Santa Olivia (Santa Olivia #1)

The fight went the distance. Tommy’s training held him in good stead, but his inexperience showed. Loup listened to her fellow Outposters cheer at every blow Tommy landed and wince every time he took a shot. She watched Tommy’s left eye swell and turn an angry hue of red. He flashed her a grin when the referee okayed him to continue, so that she’d know he was fine. She smiled back at him, wishing she could feel the way other people did when a loved one was in danger. And throughout it all, Pilar kept a tight grip on her arm, which made her feel even odder.

Then it was over.

The decision was unanimous for the champion. He gave a brief victory salute, then knocked gloves with Tommy.

“Good fight, kid.”

Swollen eye and all, Tommy was beaming through the sheen of sweat and Vaseline on his face. The empty feeling inside Loup went away, replaced with pride. The other odd feeling lingered.

“Will you introduce me?” Pilar whispered in her ear.

Loup shrugged. “Sure. But I’m gonna tell him how old you are.”

Pilar rolled her eyes. “You could at least let him guess.”

“He’d guess wrong,” Loup said.

“That’s the idea.”

All the Santitos thronged around when Tommy sat on the edge of the ring, his legs dangling, his robe draped over his shoulders. Loup gazed up at him. He grinned down at her and touched her cheek with his gloved fist.

“How’d I do?” he asked.

“Good.” She smiled at him. “Really good, Tommy.”

SEVENTEEN

In the next year, Tommy fought in two more prizefights, both against the same guy, whose name was Celino Rossi. He lost both, but with each fight, his performance improved. The first was another unanimous decision, but the margin was narrower. The third was a split decision, with one of the three judges scoring in Tommy’s favor.

It was the closest any Outposter had ever come to winning, and the town loved him for it.

“My brother, the hero,” Loup commented.

He laughed. “Do you hate it?”

“Nah.” She smiled back at him. “People need symbols.”

That was one thing that happened that year. Another was that Loup turned fourteen and slid through puberty as quickly and unexpectedly as she’d slid from Carmen Garron’s womb.

In the space of six months, her bones lengthened and her body reknit itself into a series of sleek, compact curves and deceptively dense muscle, filled with impatient energy. The mirror showed her a face with high, rounded cheekbones, dark, lustrous eyes, and a set of full lips.

Some things it changed.

Some it didn’t.

“I’m sorry!” C.C. whispered, lifting his head. “It just feels…”

“Weird?” Loup suggested.

“Yeah.” He propped himself on one arm above her. “Not bad-weird, not exactly. It’s kind of like kissing a guy, only more.” He traced the curve of her lower lip. “More intense, you know? Like, too intense.”

“Since when do you kiss guys?” Loup asked.

C.C. smiled serenely. “Oh, whenever. You know Forrest Street? There are army guys who’ll pay to let you do stuff to them. I go there sometimes.”

Two other things happened in the year Loup was fourteen.

The first was that Pilar Ecchevarria’s aunt died and her uncle tried to abduct her.

It happened after the funeral, brazen as could be. They gave Pilar’s aunt a nice burial and Father Ramon gave the eulogy. When it was over, Pilar’s uncle simply grabbed her wrist and hauled her toward the door, ignoring her protests, while Father Ramon was mingling with the other guests.

“Hey.” T.Y. nudged Loup.

She angled her way deftly through the crowd and intercepted them on the steps. “Let her go.”

Pilar’s uncle squinted at her. “Out of my way, brat.”

Loup kicked him in the shins and skipped backward onto a lower step. He growled and lunged at her, one hand extended. She caught his arm and tugged, planting her feet. Pilar’s uncle fell, sprawling. His chin struck the stairs and he bit his tongue.

“What the hell is going on here?” Father Ramon roared onto the scene, the skirts of his cassock swirling, eyes ablaze.

“You okay?” Loup asked Pilar.

“Yeah.” Pilar hugged her. “Thanks, sweetie.” Hugged her, kissed her face. Too many times, too long and lingering. Heat rose between them. Pilar pulled away, her color rising unexpectedly. “Thanks,” she repeated.

Loup felt dizzy. “Sure.”

Father Ramon prodded Pilar’s uncle’s ribs with one foot. “Get out.”

“Pervert!” Pilar’s uncle spat, spraying blood.

The Father folded his arms. “Get out.”

He left and didn’t come back. That was the first thing. The second was worse, much worse. Because the second big thing that happened the year that Loup Garron was fourteen was that Katya was raped.

