by Bethany-Kris
That was the one thing Lucia felt bad for.
The guilt was a killer.
“I’m okay, Ma,” Lucia murmured.
Jordyn nodded, and inched a little closer. Closing the distance between them with an outstretched hand, Jordyn brushed back the stray waves of hair that had fallen over Lucia’s shoulder. The soft touch reminded her first and foremost that her mother, no matter what … no matter how much pain and worry she caused … was always going to be her mother.
“Scared me to death,” Jordyn said thickly. “God, Lucia, you scared me to death.”
She still couldn’t apologize.
She’d choke on those goddamn words.
“I’m fine, though.”
“Now,” Jordyn said sharply.
Both of her mother’s hands came up then to grab Lucia on each side of her face to hold tight. It forced her to look her mother right in the eyes—there was no looking away. She could see the tears shining back, and her own unfeeling expression reflecting in her mother’s wet irises. Lucia couldn’t help but suck in a sharp inhale.
Not at how terrified her mother looked, or how tightly Jordyn was holding onto her like she was scared Lucia might bolt again … but because of how unaffected she felt in those moments. Dead, almost. There was a part of her that was missing, now. In her heart, it felt empty. Her soul? Entirely gone.
She couldn’t feel anything.
They took it away.
“Now, baby,” Jordyn repeated. “But you might not have been. Don’t you understand that?”
Lucia shook her head, but said nothing. Jordyn finally let her go, and like she was defeated, took a step back from Lucia. She might have been grateful for the distance, but she couldn’t focus on it long enough to feel anything but contempt as her father finally glanced her way. Since she stepped up on the porch, the only thing her father had done was stay quiet and look out over the driveway.
Into the darkness.
The void.
Now, he was looking at her.
“For what, Lucia?” he asked softly. “You did this for what—a man? All for him, hmm?”
“I—”
“For a man who will spend the unforeseeable future stuck in a prison cell,” her father continued like she hadn’t tried to talk at all. “That’s what you did this for. And you have the nerve to stand there without an explanation or an apology for your mother. Fuck me—I don’t need anything. But you don’t even have anything for her, Lucia. But that’s what you did all of this for—a man who is destined for a prison cell. How does that feel?”
If she felt cold, then her father was ice.
Lucia’s heart crumbled, sure, but not for her father.
Only for Ren.
Instead of replying to Lucian—he didn’t really want a response, anyway—Lucia headed past her parents, and disappeared into the house. No one followed behind her. She didn’t stop to take off her shoes, or to appreciate the home that had raised her. She simply navigated familiar halls and stairs until she found the room that no longer truly felt like hers.
She closed the door behind her.
She sat on the floor instead of the bed.
Only then did her heart shatter.
Only then did she cry.
And she broke.
All apart.
Into tiny pieces.
Alone.
Without.
And so empty.
She broke.
• • •
The days crawled by before Lucia really understood what was happening. One melted into two, then three, and four. It was like a daze had come to settle over her, and no matter what she tried to do to rid herself it, the bitch clung on. It kept her quiet, and stuck in her head. Replaying moment after moment, making her see mistake after mistake, and the only thing she knew for certain was that Renzo’s freedom had been sacrificed for hers.
She knew it more now than ever as she watched a handcuffed, and still bruised Renzo be taken from the back of a Sherriff’s van and then dragged past waiting reporters as they did what her family would call a perp walk. He looked like hell—like he hadn’t showered in days, and he didn’t get a wink of sleep, either. His gaze drifted to the camera, and paused for a second before focusing on something else.
She saw it, though.
In his eyes … he looked dead.
It wasn’t like she had anything else to do except watch the goddamn news. Her father took away anything she might use to contact someone—her phone, laptop, and tablets. Her house was on fucking lockdown, now. Enforcers all over the place the second she stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, or just to get away from her dad.
Her mother wasn’t so bad. Jordyn mostly left her alone, and let her do her own thing. She didn’t attempt conversation because frankly, Lucia wasn’t willing to talk to begin with.
Her father was an entirely different story.
Tension didn’t begin to describe what was happening between the two of them, honestly. She hadn’t spoken one word to her father since that night on the porch. If she could help it, she didn’t even look at him. Sometimes, he tried … she would dead stare at nothing until he finally walked away.
Whatever worked, really.
So, yeah.
All she had was the goddamn news.
Lucia had been scouring the news channels for days in search of anything about Renzo. Or even about Diego. But since Diego was still a minor, apparently someone had put a media ban on his name. So other than the information that had been shared about the Amber Alert for the boy, nothing else was being said.
Renzo was another story.
Charged with kidnapping, and robbery. Grand theft auto, too. It seemed some of their mess had gone by unnoticed, like Vegas. Lucia didn’t know whether she should be grateful for that … or terrified. According to the reports she had seen, the police were looking for a dark-haired girl who had been reportedly seen with Renzo. They had a first name, they said, but they weren’t releasing it to the public just yet. The first public briefing the police chief did let her know that Renzo wasn’t saying anything, and denied anyone else had been with him and Diego.
