Loser, p.1
Loser, page 1
LOSER
SARA LUNA
Copyright © 2024 by Sara Luna
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Art by Dani Alexander
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Books by the Author
About the Author
1
“Wanna touch it?”
Christian stretched out his palm slowly so Reuben could place the weapon in his hand. He let it rest there for a moment before hefting it in the air a few times to test the weight, fingers still flat and outstretched. Heavier than he thought it would be. “Sweet, man.”
“Yeah, sweeter if you hold it like a real gun.” Reuben snatched it away again, and Christian gritted his teeth through the urge to flinch. Thank god that old fluorescent buzz in the laundry room covered the hiss of his breath.
Now back in control of his prized possession, Reuben raised it and placed his finger on the trigger. He aimed it at the concrete wall just above Christian’s head.
“What the hell?” This time instinct couldn’t be ignored. Christian dropped into a crouch, shielding his face at the same time as if that could somehow stop a bullet.
“Pussy.” Tony snickered from beside him. “It ain’t loaded.”
“Shit, warn a guy.” He straightened up despite the galloping beat in chest. “But aren’t you gonna show me how it’s done today?”
Reuben had promised him this would be the summer all the real shit began.
“Aw, look at the little badass.” Reuben tucked the Hi Point into his waistband and ruffled Christian’s hair. “So ready for his first time.” Of course that just brought more snickering from Tony, along with a few air-thrusts of his crotch. “It ain’t loaded because we’re not gonna hurt no one. Just scare the shit out of them and make some money.”
Right. Just a little bit of fun.
Christian took out his pocketknife and flicked it open and closed a few times, admiring the glint under the single blinking light of the laundry room. “We gonna talk all day, or we gonna get this done?”
“Ready?” came the harsh whisper from Reuben, his face hidden behind the shield of black wool.
Christian nodded, and he and Tony pulled down their ski masks. The itchy pressure settled against his cheeks and around his eyes, making him want to rip the thing off again. He couldn’t even stand wearing a beanie when it got cold, and he sure as hell had never been skiing.
Tony and Reuben took the lead, approaching the mark quickly, just in case someone else was around to meet him. The guy looked like a loner, though, with his banged up bike stashed in the alley behind the neighborhood park. Long, straight brown hair partially covered his eyes.
Maybe that would help them stay unknown. Because even in the dark, even with his face completely covered, Christian’s eyes were still exposed, weren’t they? Shining through the holes of the mask, revealing his true identity to anyone who bothered to look for the lashes that were just a little too long, or the brows that trailed a bit too far down his lids. He’d be recognizable in an instant, just like all those dumb superheroes he’d loved as a kid. Of course, no one had ever pegged them, but that was because the people in the stories were stupid. The truth was so obvious.
His guts twisted in on themselves, and he leaned over at an awkward angle as he breathed through the cramps. The hand that clutched the knife trembled so hard the blade was nothing but a metallic blur.
“Guess what, man? You’re walking home.” Tony approached the boy from behind as Reuben stepped forward on his other side.
Christian stayed back, playing lookout, but also trying to glare as hard as possible through his ski mask. Probably pointless. He chewed on his lip and wound up with a mouthful of hairy wool.
The boy shifted his eyes between all three of them and then sighed. Reuben wasn’t pointing the gun at him, but he held it in plain sight.
“What do you want?”
“Uh, the shitty bike, for one.”
He looked down at it, hair falling further over his eyes. His fingers traced an old sticker—a soccer ball scratched and peeling away from the red frame. Then he pushed the bike away, letting it bang against the asphalt. “Fine.”
“Good, now everything in your pockets.”
“Damn it.” With another heaved sigh, he emptied the contents of his pockets onto the ground—a black wallet and a pack of gum.
“And your phone,” Tony said.
“Shit, come on. Seriously?”
The heaving breaths trapped in Christian’s mask made his face burn. Don’t talk back, fool. But if this kid wasn’t even scared, why should he be? He steadied his hand and stopped the manic heaving of his chest.
“Seriously,” Reuben answered, tilting the gun.
“Whatever.” One phone was added to the pile of the boy’s former belongings. Tony snatched everything up and shoved it into his baggy pants before grabbing the bike.
“See ya!” He hopped on and pedaled away. Reuben stayed in place for several seconds, staring the kid down.
“What, you want something else?”
Stupid.
Reuben’s hand flew out fast, a blur in the shadows that connected with the left side of his target’s jaw. The spurt of red flying from the boy’s mouth was much brighter, maybe because the street lamps caught it as it arched across the alley and landed on the asphalt, right before he stumbled and fell.
Reuben backed up, reaching Christian and throwing him a wide smile that stretched the fabric of his ski mask. “And that’s how it’s done.”
They took off, full speed, adrenaline-powered feet barely touching the concrete as they raced down the alley and into the summer night.
“Fuckin’ told you!” Tony crowed, back in the safety of the laundry room. He sat up on the broken washing machine and kicked the already-dented metal.
