her legs, Oscar settling his hips against hers, their torso’s pressed together.

Oscar briefly tightened his fingers around her throat, earning a shocked inhale from Soraya. Fear. Oscar pulled back to look at her, a serious look on his face. “You okay?”

Soraya gave him a half-hearted smile, then nodded. Oscar nodded too, his thumb brushing her lower lip as he took in the hesitation in her eyes. He sat up on his knees, running a hand over his goatee.

“What? What’s wrong?” Soraya asked, worried as she sat up too.

“Nothing, I just- nothin’, come on. I want to watch TV,” Oscar got off the bed, holding his hand out for her. Soraya looked extremely confused, but still scooted toward the side of the bed and took his hand, letting Oscar lead her to the couch.

Oscar sat down and patted his lap. “C’mere.”

Soraya smiled. There it was. She sat down in his lap, leaning back against his chest. Oscar wrapped one arm around her, the other settling on her thigh. He pulled her in, kissing her temple.

He turned the TV on with the remote, both of them settling in to watch Oscar’s show. Soraya blinked and it was dark out, the time filled by laughter and conversation, the TV just background noise.

She was now settled into Oscar’s side, her head on his shoulder. Oscar absentmindedly played with her hair, Soraya dazing off. Oscar glanced at the clock, a slight frown on his face.

“Where’s Cesar?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Out,” Soraya muttered. Oscar sat up, Soraya groaning as she scooted down, laying her head down in his lap. “He’ll be fine.”

“He’s been gone the whole day,” Oscar said, clearly worried about him.

“He’s out with his friends, right? Let him have some fun,” Soraya said, voice soft and sleepy. She rubbed Oscar’s chest as if to calm him, telling him it was okay.

Soraya turned her head back to the TV, Oscar lacing his fingers through her curls again. Soraya focused back onto the TV, but her eyes started fluttering shut and soon the show Oscar was watching was only background noise to her dreams.

. . .

Soraya and Oscar startled awake when the door slammed open, Oscar immediately shielding Soraya and pulling his gun from his waistband, pointing it at the people by the door.

“It’s us!” Cesar shouted. Spooky sighed as he tucked his gun away, releasing Soraya from her human shield. Soraya had a shocked look on her face, her breathing rapid and her tousled as she took in her surroundings, expecting blood or people fighting, but it was calm.

“Raya, it’s okay,” Oscar muttered to her, briefly laying his hand on the side of her head, then dropping it again. Soraya nodded, her shoulders hunching and a sigh escaping from her throat.

She rubbed her face, feeling how tired she still was. Oscar stood, Soraya mindlessly doing so too. “Beer?” she offered.

“Yes,” Oscar and Cesar said simultaneously, but Soraya raised an eyebrow at Cesar, knowing he wasn’t old enough to drink. She walked into the kitchen to grab a beer for herself and Oscar, going back into the living room.

She handed both beers to Oscar and he opened them both with his ring, handing one to Soraya after. Oscar leaned back onto the TV-console, Cesar and Jamal sat down on the couch Soraya and Oscar had just been asleep on.

After a long rent of Jamal screaming at Oscar about what Cuchillos said, from Lil’ Ricky still being alive to them being on another secret quest and something about the roller world money, he seemed to settle down, but then perked up again:

“How could you not give us a heads up?” Jamal exclaimed, wildly emphasizing with his arms. Soraya took a swig of her beer, watching Oscar’s jaw clench and tensing up herself at Oscar’s reaction.

“Yo chill Jamal, she’s his boss. He was probably under orders not to,” Cesar said, signing toward Oscar.

“I knew she wanted to see you, but she didn’t give me any details why,” Oscar said, resting his beer on his leg with two hands. “She said Lil’ Ricky’s still alive? He’s been dead for decades.”

“I don’t think she would’ve told us he was alive if he wasn’t,” Jamal countered, which clearly rubbed Oscar the wrong way.

“I don’t think you know what she would or wouldn’t say,” Oscar said in a tone that was more normal than Soraya expected.

Jamal scoffed, “’cause that bitch be bonkers?” he said in a taunting way. Oscar’s expression changed immediately, a deep frown settling on his face.

“I wouldn’t say that about her. She’s not someone to disrespect. But there is one way to find out if she means what she says,” Oscar said, his tone getting a playful edge.

“What are you suggesting?” Soraya asked, a little confused. Oscar looked at her, “we dig up his grave.”

Jamal pointed at him, nodding wildly with a big smile. “That’s exactly what I was thinking?”

Oscar got a smile on his face, Soraya catching herself lingering on his dimples, admiring him as he laughed. She quickly looked away, but felt Oscar’s arm sneak behind her as he took a swig of his beer.

“Oh, come on. It was?” Cesar asked Jamal.
“Yup! I have the perfect bag for this, kind of,” Jamal said excitedly.

“The perfect bag for this?” Soraya asked, sipping her beer.
“Yeah it’s this thing he does,” Cesar vaguely gestured to Jamal.

“I don’t really have a body exhumation bag, but my zombie apocalypse bag could be augmented to be in the same wheelhouse!” Jamal went on. Oscar and Soraya shared a look. “Give me an hour! I’ll be right back!”

Cesar had a half grin on his face, while Oscar watched Jamal run out the door with an amused look.

