Canary by Tijan
Ash
He stepped back, standing. “She’s my half-sister—same mother. Her other half is Estrada’s father. He took my mother as a mistress—didn’t care what family she had to leave. My dad’s from Connecticut, but was living down in Oaxaca.” He paused. “He was there for the surfing, met my mom down there. Estrada’s father knew my mom. He threatened to kill me when I was eight. He did kill my dad. I grew up in foster care, went into the army, and when I could, I went in search of my mom. Met my sister for the first time. My mom knew who I was the second I showed up. Morales. He runs the Morales cartel. Estrada was considered a bastard until he just took over another cartel. No one gave a fuck to question where he came from. Morales stepped back, let his son take power in the next region—because he considered Estrada his. But Estrada wasn’t. They hate each other, but they also love each other. The two cartels are linked by blood, and no one knows except the leaders. When I showed up, I got a job for Morales. My sister grew fond of me, started joking that I was like a big brother to her. My mom freaked and sent me to Marco. I don’t know when my sister found out who I was, but at some point, she went to him. She told him, asked that I be allowed into the family.” He stepped closer, enough so I could see his eyes flash. Hard. “He sent a hit squad after me. I got out and went north to the States, as far north as I could. I needed protection, and at the right time, Roman Marakov found me. He found me. He recruited me.” He took a break. I felt the conversation shift. He grew more, just more. I didn’t know what he was before, intent? But it was more now. He knelt back down. “You gotta talk to me. I told you my shit. You tell me yours. You gave your sister’s name because why? I gotta know what storm I’m walking into with you. I can’t see the landmines if I don’t know where to look for them.”
I stared at him, overwhelmed by what he’d shared, but I couldn’t respond.
A lump filled my throat, and I felt tears threatening.
His sister was alive. I didn’t know if mine was.
“What’s your real name?” he asked.
I could not go there. I would not. “Ash.”
“Bullshit. What’s your real name?”
“Miriam.”
His eyes went flat. “What’s your real name?”
I continued, “Sandra.”
“You’re lying.”
I didn’t wait to be asked again. “Melanie.”
I stared at him. Hard. Fierce.
Again, “Suzie.”
And then, “Brooke.”
His eyes lit up, speculating. “Your sister.”
“The first girl I found out he took.”
I had a thing about names.
I saw the thoughts moving. He was connecting the dots.
He said, “Brooke. Suzie. Melanie. Miriam.”
“You missed Sandra.”
“Sandra.”
I felt like fucking cement inside. “My sister fell in love—Leo this and Leo that. All she wanted to do was talk about him. She was obsessed. Then I met him, and I hated him. Didn’t matter. Our mom died, and Brooke needed an escape. He was inside her already, got her taking drugs. Got her skipping school. She ran away. Cops never looked for her. They considered her another junkie runaway. Such a sad fucking cliche story, right?” I didn’t tell him the other times the cops were at my house. I didn’t tell him the looks I got, given the family history. Made so much sense to them, that’s what one social worker said. I wanted to scratch her eyeballs out. “But I knew where she went. You know where she went. Her name was Brooke. Then I found out the other girls he took. Suzie. Melanie. Sandra. Miriam. You came along, and I was Girl. You never asked my name.” I didn’t wait. I whispered, “I have a thing about names.”
He stared, long and hard. “Ash?”
“Ashley Cruz. I saw her missing poster once. It was old. She was taken as a kid, pretty blonde hair. Different life, but she looked like me. Doesn’t matter if he’s not the one who got her. Someone got her.”
She was another missing girl.
So many.
Too many.
Too fucking many of them.
“He’s on your list?”
“He’s the first one.”
Raize’s jaw hardened, and he stood.
The conversation ended, just like that.
It left me aching. And Gus’ licks weren’t helping me.
Raize lifted the radio, pressing the button. “Where are you guys?”
“On the road, looking for that guy.”
“Swing by, pick us up.”
“Roger.”
“We’ll be on the driveway.”
When the truck appeared,Raize and I both hopped into the back.
As we drove up to the house, I saw the trucks had been abandoned. There were bodies splayed out over the grass. They’d been running for cover.
I watched Raize.
I couldn’t not watch Raize.
He did all of that.
I stayed on the back of the truck, holding Gus, who was almost in my lap, and I did what Raize always did to me. I continued to watch him.
I watched as Cavers went to get a large roll of plastic. He kicked to spread it out, and one by one, they dragged the bodies over. They cut the plastic, rolled them up, and put them in the back of one of the trucks. When that was done, Jake drove the other trucks away, one by one. Cavers followed and brought him back each time. After three trips, there was one truck left—the one with the bodies.
Raize had walked through the entire house by now, going room by room. When he came out, he brought some of our personal items over to the truck where I was sitting—Jake’s bag, Cavers’ coat, Cavers’ cooking knives, my book.
Cavers and Jake left again, this time taking the bodies with them.
Gus wouldn’t stop licking my arm.
Looking down, wondering about a stinging I was feeling—there was blood trickling down my arm.
I’d been shot.
When had that happened?
No matter. I still didn’t feel a thing.
By the time Cavers and Jake returned in our regular car, the smoke had started.
Raize walked out of the house. The smoke seemed to follow him. The flames were next, peeking out of the windows.
He’d set the house on fire.
That made sense. Destroy all the evidence? DNA? Something like that?
Seemed like Mafia 101: destroy any trail you might leave behind.
Cavers was the one who noticed my arm, and he shouted to Raize, who came over.
They gathered around, and Cavers prodded my injury, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. His voice was muffled, like I was underwater. I almost preferred it this way.
I no longer wanted to know anything.
I no longer wanted to hear anything.
I was so tired. I felt like I could sleep for months, but I knew I’d never be rested. Not now.
Not anymore.
Too much killing. Too much bloodshed. Too much violence.
There was a part of me that had always been like this, I think. Since I was a kid.
I was so tired of it all.
“Gus.” Jake snapped his fingers, whistling.
I tightened my hold on my dog, but Raize came over and pried my fingers from Gus’ collar.
Raize said something to me, frowning as Gus hopped off and trotted after Jake. They went into the car and Cavers followed. When I looked down, there was a whole bandage on my arm.
When had that happened?
I was on repeat, asking the same question to myself.
Then Raize slid his arms under me and picked me up. He carried me to the front of the truck and put me inside. He locked my door before rounding the hood to get in behind the wheel.
He seemed concerned about me, and I thought back to when I’d first started working for him.
“I had a rule with myself, not to look at you,” I told him.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want you to kill me for it.” I started laughing, because that was funny.
Worrying someone would kill you for looking at them.
But it was true. That was the hilarity of it.
Right?
“I think I’m in shock again,” I added.
He sighed. “Yeah.”
I frowned, looking down at my lap. Movement caught my eye, and I realized we were driving. We had been driving. I was losing track of time.
“I’m really sick of this life.”
Raize didn’t answer.
But as I turned toward the window, I could’ve sworn I heard him say, “Yeah.”
