The Bronze Garza

by S. Ann Cole

  Deeply invested, Heavy Set asks, “What?”

  Fool thinks it’s story time.

  “It doesn’t matter where you take me,” I tell them, “he will find me.”

  Villain Voice narrows his eyes on me. “He who?”

  With an assured smile, I lean back as though I’m settling in for the ride. “You’ll see.”

  The two men share another loaded look. Then Villain Voice orders Heavy Set, “Tape her,” before twisting back around.

  In the next moment, my mouth is duct taped.

  Whatever. I was done talking anyway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Why didn’t you fight?”

  Lyra

  THE DRIVER IS SPEEDING LIKE A bat out of hell, running lights and overtaking vehicles. Since I’m unable to hold onto anything with my bound hands, I’m tossed about like limp salad.

  “Vegas” is mentioned twice in their inharmonious conversations, so I’m guessing that’s where we’re headed. The driver and Villain Voice can’t seem to agree on anything. Not a very organized set of criminals, this group. It’s as if snatching me was an impromptu or half-planned decision.

  It’s almost entertaining.

  “Fuck!” the driver growls suddenly. “Looks like we’ve got a chase.”

  Villain Voice straps on his seatbelt while Heavy Set grabs onto the overhead handle.

  Twisting as best as I can, I peer out the windows to try and see what’s happening. But, I don’t see anything. Everything appears normal.

  No, wait. Two black motorbikes are zigzagging through traffic. One rider is completely shirtless, with pajama bottoms, sandals, and a helmet. That’s odd if nothing else.

  But the bikers zing past the van and disappear ahead in traffic.

  My captors relax.

  That’s what had them spooked? A shirtless biker in pajamas and flip-flops? What kind of criminals are these?

  The driver continues to run every red light and overtake every vehicle. Makes sense, I guess. Can’t exactly dawdle at a stoplight after abducting someone, can you?

  Though I’m kind of bummed that the “chase” was a false alarm. It would’ve been a sweet new experience for me since I’ve never been in a car chase before. If Madame Universe—the bitch—is going to eject me, I at least want to go out with a bang.

  Some minutes later, we’re running through yet another red light when the van jerks, shudders, then dips to one side, followed promptly by a flapping sound.

  “Fuck’s that?” Heavy Set booms, gripping harder to the overhead handle.

  “Tire’s out!” the driver shouts.

  Another jerk and judder, followed by more flapping sounds, then a loud scraping sound. “Fuck! Both are out. We gotta get out. Is Skipper still behind us?”

  Heavy Set twists around, squinting through the back windshield. “Don’t got eyes on him, no.”

  “We’re ways a fuckin’ way from Vegas,” Villain Voice comments, far less panicked than the others.

  A zinging din sings on the air as the two bikers from earlier reappear from out of nowhere.

  Villain Voice chuckles coolly as he gets his gun out. “Fuckers played us.”

  “Yeah, these ain’t the motherfuckin’ Castellos,” the driver grunts out as he struggles to navigate the van with two blown tires.

  One of the bikers ride up to Villain Voice’s window, and before Villain Voice can point his weapon, the biker pelts something inside the vehicle and speeds off.

  Clouds of nebulous blue smoke immediately fill the van.

  “What the—”

  “Pull over! Pull over!”

  In mere seconds, I’m enveloped in blue smoke and the scent of…cotton candy? My eyes don’t burn, but I’m unable to see anything but blue.

  With a wild swerve, the van jerks, rims scraping loudly against the tar. Then there’s a sudden crack, followed by a jarring crunch of metal.

  Doors fly open.

  Curses.

  A punch.

  A thud.

  More curses.

  A gunshot.

  Shouts.

  Another gunshot.

  Arms grab me and lifts me out.

  I’m thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. They sprint with me as if I weigh as much as a pillow.

  Panicked shouting fills the air.

  Tires screeching. Horns blaring.

  “Here, take the jeep. Bring her to your place,” a deep male voice tells my carrier. Followed by a toss of keys. “Tor’s on the way up.”