After, Cesar looked just as confused as Soraya. “Hey, she didn’t tell you, did she?” Cesar asked Oscar. Oscar got a bitter look on his face, briefly shaking his head before looking off to the side.

Soraya looked up at him, a heavy feeling in her stomach. That’s why he was so worried. Oscar walked away, Soraya wanting to say something, but failing to. “Oscar,” she eventually brought out, going after him.

She found him in the kitchen, both hands leaning on the counter with his head leaning low. “Not right now, Soraya.”

“Are you okay?” Soraya asked softly as she leaned up next to him.

“Not right now!” Oscar snarled at her, getting in her face. Soraya startled and took a step back, taking on a cautious stance, one foot back and one hand forward. When Oscar didn’t charge her, she turned on her heel and hurried out the kitchen.

She sat down on the opposite end of the couch from Cesar, who looked at her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, why?” Soraya looked back at him.

Cesar shrugged lightly. “He can be pretty..”

“Yea. I know.” Soraya turned the TV back on, watching whatever was on with Cesar. Oscar made no appearance as the two watched a random show, Soraya’s eyes constantly darting toward the doorway of the kitchen, to no avail.

A knock on the door sounded and Jamal walked in, in an entirely black outfit and a shovel. Soraya stood when Spooky finally came out of the kitchen, ready to go dig up a grave.

“Ready?” Spooky asked Jamal.
“As I’ll ever be,” Jamal said, confident.

“Wait for me, I’m gonna grab a coat,” Soraya said, going to go toward Oscar’s room, but the man gently grabbed onto her arm. “You’re not coming with us.”

“What?” Soraya asked, frowning. “Of course I’m coming.”

“No, you’re not. It’s dark out, it’s dangerous,” Spooky explained to her. Soraya pulled her arm out of his grip, a hurt look on her face. “No. I’m not letting you go alone, besides, you’re there.”

“Just ‘cause I’m there doesn’t make it less dangerous. You’re staying,” Spooky said, giving her a stern look that gave Soraya no choice but to stay.

Soraya only shook her head and walked away, disappearing into Oscar’s room. Spooky watched her go, clenching his jaw before walking out the door with Jamal.

Cesar stayed on the couch, but his phone rang the first ten minutes of his show’s episode. Monse. She was frantic, talking about how Cuchillos had broken into her house and threatened her.

Not fifteen minutes later, she was in front of his house. Cesar opened the door, Monse walking in, still ranting about Cuchillos. “And then she said she’d hurt my dad if I left!” she exclaimed.

Soraya looked up at the sound of an unknown voice, sitting up in bed. She pulled on a shirt, covering herself up since she was already planning on going to sleep.

She opened Oscar’s bedroom door, seeing a girl she recognized as Monse in the living room. It immediately reminded her of Latrelle, an unwanted pain shooting through her chest.

“.. Who is that?” Monse questioned.

“Oh she’s uh..” Cesar looked at a loss for words. “Spooky’s.. girl?”

Soraya nodded. “Spooky’s girl. Soraya.”

“Nice to meet you,” Monse said, though she was clearly judging her.

“Spooky’s okay with her being here?” Soraya asked Cesar, pointing toward Monse. Cesar nodded in affirmation. “It’s okay. Cuchillos stalked her, so she’s sleeping here to feel safer.”

“Wh- Cuchillos stalked her?” Soraya asked, eyes widening. “And she’s staying here?”

“Look, nothing’s gonna happen, okay? Oscar is gonna be back and in the meantime I’m here. It’s okay,” Cesar comforted both Soraya and Monse. Soraya got a frown on her face. “Whatever. If I wake up in the back of a van I’m blaming you.”

Cesar chuckled. “Okay. Come on, Monse.” He led her into his room and Soraya went back into hers, laying down in Oscar’s bed to wait for him.

. . .

She smiled, sitting in the garden with her dad, listening to his stories. “Then your tìo Quicksand, you know why he was named Quicksand? He once killed an entire gang, getting rid of the bodies in the quicksand. Smartest man I ever knew.”

“Really?” Soraya laughed. “You’re right. You wouldn’t have though of that,” she teased her father. Her father looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Really?” he chuckled.

“Okay, okay, go on. Tell me more about tìo Quicksand,” Soraya rushed him, her father opening his mouth to speak, but the only thing he said was;

“Raya,” Oscar whispered, gently shaking her. Soraya opened her eyes, seeing Oscar.

“Oscar,” she groaned sleepily, wiping at her eyes and sitting up. Oscar was covered in dirt, smelling like a freshly mowed field.

Oscar held onto her face, Soraya grabbing onto his wrist. “What are you doing?” she asked, still groggy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, then pulled her into a hug, burying his nose in her hair. “I was unfair to you.”

Soraya pulled back, a slight frown on her face. “I- it’s okay. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Everything is fine. I’m gonna go freshen up, you go back to sleep, alright?” Oscar whispered back to her, petting her hair before standing up and walking out the room.

Soraya watched him go, then slowly laid back down, closing her eyes. A few minutes later she could feel Oscar crawling in behind her, pulling her into his chest.

She opened her eyes, feeling Oscar’s arm snake around her waist. She could feel him press against her ass. She closed her eyes again, pushing closer to Oscar, who only came closer himself.