“How much we get?” Rueben asked. Somehow, his voice was full and strong while Christian couldn’t wheeze out a word. He clutched at his side and worked on catching his breath.
“Thirty bucks.”
Ten each? Hardly seemed like a good score, but then again, Tony and Reuben were smart about who they took from. No point in getting their heads bashed in, or worse, getting busted by the cops.
He held out his hand for his take, still not ready to risk his voice, but Tony kicked it away. “Hell no, man. You gotta actually do something to get in on this.”
“What?” And damn, his voice definitely squeaked. Leave it to a half-mile run to bring back that nightmare of middle school. “I was the lookout!”
Rueben snorted. “Yeah, looked like you was shaking in your shoes. ’Sides, first one is just for the experience.”
“That’s bullshit.” At least his tone had decided to settle into a man-like range, even if he was being treated like a stupid child. “I was there, and you guys owe me. Lemme have the phone.”
“Yeah right!” Tony fished it out and flipped it around in his palm. “Should be able to get some real money for this.”
“No you won’t, it’s not even the good shit, like an iPhone.”
“Who cares? It’s mine and you’re not getting it.”
Christian clenched his fists. This being the fucking kid thing was getting too damn old. “Then how about the bike?”
“What would you want with that piece of shit?” Tony asked.
Rueben dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Tell ya what. You can have the wallet.”
Tony’s laughter filled the room, bouncing off barren walls, as he tossed it over.
A crappy piece of canvas wallet. Worthless.
Christian shoved it in his pocket anyway to the sound of more laughter.
“What’s that?” Oscar poked his little head out of the lump of blankets on their bed. “You got a new wallet?”
“Nah.” Christian placed it on his dresser. “Rueben and Tony and me…found it.” He peeled off his sweaty t-shirt, even more damp than usual after his getaway run and from the nerves beforehand.
“Found it,” Oscar repeated. Kid was too smart for his own good. “You shoulda taken me with tonight.”
Christian threw the filthy shirt at his brother. “No way. You’re just a kid.”
Oscar huffed and ducked away. “Any money in it? Can we buy something cool?”
Their mattress let out its familiar groan as Christian slid onto his half. He kicked off his jeans and then yanked the covers over both of them. “Nah.”
“You sure? Did you check it real good?” Oscar threw the blankets aside again as he rushed to grab the wallet for his own inspection.
“Yes.” Christian took it away, ignoring his brother’s pouting lip. “Must’ve belonged to some loser.” He turned it over a few times in his hands, testing the weight as he had with the gun earlier that night.
Oscar nodded, eyes wide and bright in his tan face. “Yeah, prob’ly. Or he wouldn’t have lost it.”
Christian flipped the wallet open and stuck his fingers in the little sleeves, coming up empty for the hundredth time. Probably should just give the thing to his brother—at least Oscar was impressed with him, some of the time.
“What about in there?” Oscar asked, pointing at the right side. “Is t
Tilting the wallet revealed a fabric seam that…wasn’t really a seam. A secret pocket would’ve been a great place to stash valuable things, though it wasn’t likely a kid with a beat up bike was rolling in money. But Christian’s searching fingers did meet paper, and a jolt of excitement hit. He grasped at whatever it was with his nails and dragged it out.
Shit, just a scrap of trash. A little torn piece of white notebook, jagged edges folded over so that it formed a perfect square.
“There’s something on it,” Oscar whispered.
The awe in his little voice cut through Christian’s disappointment and drew out a smirk. At eight, this was still a hidden treasure to the kid.
The front of the scrap was blank, but dark smudges of a pen bled through from the other side. Christian uncurled the paper to see the scrawled text.
If you are reading this, I am gone.
I’m sorry.
I love you all.
“What does it mean?” Oscar ran his fingers over the messy handwriting, tracing a few of the letters as he went—the S in sorry and final L in all.
“I…I don’t know.” Christian passed his eyes over the paper a second time, a third, a fourth, his heart racing around the bend each time and picking up more speed.
If you are reading this, I am gone.
Why would someone write that? Was it Bike Boy’s, or some old friend’s? Maybe he was going on a trip. Or was he a runaway?
I’m sorry.
He didn’t want to leave, but he had to? Had to move to another city with his family, maybe. That sounded possible. He was a new kid in town who didn’t know any better than to stash his bike in a poorly lit alley behind a crappy park.
I love you all.
All the friends he’d left behind? Or if he was a runaway, maybe his parents? His brothers and sisters, probably.
Unless…
Unless the note meant something different than just skipping town. Something worse.
The door to their bedroom creaked open and their mother poked her face in, hair still tied sharply behind her head and shapeless fast-food uniform still covering her body. “Are you boys asleep?”
Christian shoved the wallet and the note beneath the covers.
“Yes,” he and Oscar answered at the same time.
“Good.” She blew them kisses, tired eyes already blinking back sleep of her own, and left.
When her heavy footsteps finished making it down the hallway of their apartment, Christian pulled the note back out again, to reread just one more time. As if on that final pass, he’d discover something he hadn’t before and have the answer. Even if he didn’t know the question.
