⊰ 5 ⊱ Old Bonds, New Problems

The familiar sound of the incessant beeping from the vital signs monitor prompts an audible groan from the back of my throat, pulling me into consciousness. My eyelids feel heavy, and I struggle to lift them as the bright light that beams from between the opened window blinds pierces my hazy eyes. My eyebrows furrow, my lungs drawing a deep breath as the discomfort from my shoulder slowly settles.

It isn’t until my vision clears that I begin to recall the events from the night prior, coming to me like flashbacks in bits and pieces.

Marcel.

“Mercy?”

My eyes widen at the familiar voice, my head snapping to the side to find Levi standing from the chair positioned at my bedside. He straightens on his feet, swiftly moving to stand beside me. “Hey…” the tenderness in his voice is comforting until I remember that I haven’t seen him for the better part of 6 years and the man who put me in this hospital bed is the same man that’s been looking for him.

“Levi..?” My voice quavers, the rippling fear of what Marcel might do to him if he finds him here thrashing into me like the bullet he put through my left shoulder. I stammer as I attempt to sit up on the bed, “W-What are you doing here?! Y-You shouldn’t be here! Marcel…he’ll —”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says softly. His hand finds mine, his eyes yielding caution as he helps me sit up. “If he wanted me dead, I would be,” he tells me as though it’s supposed to be reassuring. Carefully, he lowers himself to my side, sitting over the white bedsheets.

His hazel green eyes search mine, his hand moving to cup the side of my face. His thumb caresses my cheek, and for a moment, it’s as though time never passed. It’s as though we’re back in our childhood home, sitting on the old beat up couch.

Despite all that he’s been through, at the young age of 27, he looks good. His silky light brown hair is neatly combed to compliment the nice fade of what I assume is a fresh haircut, and what I remember once being an awkward patchy beard is now perfectly full and connected to his trimmed mustache. His lean and muscular build reminds me of the old wedding photos of our parents that they kept in a shoe box on a shelf in their closet, and the tattoos that cover his arms and neck oddly suit him just right.

He looks like a real criminal now…

“I’m so sorry that you got dragged back into this life…” his voice trails off. “I never wanted you to get caught up in any of this.”

With furrowed eyebrows, I search his saddened eyes, shaking my head ever so slightly as I press, “Then why would you leave that kind of money in my apartment, Levi? I don’t hear from you in five and a half years and you decide to drop a bag full of cash that belongs to that…fucking psycho? What the hell were you thinking?!”

A soft sigh parts his lips, and his hand falls away from my face as he says, “I didn’t take his money, Mercy. I swear it on dad’s grave. I stayed away all that time to avoid getting you into trouble. I wouldn’t do that to you.” He pauses for a moment, a hopeless look lingering on his soft features. This time, when he speaks, his voice is lower, and his tone hardens, “I think someone is trying to frame me.”

I believe it.

If there’s anything he’s ever cared about, it’s me, and if it’s true that he’s being targeted, the best way to make sure that he suffers is to get to me.

At the thought of someone trying to hurt him, my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. “So what happens now?” I ask as calmly as I can muster, desperately trying to contain my anxiety. “Can’t you just explain that to him? He has his money back, so why can’t he just l—”

“It doesn’t work that way,” he cuts me off, shaking his head as his gaze breaks away from my own. “My best chance at walking out of this is finding undeniable proof that I delivered that money and someone else stole it.”

Again, he pauses with a soft sigh and explains, “Because even if I can somehow come up with four and a half million dollars, he’s not gonna stop until he takes everything from me and I’m…”

He doesn’t say it, and he doesn’t have to. I know that he’s trying to shield me from the devastating reality of what’s probably going to happen to him. And since I’m one of few things that he cares about, I’m now on Marcel’s list too.

Yet somehow, I don’t resent him. It’s not his fault. The night that we watched my parents be gunned down on our living room floor, I realized that all of this is their fault, so I’ve never resented Levi.

I resent our parents.

I part my lips to speak, but before I can mutter a sound, a knock echoes through the door. A second later, the door is cracked open, and a nurse with dark brown hair tied back into a neat bun and dark rimmed round glasses peeps her head inside.

“Oh, good! You’re awake,” she says with enthusiasm. She offers me a small smile as she invites herself into the room, pushing the door all the way open as she says, “The police are here to ask you a few questions, Ms. Carter.”

I turn to look at Levi as he quickly stands from the bed, releasing my hand from his hold. When I turn back to the nurse, a pair of men in dark colored suits with shiny gold badges flashing on their belts at their hips emerge into the room. As friendly as the tall, blond haired, blue eyed man looks, the shorter and bulky dark haired man wears a stern look on his face.

“I’ll be at the nurses’ station if you need anything, sweetie,” the nurse tells me in a soft sweet tone before excusing herself and shutting the door behind her.

Although I know that I didn’t do anything wrong—for the most part—I feel my heart at my throat, nervously shifting on the bed as the blond haired man introduces himself, “Hello, Ms. Carter. I’m Detective Floyd, and this is my partner, Detective Vazquez.” He nods at the man next to him, pausing briefly before saying, “We’re here to ask you a few questions regarding the incident from last night. We’re required to take a police report whenever someone’s been shot.”

Fuck.

Suddenly, my mouth feels awfully dry, and I swallow hard as I glance at Levi who appears to be having a staredown with Detective Vazquez as he crosses his arms beneath his puffed up chest.

Great. This is just perfect.

“Before we get started, sir?” Detective Floyd averts his gaze to Levi, calling on his attention before asking, “You mind stepping outside while we speak with the victim?”