It might not have happened if Mack hadn’t found a spare key to the gate in a utility closet, but he had. And once the word got around, Katya begged him to let her use it to sneak out after curfew. It was the sound of her sneaking back in the small hours of the night, bumping and clattering, that woke the girls’ room.

“Jesus!” Crazy Jane said in the dark, sleepy and irritable. “Turn on the damn light and find your damn bed.”

“The generator’s off for the night,” Maria offered. “I’ll light a candle.”

“No!” Kotch didn’t sound like herself.

Too late; Maria had already struck a match. The candle flared to life, the warm glow revealing Katya disheveled, her blouse torn and untucked. Her lips were swollen and there was a reddening mark on the left side of her face.

“Jesus!” Jane repeated in a different tone. “What the hell happened?”

“What the hell do you think?” Katya said dully.

“Aw, baby!” Pilar clambered out of bed and led Katya to her own bunk. “Here, sit down. Was it one of those soldier-boys?”

“Yeah.”

“Bastard.” She smoothed Katya’s hair. “Maria, go fetch Sister Martha, will you?”

“No!” Katya protested. “I don’t want them to know!”

“Baby, you’ve got to tell them,” Pilar said gently. “There’s a line and that boy crossed it. Father Ramon won’t let him get away with it any more than he let my uncle take me back, okay?”

In the end, Maria went despite Katya’s protests. Sister Martha came quickly and without offering reproach, her face grim. She led Katya to the infirmary.

The next day, the whole story got out. Kotch had snuck out after hours to meet one of the soldiers she’d been flirting with over the past year—not Jeff with the gum, but a good-looking young guy named Ken Braddock. He bought her drinks at Salamanca’s and danced with her, offered to walk her home. On the way back, he stopped in an alley and demanded a blow job. When Kotch refused, he hit her in the face, shoved her up against the side wall of an abandoned restaurant, and raped her.

The mood in the church was tense. Father Ramon was in a fury, waiting to hear from the army’s legal counsel. Katya was silent and withdrawn. The Santitos were on edge, unsure how best to help her.

“I say we go after the bastard,” Mack muttered.

Jaime shook his head. “He’ll be court-martialed. I’ve read about these things. The army has standards, even here.”

Jaime was right, but he was wrong, too.

The army took a month to conclude its investigation. A tall, lean man with a colonel’s stripes came to take statements from Katya and the others. He promised to get to the bottom of the affair.

He didn’t.

When Colonel Stillwell came back, it was with a mouthful of diplomatic apologies. He delivered it in the vestibule, only slightly disconcerted by Father Ramon’s glower and the watchful presence of the Santitos arrayed behind him. “I’m very sorry, but it seems that no one can corroborate the young lady’s story,” he said, sounding quite sincere. “Private Braddock’s companions that evening have testified under oath that he never left the nightclub.” He spread his hands. “There’s simply no evidence.”

“I saw the evidence!” Sister Mary said sharply.

The colonel bent his head toward her. “It may well be that the young lady was assaulted. However, there is no evidence whatsoever that Private Braddock was responsible.”

“His friends are lying,” Katya said in a lifeless tone.

Something in the colonel’s gaze hardened. “Perhaps, young lady, you should think twice before placing yourself in compromising situations.”

Kotch looked away.

Loup’s blood sang with rare, cold anger.

“So you mean to let him get away with it,” Father Ramon said grimly.

“The evidence is what it is.” Colonel Stillwell made another graceful, apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry. Perhaps they are lying; perhaps not. I can only base my judgment on the testimony given, and as it stands, it exonerates Private Braddock.” He paused. “I suggest you keep a better watch over your flock, Father.”

Father Ramon gritted his teeth. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was another consultation, one meant to be kept secret. Danny Garza came to the church to meet with Father Ramon. Loup, whose ears were sharper than most if not quite super, was posted to listen at the door of his chambers. When it was over, she reported to the Santitos in the rec room.

“The Garzas aren’t gonna be any help,” Loup said simply. She shot a sympathetic look at Kotch. “Not unless you want to sign on with them. Then they’d provide some protection so it wouldn’t happen again.”

“Sign on?” Katya asked in a low voice.

Loup nodded. “You know.”

“As a whore.” Now Katya’s voice shook. “Jesus fucking Christ! I thought he liked me, that’s all!”

“You should of just given him the blow job,” Pilar murmured.