  As my carrier resumes running with me, I peek up from my upside-down position and get a glimpse of the man who just spoke.

  It’s one of the twins. I can’t tell which one, though, because he’s already turning and running toward the blue smoke wreck, where Heavy Set is being held facedown on the ground by another man, knee to the back of his neck. I can’t make out much else. It’s all puffs of blue smoke and horn-honking chaos.

  When my carrier finally stops moving, he transfers me from his formidable shoulder and directly into the backseat of a jeep in one smooth, unhindered flow.

  Just before he slams the door shut, he tells me, “I’m with Red Cage.” Then jogs around to the driver’s side, jumps in, and speeds off.

  First thing I notice upon finally seeing him, is that he’s the shirtless biker in pajama bottoms and flip-flops.

  Second thing—his rock-hard eight pack and solidly defined V.

  Third thing—the most breathtaking golden eyes I’ve ever seen.

  Fourth thing—his golden dreads that matches those eyes.

  Fifth thing—his deep-gold skin tone that blends stunningly with his dreads and eyes.

  Yep, the man is freaking golden.

  And drop-dead gorgeous.

  He doesn’t speak for the entire drive to a private, gated residence somewhere in Venice. Not that I could’ve replied with my duct taped mouth if he did.

  Parked outside the tall, wooden gate of the residence is Monica’s car. He careens around it and swerves into an attached single-car garage.

  Engine off, he grabs something from the glove compartment then hops out of the jeep and comes to open the door for me.

  When he beckons me with two fingers, I shimmy across the seat to him. He holds up his hand, showing me what’s in it. A switchblade.

  Understanding, I lift my hands.

  Carefully, he slits the tape then peels it off my wrists. Once it’s all off, he tucks the switchblade into the waistband of his pajamas, then lifts his hand to one corner of my mouth. “Blink once for slow and steady. Twice for one go.”

  His eyes are so goshdarn beautiful I can’t stop staring into them.

  As if he knows what I’m thinking, he flashes me a lopsided grin and says, “I know. They get me in trouble with the ladies all the time.”

  I blink twice.

  He rips off the tape in one go.

  It hurts as much as I knew it would. But I’m familiar with the pain so I also know it will be fleeting.

  “I’m Tripp.”

  “Oh, the favorite son.”

  With a shake of his head, he guides me out of the garage. “Tillie and that ‘favorite son’ shit.”

  “Monica didn’t deny it.”

  “Trust me, I’m not her favorite,” he says with a snort. “And Tillie’s just a narcissist who can’t stand not being the center of attention.”

  “Can I just ask—”

  “I was Netflixing in bed when I got the call, and I’m the closest to the location,” he answers before I can even finish the question. “There was no time to get dressed if I wanted to get a lock and tail on your kidnappers.”

  Oh, okay. Well, that explains a lot.

  He lets us through the wooden gate, which opens right into a small, cozy courtyard. Brick-stone pavement, large potted plants, shady trees, an outdoor wicker-style sofa set, and two lounge chairs.

  Tillie is sitting cross-legged on one of the sofa chairs, scrolling on her phone, while Monica pac
es back and forth, phone pressed to her ear.

  “Mom,” Tillie says when she sees us enter.

  Monica stops pacing and glances up, and I can almost see the relief leave her body like fumes. “She’s here,” she speaks into the phone. “Okay”…“Okay”…“Yes, okay.”

  As she lowers the phone from her ear, she stabs me an accusive glare. “I told you to tell him you were coming with us.”

  Yikes. “I...forgot.”

  “You forgot?!” she bellows at me. “You know your life is in danger and you ‘forgot’ to inform the people you hired to protect you? Are you insane?”

  “I—”

  “Those men had a gun to my daughter’s fucking head!”

  “Mom...” Tripp strides over to her and takes her in his arms. “Calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! What if something happened to you out there?”

  Tripp smiles in a manner that conveys he thinks she’s cute. “This is what I do for a living, Mom, remember?”

