Javier went down, Mateo on top of him, as they struggled for Javier’s gun.

It didn’t matter. None of it did. All he could see was Josiah that night in the alley. The look on his face when Full Circle was burned. The guilt that swam in Tristan’s eyes every day, thinking it was his fault. Knowing that Javier wouldn’t hesitate to hurt them both if Mateo didn’t take him out first.

He elbowed Javier in the face as they rolled. The gun was gone. He could only hope Javier didn’t have it. Mateo’s head jerked back as Javier’s gloved fist connected with his jaw so hard his brain rattled.

Mateo swung, connecting with Javier’s face once, twice, then out of the corner of his eye, he saw the gun a few feet away.

Mateo rolled off him, scrambled for it. Seconds before his hand wrapped around it, pain pierced his shoulder, making his vision go black.

“Teo!” Echoed through the room at the same time, and he knew, fucking knew, that he was too late, and that Tristan and Josiah had found him. Knew that they were going to have to see what he would do, because there was no way Javier was getting out of this room alive. It didn’t matter if he took Teo with him.

Javier tried to jerk him backward, but Mateo lunged, wrapped his hand around the gun, and then rolled onto his back, pointing it at Javier, whose dark eyes went wide.

The pain in his arm didn’t matter. The knife sticking in his arm didn’t register. Nothing mattered except making them safe.

“Mateo...” Tristan’s voice was calm, commanding, but Teo shook his head.

His eyes darted toward them. They both had plastic on their feet, and hair. Long sleeves and gloves. Dios, they were fuckin’ smart. “Stay back. You too, Jay.”

Javier looked frozen, fear gripping him. The man who had taken too many lives to count, the one who had hurt so many people, was about to breathe his last breath, and he knew it.

“Back up,” Mateo told him. Javier did as he said, and Mateo pushed to his feet. He held the gun in the hand of his injured arm. Fuck, he didn’t even know how he kept it steady, but he did. His other hand pressed against the knife, unsure if he should pull it out or keep it there.

“You can have this, hermano. We can run the streets together.”

Mateo laughed. “I never wanted the fucking streets! I didn’t want this life. It was shoved down my throat since I spoke my first words, and all I wanted was to be better than this.”

But he wasn’t, was he? Not completely, because here he was with a gun in his hand again. He could do the right thing, but he knew he wouldn’t. He would again have blood on his hands. But Tristan and Josiah? They would never have to live with it on theirs. They would never have to fear Mateo’s past coming back to hurt them. He always thought he could be something, could make amends for his wrongs, if he could keep Josiah safe. If he could protect him. And now he had Tristan to protect, too, because no matter how much darkness was in him, he wasn’t a murderer. Mateo was.

As long as they were okay, that’s all that mattered.

“I didn’t send people after you. I wanted nothin’ to do with this life. This isn’t a fuckin’ life. I didn’t have one until them. You tried to take that away from me.” That was the difference, he realized. Javier and his father, they took life and enjoyed it. They took whatever they wanted. Mateo didn’t. He wanted to protect those he loved. He wanted to be their guardian angel. Maybe most people wouldn’t see a difference, and maybe it still made him a monster, but it was the only kind of monster he was willing to be.

“Jay, go outside, mi precioso. Mi pieza perdida, take Ben and go with him,” Mateo ordered.

Javier’s face went pale.

“Close your eyes, Ben,” Tristan said.

“We’re not going anywhere, Teo.” This from Josiah. “You don’t have to live with this alone. This won’t just be your burden, it will be all of ours.”

As much as he hated himself for it, as much as he wished he were stronger, those words meant everything to him. He didn’t want them to see this, didn’t want them to see death, to know what he looked like when he delivered it...but not living it alone, knowing that they knew this part of him yet still loved him, gave him a calmness he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt.

“Lo siento. Lo siento que tengan que ver eso. Pero esto es quien soy. Los amo a los dos.” He took a deep breath and then repeated himself in English, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you have to see this. I’m sorry this is who I am. I love you both.” And then pulled the trigger.

Lo siento.