93

Ramirez Gonzales.

Ten men are already sprawled on the floor like discarded trash. Instead of a graveyard, they’ve crawled out of the decrepit garage-looking building ahead, and I jog my way straight toward it. My fists itch for a fight. If Darnez wants war, I’ll give him hell.

When I step inside, the stench of grease and blood hits me first. The place is cavernous, lit by flickering overhead lights. I scan the room—men above me, crammed onto a rusted balcony, and more on the ground level, all making way for their weapons. Knives, clubs, hammers, chains—anything sharp or blunt enough to do damage.

My eyes lock onto Brody and Noah, tied to two battered chairs in the center of the garage. My brother’s head hangs low. Brody’s struggling against the ropes.

And then I see him.

Darnez.

He sits on a ……