A shadow passed over those eyes, his hair fell forward, covering half of his face.
“Does this tattoo have anything to do with it?” My fingers traced the snake twisted over his left forearm.
“Dig and I got these together. I got my snake on my arm. He got his around his waist. ‘Strike first, attack before you get attacked.’”
My fingers traced over the snake’s vicious face. “He has three bones in his mouth. It’s hard to tell with those huge fangs. You’ve got to look closely.”
My eyes caught on his. The green was startling, shining glass that took my breath away. He was ready to tell me something yet ready to choke it back down at the very same time.
I took the popcorn bowl away and entwined our fingers together, rubbing my other hand over the inked snake. “Tell me.”
“After my parents got to the States and I was born, my dad ditched my mom for some other woman and took off for California. Never saw him again. My mom worked hard, cleaning people’s houses or their shops after-hours, anything she could find. One morning, she didn’t wake up, died of a brain aneurysm in her sleep.”
“How old were you?”
“I was ten. I went to live with her brother—my uncle—and my cousin, Inès. My uncle got into gambling as we hit our teens, and we pretty much took care of ourselves. He owed money.” He took in a breath. “Big money.”
“Oh.”
“He had me working after school doing drop-offs for these Salvadoran drug dealers who were pals of his bookie’s. That’s when he took her, when I wasn’t home.”
“He took Inès?”
“Yeah. When they finally came home that night, she was like a different person. She stopped talking, just stared at the wall. Wouldn’t even look at me. Wasn’t too hard to figure out that he’d pimped her for his debt.”
“Oh my God.”
“She was fourteen.” Boner averted his blank gaze. “I freaked out. Really freaked out. I knew the only way out of it was to get away from him. So, one morning, instead of going to school, we took off. But he caught us. He punched me, slapped her, threw shit at us, threatened to send her back to the bookie. I knew I had to make it stop.” He held my gaze. “There was only one way to make it stop.”
My pulse pounded in my neck, and I squeezed his cold fingers with my own.
“He was talking shit to Inès, slapping her, and she was crying and shaking. That’s when I grabbed the crowbar he always kept by the back door. I hit him with it. I hit him across his back. I hit his knees, his legs, his arms, his head. I kept smashing, smashing, blood flying everywhere, his bones cracking.” He sucked in a breath. “And I fucking enjoyed it.”
“I bet you did.”
“I grabbed Inès and the crowbar, and we took off. I had just turned sixteen. I started running odd jobs—collecting payments, threatening and killing with that crowbar for this gang I knew through the drug dealer I’d worked for. I kept us alive—on the street but alive. It was hard for Inès, but she hung on. I promised her things would get better, and she kept believing they would. She kept believing in me.”
“Of course she believed in you.”
He rubbed our hands together. “I didn’t even think about it when I was bashing my uncle. I just hit and hit and hit him. I’d hit him to stop him from hurting her anymore and to start a better life for us. There was no good versus evil, wrong or right. There was only that iron in my hands. My hate, my love, my fear, my wishing—it all went into that crowbar. But we got shit-all anyway.” His hands slid from mine. “Smashing bones turned into a high-paying job though. It became my trademark. I was real popular in certain circles.”
From boy to vicious killer in one night.
My stomach hardened. “So, Boner comes from breaking bones?”
“It earned me a nickname. El Hueso. The Bone.” He studied my face. “That scare you?”
“No, it doesn’t.” I took his hands back in mine. “I’m glad you broke his bones. Thank you for being honest with me, for trusting me.”
A shiver razored around my neck as he studied me. “I do trust you.”
I kissed his hands. The hands that had broken so many bodies. The very same hands that had protected me, adored me.
He cleared his throat. “I wanna do the teenager thing with you.”
“Oh. We can do that. We kind of are already.”
“How should I sit or whatever?” he asked, pulling himself up.
I couldn’t contain my grin. “Just sit back against the sofa.”
We adjusted ourselves.
“I’ll shut off all the lights.” I leaned over and switched off the lamp on the end table at my side.
We were engulfed in darkness, save for the glow from the television screen.
“Put your arm over my shoulder.”
He did.
“Good. Now, I’ll sit back, and we’ll keep pressing closer together while we watch TV. Then, you can start going for a little bit more.”
“Like, go for a titty instead of dipping into the popcorn bowl?”
I shoved him with my shoulder. “Yeah, something like that.”