Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60234 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60234 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“Stop it,” I say to myself because I’m getting sick of my own damn thoughts. Demon is gone, and he’s not coming back. I need to focus on the here and now, on surviving the shit show my life has become.
It’s hard to focus on anything when I’m so fucking cold and tired and hungry. Not to mention scared shitless. I’m a tough chica. I know that. I’ve done more fighting in my life than chilling, but this? This is some next-level shit. From the moment my Moms kicked me out of her place, I haven’t been alone, not like this.
Back in the day, I fell in with a bunch of chicas from the east side, trying to survive and make a place for ourselves in the harsh streets of LA. Fierce, scrappy, determined. Together, we formed Las Sangrientas, a sisterhood that became our lifeline, our blood.
We raised hell, asserting our dominance, gaining respect and fear equally. Life was brutal, sure, but there was a bond that made life bearable. It was Las Sangrientas against the world, and for a while, it felt like we could take on anything. The streets forged us into a force to be reckoned with and we learned to be cunning, relentless, hard. We did some cold-blooded shit and got away with it.
A clap of thunder sounds so loud it vibrates the floor and I jump. Seconds later, a blinding flash of lightning illuminates the warehouse from the vents above. We haven’t had rain like this in forever.
Just as quickly as it comes, the light vanishes, plunging me into darkness once again. It’s fitting, really. But I can’t hole up in here forever. Angel Harbor is too close to the crew in LA. How fucked up is that?
Fuck, Demon, why’d you have to die?
I blink away the tears threatening to break loose again. I’m smarter than that. I know tears don’t change anything. I gotta keep moving, keep fighting. But the memories keep coming back—the worst day of my life.
Gritting my teeth, I force myself back to the present. It’s just another fight, another battle in the war that is my life. I’ve survived before, and I’ll survive now. I’ve got no other choice. Demon is gone and no one’s gonna save my ass but me.
This is my life now. They might think they’ve cornered me, but they’re wrong.
I ain’t done. Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER TWO
Nova
This is straight-up bullshit. Every time I step inside this sterile room and see my brother, Banger, laid out like a rag doll I’m hit with the same thought. It’s not right. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be strung up on life support with a gut wound that’d make a hardened soldier cry. He should be wide awake, flashing that lopsided smile, talking shit and cracking jokes.
Instead, he’s here, hanging on to life by the tips of his fucking fingers while I try my best to save his life.
It’s not the first time I’ve tried—and failed—to save a fellow brother. Still, every morning since we found him lying face down at a new development, I promise myself that I won’t lose another brother. Not this time.
And not Banger. Not only that, but Willow is missing. What the fuck is up with that?
“Come on, Banger. Wake up, brother.” It’s been over two days, and though his body is healing, he’s still in a coma. He hasn’t woken up yet. Emphasis on yet. But he will. I know it.
He has to.
As a trauma doc, I’ve seen my share of blood and death, and I’ve stitched up too many wounds to count. And each time I look at Banger, it’s like a grim reality of my tours in the army. The faces of fallen brothers haunt me, men I couldn’t save despite my best efforts. Faces like Private Reynolds, another dark-haired kid who bled out under my watch, a promising life cut too short.
Every time I change Banger’s bandages, I see Reynolds’ face. Each pulse of the monitor is another beat of the war drum, another reminder of those I couldn’t save.
But not this time. This time, I’m keeping Banger in the land of the living, come hell or high water.
I ain’t just a doctor. I’ve spent years living on the edge, dealing with life on the streets, and doing what I needed to survive. The MC is my family, and I’m not about to let one of my brothers go down without a fight. Every stitch, every bandage, every damn bead of sweat on my forehead is a promise. I’ve got you, Banger. And I ain’t letting go.
Sitting in this sterile room that’s too quiet for comfort is a real mindfuck. I’m not just battling for Banger’s life—I’m battling my own demons. But I keep my cool, keep the past from dragging me under.