I shook my head and answered, casual, not like I was thinking about kissing her senseless. “I seem to recall someone being wicked nosy for most of the car ride yesterday. But yeah, put music on, whatever. I’m sure Unc’s CDs are all Perry Como, the WHO, and God knows what else.”
Brenna leaned forward, punching on the radio, and static poured through the car. Quickly, she turned down the volume and laughed. “Oops.”
We hit a bump and Uncle Joe’s ridiculously huge Italian horn swung like crazy. She picked it up. “Okay, Axe, what is with the pepper?”
I let out an exaggerated moan. “Oh, Jesus, not the questions, again.”
“Oh, sorry, I’ll stop,” she replied in a quiet voice.
“Kidding, pecorelle. It’s an Italian horn, not a pepper.” I sat back a little. “Actually, technically, it is a pepper, but…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain.
“So, is this because Italians really like food? Feel the need to decorate with peppers?”
“No, it’s a protective thing.” I chuckled. “It protects you from malocchio – the evil eye.”
“Now, I’ve heard everything.” Brenna let it go and began to fiddle with the radio, trying to find a station. “You superstitious?”
“Depends on the day. Don’t tell Uncle Joe that though, Christ.”
“Oh, really? Why’s that? And where are Uncle Joe’s CDs?”
“Console.” I tapped on it. “Uh, he thinks it’s the reason he got caught. He wasn’t wearing his horn that day, and someone looked at him funny, and boom. Next day he’s arraigned.”
“Wait, he wears that thing around?” Brenna asked, delighted.
“No.” I laughed and stuck a thumb in my shirt, pulling out my gold chain. “See?”
Damn, Brenna was touchy-feely today. She reached right over and took the chain in her hands. “Oh, you guys have little gold peppers. How cute. With a cross and a… Who’s this guy?”
“Padre Pio. That’s a Saint Medallion.”
“Huh, quite the Catholic boy with your bling, at least. This mean you’re a believer?”
Oh, Brenna. You just never stop. “A believer?”
Gently she let go of my necklace and I slid it back into my shirt, shifting in my seat. Man, even when she touched me for just a minute, I got excited.
“Like, I don’t know. Big stuff. Fate.”
“I’m not sure of anything in this life, but yeah.” I shot her a glance. “I believe in fate.”
She flushed and then busied herself with finding CDs. It was hard to keep my eyes on the road, but seeing as I didn’t want to kill us both, I forced my gaze to stay forward.
Stop with the flirting, Capestrana. Distance.
“Hey, he’s got a Beatles CD. You mind?”
“Is that what you’re into? Oldies?”
“The Beatles aren’t oldies,” Brenna retorted. “They’re British rock.”
“If it’s in Joe’s car, it’s oldies.”
“Well, we’re listening to it.” She popped the CD in and music spilled from the speakers.
It was nice – the sunshine, Brenna tapping her hand along to the beat next to my arm on the console, and the open road. I could almost forget that we were on the run from someone who likely wanted to kill us.
My phone rattled in the cup holder and I glared down at it.
Of course.
“Brenna, do you mind checking my messages?”
“Oh, sure.” Brenna reached forward and grabbed the phone. “There’s a text,” she said after a long pause.
“And?” I prompted her. She didn’t speak, so I looked over at her. Her pink cheeks had gone stark white. “Brenna?”
“I’ll read it to you. ‘Come home now, caro. Bring her back and Ruffino says he’ll let it go’.” Her voice was cracking, and she paused, tripping over the next words. “‘He knows you’re young. No retaliation in exchange for a favor from us – all will be forgiven. Twenty-four hours to respond’.”
Motherfucker.
Silence fell for a minute, as I fought the urge to punch something, then felt Brenna’s gaze on me. “Hey, you trust me, right?” I gritted out.
“Y-yeah?” Brenna responded. “I mean, yes.” Her chin went firm as she nodded. “I do.”