That just made Lucia cold all over.
His freedom for hers.
Lucia felt numb as the news program switched back from showing Renzo to the anchors at the station. They discussed the event, and the fact that the child in question was reportedly safe in CPS custody. That made Lucia want to be fucking sick.
“You’re quite lucky, seems he isn’t talking at all,” came a voice behind Lucia.
She didn’t even turn to face her father. She hadn’t heard him come into the living room, but now that she knew he was there, she certainly wasn’t going to acknowledge his presence. Not that it seemed to matter to him. He kept talking regardless.
“See, for all the effort I have had to go through in order to scrub your presence from a lot of this mess … to keep you safe, it would have meant nothing if that young man decided to open his mouth and give you up,” Lucian murmured. “Had to wait and see if he would, I suppose. I couldn’t be sure.”
Lucia refused to speak.
She wouldn’t.
Even if she did want to tell her father to go fuck himself.
Lucian came around the side of the couch to sit on the arm. He rolled up the sleeve of his dress shirt on the right arm until it was firm around his elbow. He did the same to the left side, never looking at her all the while. Not that she gave a damn. She couldn’t stand to be near him, but he didn’t seem to understand.
It was easier to say nothing at all.
“See, that is something you seemed to forget,” her father said, glancing up to meet her cold gaze. “You are my blood—made from half of me, Lucia. And because of that, because you are mine, I will always protect you first. But him … I couldn’t have cared less about him. Right now, that doesn’t matter. You need to understand that you’re staring at his future. He’s not getting out.”
Her throat tightened.
>
Lucian nodded. “Still nothing to say to me?”
“Telling you that I hate you doesn’t seem to be good enough, really.”
And nothing she would say would be enough. That was the problem. She was never going to be able to tell her father all the things she felt. She would never be able to say enough to hurt him the way she was hurting.
It was better not to bother.
Her silence bothered him more.
Her father dragged in a long, heavy breath before standing from the couch. “I see.”
“What day is it?”
Lucian arched a brow. “October first, Lucia.”
Huh.
“I want to go to California,” she said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t a request.” Lucia shrugged, and turned back to stare at the television screen again. “I want to go there for school. I’ll be late to the second semester when I was supposed to start anyway, but that doesn’t make a difference to me. Anywhere that I am far away from you is where I want to be. I don’t need your permission. I have my trust fund to pay for school and whatever else I need. I am already in the program, so I don’t need that, either.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father’s jaw tense. “If you think getting away from me is going to get you closer to him—”
“He’s here. Going to prison. You said it. I’d be there—further away from him. If you think I’m going back to California just for him, then you’re wrong. I want to go because I want to get the fuck away from you.”
Her contempt burned.
Like bile in her throat.
Like fire in her heart.
Fury in her soul.
This bitterness was never going to go away. The longer she stayed here, the worse it was going to be.
She would kill herself with it.
Lucia already knew that.
“Lucia, I did what I had to in order to protect you,” her father said quietly.
Almost pleadingly.
She did look at him that time. “And what, sacrificed him to do it?”
Lucia didn’t need her father to reply to know his answer.
That was good enough for her.
Bad for him, though.
“Sleep at night knowing that, Daddy,” she whispered. “I hope you sleep well at night knowing what you did to me, and to him. I won’t ever forget it.”
Because she couldn’t sleep at all.
The bed felt too empty without Renzo.
Just like her whole fucking soul, too.
Like her heart.
And her life, too.
All gone.
EIGHTEEN
“Hey, Zulla!”
Renzo looked away from the calendar someone had taped on the wall of his cell—likely a damn guard at one point or another, or maybe the last person who used the cell. He had a bunkmate, but the guy was in for petty crimes and looking at a slap on the wrist. He certainly wasn’t at the level Renzo was in this fucking hell.
Soon, they were going to move him from the jailhouse to the big house. As the cops liked to point out every single time they passed his cell, a prison wasn’t like this shithole. It was worse. And he was exactly the kind of fresh meat inmates enjoyed taking a bite out of when a guard’s back was turned. Renzo supposed they told him that shit as a way to scare him, but really, it just pissed him off.
“What?” Renzo asked.
The guard who had called his name came into view just beyond the bars of his cell. Leaning against the metal, the man rested his arms along the slot where they shoved in the shit they liked to call food. It was better than nothing, sure, but it was also one step above wet dog food, too. He ate it because he had to, not because he particularly wanted to. Besides, it wasn’t like he really had a choice about anything in here.
Even going outside was regulated to one hour a day, supervised. And he wore cuffs and shackles all the way out to the yard before he was finally let off his chain like a dog, only to run around a fenced in yard. Yeah, just like a damned dog. They even told him when he could go to bed considering they turned the lights off at eight sharp every damn night.
It was tiring, really.
“Your bunkmate is coming back from his shower time,” the guard said. “Told me you switched out with him for the call this week.”
Renzo nodded. “Yeah, sure did.”
