My papa left the room, and the second the door shut, I started to cry. My body shook. I hurt all over . . . but worse, it was my papa who had hurt me. He had punched and kicked me.
He’d made me bleed . . . again.
I looked up when I heard the door open again. Mrs. Murray put Beau on the floor, then left us alone, locking us inside.
Beau stared at me. “Tanner?” he whispered. He was only three. He crawled over to me. When he saw me crying, he started crying too.
I reached for my little brother and pulled him into my arms. I didn’t like to see him cry. “It’s okay,” I whispered. But the blood kept falling from my lip, and Beau cried harder. I put him on my bed and slid up beside him. I held him close. I didn’t want to see him upset. I had to protect him. I was his big brother. He was my best friend.
Seeing the book Mrs. Murray had left for me, I asked Beau, “Shall we read a book? It’ll make you feel better.”
Beau nodded and started sucking on his thumb. I looked at the picture on the cover again, then read the title: “Go home, Juan.” I opened the book and read each page to Beau.
By the end, all I could think of was Rafael. The book had said that anyone from Mexico was bad. That they wanted to hurt those of us with white skin. White skin like mine and Beau’s. I sighed. I realized why my papa had been so angry. Because Rafael was bad. He had come to my school, to America, to hurt and ruin people with white skin.
I held Beau tighter. Beau was my best friend in the world. Papa never saw us that much. Mrs. Murray was not that nice. But Beau made me laugh. My stomach tightened when I thought about Rafael hurting him because he was jealous of our white skin.
Then I took a deep breath, and I quickly felt better. Because my papa had said he was going to get him out of the school. And my papa always did what he said he would do.
Papa would send Rafael back home.
And we’d all be safe.
Chapter One
Tanner
Austin, Texas
Present Day . . .
The sand crunched under my feet. Bullets flew around my head. My chest was tight, ready to snap, as I watched Gull and Arizona take shots to their heads and drop to the floor.
Both of them fucking dead and done.
A whistle cut through the carnage that was this fucked-up deserted farm. I glanced up to the barn beside me. AK was signaling to me from his place on the roof. He sliced his hand over his throat. I got his message—we needed to draw the fuck back.
“No!”
My gaze snapped to the noise. Viking was scrambling to his feet. When I saw Flame striding toward the crumbling stables across the clearing I knew why. The psychotic motherfucker was walking toward where the Klan were stationed, like he couldn’t be fucking killed, arms stretched wide, firing bullet after bullet toward my old Klan brothers, who were taking us out with fucking pinpoint accuracy.
I aimed my gun, focusing on taking down the assholes that had now turned their attention to Flame. AK narrowed his eyes and, with his usual sniper precision, sent bullets flying into the skulls of a few of those who’d abandoned their cover to come at Flame.
But the fuckers had a sniper too. These weren’t the skinheads the Klan was known for. The dumb shits everyone always thought of when it came to white power. No, these were the brothers I’d spent years training up. The ones who were kept in secret, so the feds and rivals didn’t know the Klan’s true strength. My father had meticulously recruited these guys. These were the fuckers who were gonna ignite the surprise wildfire that would spark the race war. The soldiers no one ever saw coming.
No one but me.
“Flame!” Viking jumped up from his place behind an old tractor and sprinted toward his fucked-up brother. Rudge jumped into the spot Vike left. AK tried to give Vike the cover to get to Flame, spraying a blanket of rapid bullets toward the Klan. But this branch of the Klan were stronger, smarter, and knew exactly what AK was doing. I tried to help, emptying my gun of its ammo, signaling to Smiler to give them cover