“Well, then you know I’d never do that. Ignore it. I’ll answer him later, once I figure out my next move. And hey,” I forced myself to smile, my back straight, “way I look at it, this is a plus. Now we know we got twenty-four hours guaranteed safety, which is twenty-four more than we thought.”
The relief on Brenna’s face told me that, as much as she was trying to trust me, we weren’t all the way there yet. She’d been worried when she saw that text, and I couldn’t blame her. But as she relaxed against the seat with a sigh and then began to look through the rest of the CDs, I patted myself on the back.
Baby steps.
Besides, there was no reason to alarm her by telling her that I had no next move. Jesus, I wished I’d had even half of one. After my cold shower, which lasted so long the water got lukewarm, I’d curled up in the armchair, alternately dozing and trying to come up with a plan that made some kind of sense.
And gotten nowhere.
But I knew one thing. If the family – Pop, Mama Ange, Colt, hell crabby-ass Uncle Joe – got to meet Brenna, they’d never suggest handing her back.
In fact, I was pretty sure Mama Ange must be out of the loop, because she’d never have let my father even suggest such a thing. Maybe she was in the know but assumed, like my father clearly assumed – that the poor girl in the seat next to me was a hooker. That she’d signed up for this mess and had me hoodwinked to live off Capestrana money, Pretty Woman style.
That made me clench my jaw in anger. If there was one thing my family could be infuriating about – it was thinking mine and Colt’s generation had zero fucking sense. I knew Colt usually bore the brunt of it and honestly, I had no idea how he hadn’t lost his mind yet.
If only they could meet her in person, they’d know it wasn’t true. She’d probably be fucking adopted, hell, they’d probably kick me out to make room. Or, more likely, Dante. If I could just get their damn support, maybe we could come up with a plan as a family, as it should be.
Now I had to figure out how to make that happen –without going back to Ehlrich. And if that didn’t work, and Mama Ange didn’t know what was happening? I tucked that potential card in my pocket, still not quite sure how to play it.
I hated to take the conversation down a dark turn after all she’d been through, but it was time. I couldn’t sell my family on Brenna and her story when I didn’t even know it myself.
“I know it’s hard to talk about, but can you tell me what happened? How the Ruffinos got ahold of you?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brenna’s entire body go from loose and relaxed back to knotted up and fearful again. She hugged herself and leaned back, letting the CDs fall into her lap.
“Are you sure you want to know?” she finally asked, in a dead, flat kind of voice.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have asked, otherwise. You can tell me anything. And it won’t change the way I feel about this situation or you. It will just help me with future plans and dealing with my family.”
She let out a weak, shaky laugh. “I guess if anyone deserves to know, it’d be that cocky Catholic boy who rescued me.”
Brenna tried to joke, but the weight of her words made my skin crawl and the warm sunshine seemed suddenly bleak. I knew hearing it was going to make me want to rain hellfire down on the Ruffinos. That I’d be changed inside somehow after hearing what she’d been through. But she’d actually had to live through it, so I braced myself and nodded encouragingly, jaw clenched.
As Brenna began to talk, my vision got darker and darker, as more and more rage filled me. I thought I was going to break the steering wheel, I was so infuriated. It felt as though I could chew through metal, tear up concrete with my bare hands, or stop a bullet with a look.
She’d
been in the foster care system of the state for a long time, since her Mom passed – she told me, with a hitch in her voice. That much I’d guessed from the mutterings the night before in bed and the fact that she’d never mentioned anyone missing her. Never suggested we call her parents to come get her. Or call anyone, for that matter. She’d apparently bounced from home to home, more or less kicked around since she was about five.
But Brenna didn’t talk about that part like she was a victim, she lingered on small moments of happiness – a nice Christmas she’d had when she was ten, her favorite foster parents – a loving African-American couple, who’d wanted to adopt her, but couldn’t for some stupid red-tape reason – a sweet teacher she’d had in high school, volunteering and working at a homeless shelter, and the kind, old homeless guys outside her apartment who kept an eye on it when she wasn’t there.
