The Soulmate Collection

8 || The Otherside

Gang Fiction

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Warning: There is some mild language in this short, and I'm not a fluent spanish speaker, so if you are forgive me for any mistakes I make, please.

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"Find someone who knows all your flaws, differences, and mistakes yet still sees the best in you."

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"¡Qué rollo con el hoyo!" Javier called from down the street, but I couldn't move. I was petrified. I had seen my father kill, my older brothers kill, but this was the first time the gun was in my hand, and I pulled the trigger.

A member of the Ladrones De Almas laid dead on the ground, a trickle of blood leaving his body. I know it's wrong, but the irony of the scene is not lost on me. To be a part of a gang that is translated to Stealers of Souls, and be laying dead on the cold ground. I took a life that day, and although it was something that my family would have been proud of, it was something that forever changed me. At fourteen I was a killer, and officially part of the gang. The police chalked the death up to gang violence and I never went to juvie for it.

"Diego, wait up!" Javier, my best friend, called from behind me. "Poco, said you have a meet tonight by the docks. Can't be late," he added sternly.

I laughed lightly, "When am I ever late."

"Culero," he mutters under his breath, and I laugh louder, throwing a punch into his arm.

It's been 11 years since my first kill. My father was killed by Ladrones De Almas, my brothers are both in prison, and my mother is long gone. She could not handle all of her boys being in a gang, and I can't really blame her. But the gang is family. We protect each other. I am one of the best at what I do. I'm part of the transportation. Bring drugs over to be sold on the streets. I deal strictly with drugs. Poco, our leader, likes to deep his toes into other exports. I may not have the best moral compass, but I put my foot down on the idea of human trafficking. The others respect that.

So, tonight when I arrive at the dock, I am shocked by what they want me to do.

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Where the hell am I? Think Lizzie. It smells like the ocean. Did I get on a boat? The last thing I remember is being at the party, and talking to a really cute Hispanic man and then... nothing. Oh, God. Is this one of those 60-minute things Mom loves to watch. Am I going to die? Some twenty-fifth birthday this is turning out to be.

I hear rustling outside, and someone with a rather heavy accent shouts, "Diego, I have something I need you to take care of for me."

"What's up Poco?" A younger man asks, he does not have a strong accent, but it is still there. However, the voice is much farther away and is a bit fuzzy. What did they give me?

"I need you to take this package over to the boarder by tonight to avoid heat."

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Poco is pointing to a woman sitting in the corner with a sack over her head, but by the slumping of her shoulders she is drugged.

"Poco," I say firmly. "You know where I stand on this."