Didn’t cost him too much. Promised to keep an eye on the guy for the remainder of his time here. Made sure to snatch the guy a couple of extra magazines when he was able to get his hands on them from a guard that wasn’t too bad. Sometimes, things that seemed simple to those who weren’t locked up were fucking treasures to people behind bars.
A stupid trade could mean the greatest gift.
Like an extra phone call.
The guard beyond the bars nodded, and stepped back a foot. “Heard your detective was in again to question you.”
Renzo scowled, but hid it well enough by looking away. He didn’t understand what the fucking point was with the detective. The guy kept coming up with more questions, hoping to all hell Renzo was going to give him some kind of answers. Renzo never did. He had nothing to say. It didn’t matter how many times the man said he had witnesses to the fact there was a woman with Renzo, and that even Diego talked a bit about Lucia—without giving her last name, it seemed—he never confirmed it.
He did it all alone.
That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
Even his lawyer—some shithead that was appointed to him when he was first brought up on charges in New York—tried to convince him that a deal could possibly be made if he was willing to give up his accomplice. Renzo still said nothing. There was nothing to say. They didn’t have the evidence to bring her in on their own, and he bet her family was keeping her well protected. Which was fine because that was exactly what he was going to do for her, too. He’d be long dead in a grave before he ever gave up Lucia.
Simple as that.
“You know, you could make this easier on yourself if you were smart about this, and talked to the detective,” the guard said.
Renzo laughed. “Yeah, I bet. Can I go make my phone call now, or …?”
The guard rolled his eyes, nodded, and then took another step back. “Hands through the slot, kid.”
Here he was, twenty years old, locked up and facing twenty-five to life, and people were still calling him a goddamn kid. Renzo wished he could be surprised, but he really wasn’t. Story of his fucking life, it seemed.
Giving the calendar and the date one last look—October fourteenth—he stepped up to the cell door, and put his hands through the slot like he’d been told. The guard locked his wrists into the cuffs he had at the ready, and then gestured for him to step back. Which he did. It was better, and shit was just easier in here, when people followed the rules. Or, that’s what he had learned rather quickly. Don’t cause problems for other people, and they wouldn’t cause problems for you.
Easy enough for Renzo.
Putting his hand up for the camera to see, the guard lifted two fingers. Soon after, a loud ring echoed through the cell, and the sounds of the lock coming undone resounded right after. Once the door was open, and the guard was waiting to take him by the arm with an outstretched hand, Renzo finally stepped out of his cell for the first time all day. If all went well, he’d get his hour of yard time later. Which he would use to run a few laps until he was exhausted and couldn’t think.
Then, he wouldn’t have to listen to the drunks that were brought in to sleep off their stupor throughout the night. Or the fights that seemed to constantly break out between other cellmates throughout the small block.
Renzo was directed through the long hallway past the row of cells, and beyond a second and then a third set of locked doors before the guard stopped before the corridor where a row of payphones waited. Pulling out a quarter from his pocket, the guard handed it over, then lengthened the chain connecting Renzo’s cuffs, so it wo
uld be slightly more comfortable when he got to make his phone call.
“Let’s hope whoever you’re calling today picks up, huh?” the guard half-joked.
Renzo wished he could laugh like the man did. Except he couldn’t because that was a sad reality for him. Sometimes, he called people, and nobody picked up. God knew he didn’t have a lot of people to call in the first place, but it seemed like rubbing salt in an already sore wound when he waited all week for one phone call, and the person on the other end didn’t even bother to answer it.
In the grander scheme, he supposed that was yet another way of life showing him that he didn’t matter all that much. He wasn’t that important. People didn’t give a fuck what happened to him in here.
He was just another kid from the Bronx that fucked up his life. He’d been raised on the streets, and the only place people like him went was into a grave, or a prison cell. He was living up to that statistic, nothing more and nothing less. Surprise, surprise. He was going to get what he deserved, and they didn’t give a shit one way or the other.
“Yeah, let’s hope,” Renzo muttered.
Without another word, the guard lifted up his hand for the camera above the doors leading into the corridor for the payphones. Once it was unlocked, he let Renzo go through alone, but made sure to stay on the other side of the door in full view of the glass. It gave Renzo nothing more than a false sense of privacy, really. They were always watching him. Cameras were at every angle. Microphones, too, listening to each and every word he said. Not to mention, each phone call was recorded.
Everything he said could and would be used against him.
He always had to be careful.
Stepping up to the payphone, Renzo plucked it off the cradle, and slid the quarter into the slot. He pressed the numbers he had never forgotten. He’d called it once before since being arrested, but she had been way too angry with him to talk, then. He understood, so he hadn’t pushed.
Today was not going to be the same.
Today was important.
Renzo didn’t want her to think he forgot.
In his ear, the call rang and rang. At the fourth, he closed his eyes, and pinched the spot at the bridge of his nose to ward off the feeling of dread resting across his shoulders. He was sure the voicemail would pick up the call, but to his surprise, she picked up on the fifth ring.