“Yeah, I do,” Levi doesn’t hesitate, his hard gaze shifting from Detective Vazquez to Detective Floyd.

“Levi…” my voice is softer than I intend as I reach across my body with my right hand, touching his shoulder.

His demeanor has shifted entirely from before, his darkened eyes falling on me as he tells me, “I’m not leaving you alone.”

With a half-hearted smile, I reluctantly turn to look at the detectives, my gaze flickering from the one who continues to eye Levi with a hard look on his face to Detective Floyd who appears calmer than I expect. “I’m sorry, my brother’s just looking out for me,” I apologize with embarrassment. “Is it okay if he stays?”

He hesitates, but after a brief moment, he realizes that trying to get Levi to step out is going to be far more trouble than it’s worth. With this, he clears his throat and draws his phone from his pocket, telling me, “I’ll be recording this conversation for our records. Is that alright with you, Ms. Carter?”

I nod, prompting him to set the phone down on the overbed table positioned beside me. In the voice recording app, he taps on the round red button at the bottom of his phone, requesting, “Please state your full name and age.”

I draw a shaky breath, my eyes hovering over the phone as I state, “Mercy Carter, 24.” Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Detective Vazquez draws a small notepad and pen from the inside of his suit jacket and begins jotting down notes as I speak.

“Ms. Carter, on the evening of December 5th, what were you doing before the incident? Please be as detailed as possible. Anything could help with our investigation.” Detective Floyd says.

I don’t have to think about it, remembering how utterly frustrated I was just a couple of hours prior. “I was at school taking my Quantum Mechanics final. I took the bus home, entered my apartment, went out on the balcony to s—”

My words come short, realizing that I’ll be admitting to possessing marijuana and having been high out of my mind before I was shot.

Then, I also realize that it’s probably for the best. After all, I can’t tell them what really happened. I may still have a chance at living to see next week, but if I talk now, I know that I won’t live to see tomorrow.

My voice is low, just above a whisper as I confess, “I-I went out on the balcony of my apartment and…smoked a joint.”

It’s not telling the police that I was smoking pot that I’m more concerned with. It’s my brother finding out that his little sister—the one he sacrificed his life for to make sure she didn’t end up a delinquent—bought a drug that isn’t legal in this state yet and rolled and smoked herself a dooby.

Oh, I hate my life so hard right now…

With my eyes glued to the bed sheets covering my legs, I can almost feel Levi’s eyes boring holes into my head as I clear my throat and awkwardly bring my hand up to the back of my neck, scratching my head nervously. “I ordered food for delivery, took a shower, put some clothes on, and…”

My voice trails off, my mind running at a million miles per second trying to figure out what to say. All the while, all I see is the pair of golden-brown eyes engraved into my mind like the memory of the night that I met him.

I hallucinated?

…

No one’s gonna believe that crap.

“And I don’t remember anything after that,” I lie, and I almost believe it. I avert my gaze to the detective questioning me, telling him, “I was high out of my mind. I don’t remember anything else. I’m sorry.”

The pair of men turn to look at each other, shooting one another a look that I can’t read. After a moment, Detective Vazquez presses, “There were no signs of forced entry, which means you must’ve opened the door. You don’t remember doing that?”

If I wasn’t nervous before, I am now.

I draw the inside of my cheek between my teeth, chewing vigorously as my gaze falls back to the phone recording my every word. I shake my head, humming, “Mm-mm.”

I can feel their scrutinizing eyes shift, and in the next moment, it feels as though the walls are closing in on me, my heart beating erratically in my chest as Detective Floyd tells me, his voice almost comforting, “It’s alright, Ms. Carter. Nothing you say will be used against you. We just want to catch the people—or person—responsible f—”

He halts mid-sentence, the sound of the door suddenly opening drawing his attention away. Altogether, I snap my head to the doorway, and just when I think matters can’t get any worse, I feel my stomach turn and my breath hitch in my lungs.

Marcel…

There he stands, in a navy blue suit, black fitted button-up shirt, and shiny oxford black shoes. The buttons of his jacket are undone, just as the top pair of buttons of his neatly pressed shirt. With a hand in his pocket, he emerges into the room, the pair of men responsible for wrecking my apartment walking in closely behind him.

He doesn’t say a word, and he doesn’t have to.

I shouldn’t be surprised that even law enforcement knows who Marcello Saldívar is. However, what does surprise me is how even they know that the smartest thing to do is to stop asking questions and to walk away.

When I turn to look at the detectives, they quickly turn their sights elsewhere. “Well,” Detective Floyd clears his throat, offering me a half-hearted smile as he takes his phone and says, “That’s all we need. Thank you for your time, Ms. Carter.”

…

Are you serious..?

I furrow my eyebrows in utter terror, my eyes widening as Detective Vazquez shuts his notepad and swiftly sticks it back into his jacket. With this, both detectives excuse themselves, avoiding eye-contact with Marcel as they move past him and his men and take their leave.

Levi…

I inhale sharply, snapping my head to the side to find Levi standing with both hands balled into fists at his side. His eyes blazed with anger, he clenches his jaw, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his nostrils flare.

The sound of Marcel’s shoes clicking against the tile floor paralyzes me, and I’m at the brink of screaming at the top of my lungs when the familiar bald-headed man suddenly shuts the door behind him, locking us in the room with one of the most dangerous men I’ve ever known.

Marcel’s gaze is fixed on Levi, his voice tinged with superiority as it resonates, “I thought I’d find you here.”