Oscar yawned and rolled over to face the wall. “So what does it mean?”
I’m sorry.
I love you all.
“Nothing. It means nothing.”
All he needed to do now was crumple it up. Squeeze his hand and let the paper form to the ridges of his palm before tossing it at the bin. Maybe he’d miss and leave it there, lying crushed on the hardwood floor until tomorrow. Maybe his mother would pick it up when she made a pass of their room. She wouldn’t read it, because she’d be in a hurry to get to her morning shift at the office store. Then it was off to the garbage dumpsters outside their building, to the truck that made its rounds every Monday morning, and finally to one of those trash-mountain landfills he’d seen on TV.
If you are reading this, I am gone.
He folded the paper neatly and replaced it in the wallet.
2
Christian stepped away from Oscar at the gates to the park. “Go play. And don’t leave here with nobody, understand?” Oscar gave him a quick nod in sync with his eye roll. Probably didn’t think he needed to be babied like that anymore. But that was life—you were babied by everyone older than you until …when? The day you died, maybe. Even Christian’s mom complained about the old ladies at work.
He left Oscar and headed over to the soccer field, where a game was already underway. Most of the guys were older, with dark hair and dark, muscled bodies. They ran and sidestepped and skirted around each other as they chased the ball, all sweat and smiles. Christian sat on the bleachers and watched until his eyes burned. After a while he had no choice but to raise his hand to shield his face from the lowering sun. Still, he peeked through his fingers to catch the end of the game—a tie at 1-1—and only barely registered the creak of the bleachers as a few other people, eager for the next match, gathered around him.
When he finally did tilt his head, he was there. His lower lip puffed out slightly on one side, red and swollen from the punch he’d taken. Christian winced and touched his own mouth. That shit wasn’t right. He’d tell Reuben later—maybe.
But at least the long-haired boy was laughing and talking to the people near him. Didn’t seem like he was all that messed up. He caught Christian’s eye a few times before Christian was able to force the path of his stare to the ground.
The wallet wasn’t in Christian’s pants anymore. It would’ve been stupid to carry it here, even if he hadn’t actually come to find its owner. The note, though…the little piece of paper was still folded neatly, tucked in his pocket. And for all that it was nearly weightless, it was still so there that it caused the words to hover in the air directly in front of his face.
If you’re reading this, I am gone.
But the kid wasn’t gone. He was a few feet away, shouting encouragement as some people around him took to the field. He dropped a backpack from his shoulder and settled in to watch.
Christian slid his hand into his pocket, reaching for the edge of the paper. He pinched and smoothed it a few times with his thumb and forefinger. Was it better to be safe than…sorry? Did he owe the kid, somehow?
Hell no. He wasn’t even the one who’d stolen anything, or hit the kid. No need for all this drama on his doorstep. But the pang of doubt deep in his chest refused to move, even when he coughed into his shoulder.
Screw this.
He stood and swayed for a moment, legs stuck fast to their spot, the scrape of metal on metal from the rocking bleachers tingling into his bones. Up or down, they groaned. Or across, actually, because Bike Boy was on the same level. The seats quieted somehow as Christian stepped toward him. Only a split second left to change his mind instead of toppling over the cliff into this stupid idea.
He plummeted down to his butt. “Hey, you waiting to play?”
“Hm?” The boy flicked his near chin-length bangs out of his face. “Maybe later. Not sure yet. Usually you have to get here earlier to get a spot.”
“Oh.” Christian curled his hands around the warm metal of the bleachers. His knuckles went white from the strain. “’Bout what time? I was thinking of maybe joining in. Never done it before.”
“The earlier the better. I’m here around noon when I want to play, but someone stole my bike so I had to take the bus today.”
It wasn’t possible to grip the bleachers any tighter, so of course Christian’s right leg launched into a jittery bounce. Had he been made already?
This was a perfect time to head out. Find Oscar, maybe grab some ice cream or some fruit, and go home. Leave the little brat with Ms. Olga and meet up with Tony and Reuben for another night of fun. After all, Bike Boy seemed fine, even without his wheels.
Maybe the note really had meant nothing.
Except…
I am gone.
“Gabriel.” Through the rays of blinding light, the silhouette of a hand stretched toward him.
“Oh, uh, I’m Christian.” He gave Gabriel’s hand a quick slap in greeting.
“You play a lot?”
“Nah, not really.”
Gabriel smirked at him. His lips were thin—aside from the injured part—but his mouth was wide, and the grin took up most of his face. “So you just thought you’d try something different?”
Different. This sure as hell was different.
“I guess.” The heat and the lack of wind, and maybe the danger—talking to a person who could very well land him in jail—caused beads of sweat to break out on Christian’s forehead. His skin crawled where they trailed down his temples and behind his ears. One stupid drop even decided to head straight down his nose. He swiped it away with his shoulder. Could he look any guiltier? Might as well pose for a mug shot.