  “I’m really, really sorry,” I say, guilt and shame gnawing at my bones. “I didn’t think... I’ve underestimated the level of danger I’m in...I don’t know why I’m even...” I expel a breath, feeling drained all of a sudden, as if all strength, will, and life has been vacuumed out of me. “I’m sorry. I really, truly am. You can sue me for emotional distress, I’ll pay whatever. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you fight?” Tillie pulls her attention from her phone to ask me. In contrast to Monica, she looks wholly unbothered. Bored, even.

  “What?”

  “You just went with them,” she expounds. “You didn’t resist or even scream.”

  “Because that man had a gun to your head, Tillie,” I tell her. “They were there for me, and if I resisted and something happened to you because of it, your brother would never be able to live with himself. He brought me around you. He would blame himself for the rest of his life. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I’m really not worth it.”

  “So wait, you didn’t fight because of me, but for Tor?” Tillie asks, looking affronted. “Ugh. And here I thought we had a nice bond going.”

  “Told you she’s a narcissist,” Tripp comments.

  “Oh, go to hell, golden boy,” she fires back.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Tripp asks me.

  I nod, because I’m starting to feel nauseous and lightheaded. “Just water.”

  “A coke for me,” Tillie tells him.

  “You just sent me to hell,” Tripp retorts as he heads toward the two-story house. “There’s no coke in hell.”

  “I hate youuuu,” she calls after him.

  Feeling out of place, guilt-ridden, and downright awful, I cross my arms and glance around. I spot a small bench under a leafy tree. It’s far enough away from Monica and Tillie—I suspect she wants me nowhere near her or her daughter right now—so I jaunt across the yard to it and plop down.

  The withering look she daggers me with before she whirls and stomps off to the house, grumbling in her Jamaican dialect, tells me I made the right choice.

  “She’ll calm down,” Tillie mutters without looking up from her phone. “She’s been in denial for so long that I think it’s just finally starting to sink in how dangerous her sons’ jobs are. She wants to believe they’re just normal P.I.s hiding out in bushes taking pictures of cheating spouses.”

  “How are you so chill about everything?” I ask her.

  “Because I’m not in denial,” she says simply. “That’s why I live the way I do, enjoying life without abandon. Because one Sunday afternoon I could be sitting in a grocery store parking lot and a scumbag could just walk up and blow my brains out. Today it’s you that the trouble followed. But another day, that gun to my head could be from someone who has a vendetta against my brothers, or the other dark side of our family. I’m a Garza. Anything can happen at any time. And I’d rather spend my time having fun than being afraid. Hashtag fun over fear, baby.”

  Tripp returns a few moments later with a bottled water and a coke. He drops the coke in Tillie’s lap and playfully shoves her head before striding across to me under the tree.

  When he hands me the water, I don’t hesitate to screw the cap off and gulp down two-thirds of it in one go, hoping it’ll help with this awful lightheadedness. I feel so cold on the inside and burning hot on the outside.

  “You good?” Tripp asks me, forehead creasing.

  “He shouldn’t have brought me around them,” I say quietly.

  “It’s not about what he did. It’s about what you didn’t do.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, rueful. If I’d told Torin like I was supposed to, like a sensible, responsible person who cared about her life, he would’ve either stopped me from going with them or sent me security. Then none of this would’ve happened. I’m such a loser. Walking destruction.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” I mumble, fighting back tremors as the tips of my fingers start to go numb. “I don’t know who these people are that are after me. It doesn’t even make any sense. I’m starting to think I have a doppelganger or something, because I have no freaking clue who ‘Stefano’ or ‘Lorenzo’ is, or what’s even a Castellos. Is that a company? Is this about my father? I’m so confused. I—”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Where do you want to go?”

  Lyra

  “DID SHE EAT?”

  Torin.

  He’s here.

  As consciousness creeps in, I feel both thrill and apprehension. Thrill because he’s so close my skin tingles. Apprehension at how pissed he’s going to be at me.