Brenna’s story poured out of her, even though she talked in a halting, pained kind of way, like she was embarrassed or something. I wanted to hold her again. Take the pain away, but I knew she had to get this out, so I gritted my teeth, looked forward, and kept driving.
She skipped around, jumping from her childhood, to teenage years, until she finally explained how those bastards in the Ruffino ring managed to snatch her off the streets.
“I-uh, I was hard up for cash, had just left the system. I’d turned eighteen, and my new landlord was threatening to kick me out again. It had only been like three months but I couldn’t seem to make my rent. So I quit working at the shelter – that paycheck wasn’t enough. And I saw this job on a telephone pole flier – high-pay for waitressing. One of my foster families had owned a little restaurant, so I had some experience…”
She trailed off, her voice getting raspy. “I got the job. Right away. The guy who interviewed me was like this slick, fat guy, with his hair all pasted to his bald head, but he was nice, and said I’d be making twenty bucks an hour, plus tips. I was shocked, I didn’t think it’d be that much. But he explained it was because it was a stripper bar. I wasn’t a stripper,” she added quickly, “so I’d be fine, safe, he said.”
Brenna was silent for a long moment. When I looked over, her body was curved into itself, her head down.
“And I believed him,” she whispered.
The urge to put my arms around Brenna was so overwhelming, I had to lock my elbows into my sides to stop myself. I knew exactly who she was talking about just from her description. Smooth Kenny, over at the Snake Charm Cabaret, that oily, rat bastard. Mentally, I added him to my kick-the-crap-out-of list.
“Thinking back, I should have known. He seemed really interested in the fact that I was an orphan, living on my own, trying to make ends meet. I thought he was just being nice. Then, I…”
Her voice flooded with terror and my stomach pitched.
“I met Emilio Ruffino. He gave me a tour of the bar and everything, and I started working there. The girls were actually nice, a little standoffish, but nice. Two weeks later, I’m walking home, and Emilio and some guys pull up and offer me a ride. But I’m almost home, so I said, ‘no thanks’. Then Emilio got out and lit a cigarette, and ordered me to get in the car. I was really scared, I hadn’t been that scared in a long time, so I went to run. Then all of a sudden, a guy I knew from the streets, his name is Charlie, was there. He was drunk, trying to help me, telling them to leave me alone.” She paused, her breathing heavy. “They threw him on the ground, started kicking him. I begged them to stop, I said I’d go. The last time I saw Charlie, Emilio had pulled out a gun and put it to his head, and he goes, ‘Listen, you little gutter rat, you tell anybody what went down here tonight, my boys’ll be back. And Brenna won’t be here to barter with.’
“Then he hit – he hit him across the face with the gun, Axe, a little old homeless man – and Charlie just crumpled. I thought they killed him. I couldn’t even scream.”
Protectiveness surged through me, I had to reach over and put my arm around her. I had no choice. Brenna leaned into me, her hands over her face, crying a little now.
“Oh God, I hope he was okay. I kept waking up for weeks after that, seeing him beaten and bloody, or dead.”
“I’m so sorry you had to see that. It must have been awful,” I said, wishing I could take the pain away. “All of it.”
“The weird thing was, Emilio wasn’t even cruel after that night. Not at first, at least. He just told me he had a business opportunity with me in mind. That I just had to stay put and I wouldn’t get hurt. After what I’d seen them do to Charlie, I was afraid to go. But when I found out what he was planning to do…auctioning me off, like those other girls, I was more afraid to stay. I started trying to make a break for it.” She sucked in a deep breath, hesitating, and pulled her hands down. Her voice had a dead, dull note of finality to it. “And that’s when Emilio taught me my place.”
Anger was pounding so thickly in my throat, I wanted to turn the car around, go right back to Ehlrich, and snap Emilio Ruffino’s neck.
But I had to take care of Brenna. Without thinking, I pulled over to the side of the road, parked, and wrapped both of my arms around her. For a long time, we just sat like that, and Brenna hiccupped into my shirt. I wished I knew what to say, how to say it.
“I’m sure Charlie was okay,” I finally managed. “He made it that far in life through bad circumstances. I know that neighborhood good. I’ll have Colt ask around.”