  Irritation strong in her voice, Monica replies, “I gave her fruit this morning.”

  “She eat anything else after that?”

  “I’m sorry,” Monica snaps, “but how old is this woman? Who’s this stupid? ‘Forgetting’ to eat. ‘Forgetting’ to tell you she’s going out in the open. Tillie is nineteen and I don’t have to be behind her about anything. She eats when she’s supposed to, and she knows to text at least one of us where she’s going and with whom before she goes out. And her life isn’t even in danger!”

  “Mon—”

  “Does this woman even care about her life?”

  “Mon—”

  “Is whatever she’s paying you worth the trouble?”

  “Mon, stop it,” Torin says firmly. “I apologize for bringing trouble to your door. It won’t happen again. But I won’t allow you to continue railing on her. You don’t know anything about her.”

  “You’re right, I don’t know anything about her. Therefore, I don’t want her around my daughter.”

  “And that’s fine.”

  “Fine!”

  A giggle follows her retreating footsteps. Tillie. “Someone needs to get her a chill pill, and fast.”

  “Give us a minute, Tillie.”

  “Bro, you came and found me here. Why don’t you two go somewhere else to discuss your shady business?”

  “It’s my house,” says Tripp. “Get lost, you little brat.”

  “I’ll leave for eighty bucks.”

  “For fucks sake,” Torin mutters. Some shuffling. “Here. Go.”

  More shuffling, then retreating footsteps. “I would’ve left for twenty, suckers.”

  “What do we know about these guys?” Torin asks.

  “Nothing yet. True and Trent are taking them back to the office,” Tripp replies. “But check this, before she passed out, she said they asked her about Stefano and Lorenzo. “

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Threw me, too.” Tripp sighs. “Called Trent and gave him a heads-up, so we should have something out of them in about an hour.”

  Tugging on a thin string of strength, I manage to open my eyes, finding a still blue sky and drifting white clouds. I’m laying on one of the lounge chairs in the courtyard, Tripp and Torin standing on either side of it, towering over me.

  I’ve no clue what happened. The last
thing I remember was sitting on a bench under a tree.

  As both men stare down at me, the only thing I can think to say is, “I’m a mess. I’m sorry.”

  I can’t look at Torin. His green gaze burn with fury and reproach, and I can’t bear it.

  “How you feeling?” Tripp asks me.

  “I don’t know.” Of its own volition, a lone tear drips down my cheek. “I don’t know.” I roll over onto my side, my back to Torin, and pull my knees up to my chest. “I just want to die now. I’m so…tired.”

  Tripp drops to his haunches in front of me and gently brushes wisps of flyaway hair from my face. “Mom’s angry ‘cause she’s scared, but none of what happened is your fault, okay? We’re working on getting things back to where you can leave your house without the threat of someone coming after you. But in the meantime, you gotta work with us, alright?”

  My nod is feeble.

  “Don’t give up on life just yet,” he says, his thumb sweeping my cheek. “Might not feel like it now, but you matter. Your life matters. And you are worth it.”

  “I just don’t know what I did...to deserve—”

  “Nothing,” he cuts me off. “There’s nothing you could’ve possibly done to deserve any of the shit that’s happened to you. Life’s just a bipolar bitch. Amazing some days, complete shit on others. The trick is to learn how to not let her break us. To take her punches and roll with ‘em.”

  I inhale sharply, exhale shakily. “Thanks. You’re nice. I see why you’re the favorite son.”

  He chuckles and straightens up. “Chin up. We got you, yeah?”

  Another feeble nod. “Okay.”

  His golden eyes flicks across me to his brother. “Gonna check with the team.”

  A long stretch of silence lingers after he leaves.

  On a fortified breath, I roll over to my other side to face Torin.

  He’s now manspreading on the other lounge chair, a dish with a banana and an apple balanced impressively on his right knee. Yup. He’s so formidable that even fruits on a dish obey him.

  His eyes are on me, and they aren’t pleased.

  “Why can’t you be nice like Tripp?” I ask.