Brenna sniffled and gave me a watery smile. “Thank you,” she murmured. Then she sighed. “I’ve always wished I was tougher. That I could’ve helped him. Helped myself. I hate being so small. If I wasn’t 5’2, barely 120 pounds wet, I could have taken those guys. Like that tall waitress. I bet she could have kicked them in the balls hard enough to get away.”
“What waitress?” I asked, puzzled.
Laughing, Brenna looked up at me and shook her head. Her eyes were a little red with tears, but she had stopped crying.
“Never mind. I just hate myself for it. I used to wish I had the cash to take martial arts or something, because I’ve always been so… helpless. Weak.” A bitter note threaded through her words and I sensed this went beyond even being kidnapped by the Ruffinos.
I let her go and picked up my phone, an idea already forming in my head. We had twenty-four hours to prepare for the Ruffinos. Might as well use it.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Googling.” I found what I was looking for, turned on the Nav, and pulled a quick U-turn.
“Woah, where are we going, Axe?”
“To make sure you never feel helpless again.”
Chapter Ten
Brenna
What the hell was he up to?
Axe wouldn’t tell me, so I kept fidgeting in my seat, looking from him to the window. The suspense was driving me wild. I’d nearly bitten my tongue off, I was so bottled-up with questions.
And of course, I couldn’t stop replaying his words from breakfast over and over.
He wanted me. Axe wanted me, maybe even as much as I was wanting him. Pinching myself for distraction wasn’t working anymore.
But when he pulled up to a shooting range – my jaw dropped. I whirled in my seat, my voice high and strangled, as I said, “Guns?”
He shut off the minivan and pocketed the keys. “C’mon. It will be empowering. An Axe Capestrana guarantee.”
I folded my arms, still staring up at the sign in disbelief. “I said martial arts, not guns.” No response. “Axe?” I turned, but he was already gone.
I was unbuckling myself, shaking my head, when he yanked open my door and leaned in, a stern look in his eyes. “The whole time you were talking, I wanted to tear Emilio’s head off. The thought of you being taken like that and helpless makes me nuts. I don’t have time to teach you martial arts or how to fight for real, but if you can hold a gun steady and aim, at least you’ve got some protection. Later on we’ll go over some basic self-defense moves too. Even if you never use either one of them, when you know your life is on
the line, we can at least prepare you for the worst.”
Still, I hesitated. What if I couldn’t do it? What if I sucked at it and had to come to terms with the fact that I’d always be some walking potential victim? At least if I didn’t even try, I’d be able to fantasize about what I could’ve done if I’d learned martial arts. But there it was. That gleaming, golden thread of hope, beckoning me.
If I didn’t at least try, I’d never know.
“You’re getting in there and shootin’ a damn gun even if I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry your ass in. And hey, aren’t you the one who hates that I can do that? With a gun you could at least make me think twice…”
I probably wouldn’t hate it if you picked me up, I thought, biting my lip.
In spite of my rollercoaster-kaleidoscope-blender of emotions concerning this cocky, infuriating, and handsome piece of work – I couldn’t help but lean in too.
“Are you sure you can teach me?” I asked in a low, nervous voice.
He tweaked my nose, then grabbing me around the hips, swung me out of the car and kicked the door closed. My heart purred at his big, capable hands supporting me. For a moment, too, he held me. Then he whispered in my ear, “No names.” And he put me down, stretching. “Of course I can. I could teach a blind mule.”
“Thanks,” I retorted as we walked in, Axe holding the door for me.
“You know what I meant. And you know what I think about you,” he shot back.
“Mmhmm,” I snorted, but I averted my gaze, cheeks warming. I couldn’t suppress the thrill that hummed through me as I remembered, once again, what he’d said over breakfast. Never mind walking next to him, where our hands brushed every so often.
Trying to clear my head, I sniffed at the shooting range air – it was a heavy combination of wood polish, rubber, and smoke. “Hey, what did you call me earlier? It was different.”
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