by Shyla Colt
“Okay, you figure out what you’re going to take and I’ll get your suitcases.” I make my way into her walk-in closet and whistle at the organized chaos. Shoes are piled up in boxes and labeled and clothing is color-coded. I imagine she’s got to dress for the places she’ll be working.
“This is a lot of clothes, sassy.”
“Yeah, I’ve gathered them over the years. I never know where I’ll have to go work, and a lot of my friends make clothing. I’m never going to turn down an original piece.”
“If you say so.” My mind works overtime as I think about how we’d merge our households. I’d have to get a guy to come out and do a his and hers closet. I grab her hard back silver rolling cases and pull them out of the clothing hub that would make most women cream their panties. She’s making neat piles on the bed—shirts, shorts, underwear, and bras are lining up on the edge of her bed.
“How long do you think this is going to take?”
“Until we go to trial. I don’t think you should be alone anymore.”
Her back goes ramrod straight. “This is moving in, not staying at your house for a few days.”
“Would it be so bad to live with me?”
“I’m not saying that, Ollie. Maybe one day. Now, it’s too soon.” Her tongue flicks out, and she moistens her full lips.
“Maybe for some. This is isn’t a normal situation and nothing about our relationship has been by the book.”
“This is huge. We can’t make a decision like this based on fear.”
The hell we can’t. “It’s not fear. We’ve seen firsthand what they’re capable of. This is thinking smart and being preemptive.”
“Fine. I hear the case you’re pitching.” I ignore the clipped sentence. Her anger isn’t at me. We work together as a team and fill both cases to bursting.
“Do you need anything else? Essentials only.”
“My work equipment.”
“Then, let’s get that and head to my place.” Her shoulders slump.
“Hey.” I cup her chin and wait for her to meet my gaze. Her glassy eyes are a sucker punch to the gut. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I thought that, too. Then my social media blew up. It’s terrifying realizing they know who I am. My address isn’t on my page, and as a business owner, yes, my information is easily accessible, but still. It shook me.”
“That was their intention. They eat, sleep, and breathe this. I’m sure most people would run for the hills, and their scum of the earth leader would be sitting pretty with no one to speak up against him. He took more than money from us. This is how we get that back.”
Her eyes blaze, and I know I’ve stoked that fire inside of her I love so much.
“You’re right.” She straightens and I release her face. “Let me get my things.”
I admire her organization as she zips through the house gathering things and setting them by the front door.
“I’m ready.”
Grabbing the suitcases, I meet her by the front door. “This is it?”
“All the others things I can buy once I’m settled at your place.”
“Our place,” I correct her. “At least for a while. I don’t want you to think you have no say on what’s going on here or that you can’t get comfortable and treat it like you would your own space.”
“Thank you, Ollie.” She gives me a small smile, and it’s like the sun peeking from behind storm clouds. We leave the apartment in silence. She’s mourning her independence, and I’m here to support her. After tossing her things in the cab, I look around the area as we pull out. No cars move to follow us. I take the long way around, getting on and off highways.
By the time we pull up in front of my house, I’m exhausted from the heightened tension. I glance over at her and find myself wishing this was under different circumstances. The thought is overwhelming. I’m the type of guy who covets his space. This woman has turned me inside out without trying and what’s even more shocking is how little I mind.
I hand her the keys. “You go unlock the door, and take a load off. I’ll bring everything in.”
“What? No.”
“Yes. You need it, sassy. You don’t look like yourself.”
I stare her down, standing firm. She liked to play at being Super Woman.
“Fine.” Taking the keys, she exits the cab. She’s irritated with me now, but I can see the way her eyes are drooping and her skin is paler. She’s dead on her feet.
By the time I have the last of the items in and lock the door I find her snoozing on the couch. After covering her body with a blanket, I move to start dinner. I’m going to show her with more than words how much she means to me.
QUINN
I want to be shocked that there’s nothing the police can do, but I’m not. The accounts have blocked me, and the detective assures me they’re probably dummy ones. I’ve recorded what I can, but the only relief I received was changing my privacy settings which I’m sure will slow down business in the long run. I have to check every message sent, and I put it off because I dread it. I hate to admit it, but Ollie was right. I feel so much safer at his place, and in the end, we truly are in the same boat together. Me being on my own won’t keep Rolly any safer because his father is in this up to his neck. I check my makeup in the mirror, and rush out the door, grabbing my makeup kit in one hand, and a coffee in the other.
Today I’ve been hired to do something out of the norm, a Quinceanera. The Hispanic rite of passage that occurs at fifteen is comparable to a sweet sixteen but much grander. With traditional ballroom dances, stunning dresses, tuxedos, and plenty of tradition it’s something everyone should experience at least once. Growing up here in Dallas, I’ve been lucky enough to attend a few. I’ll be doing makeup for her, her court of honor, and her female relatives. It’s times like these I wish I was better at taking photographs, so I could capture everything from start to finish.
Locking the door behind me, I head to the car with a spring in my step. Being cooped up in the house peering out the blinds like a refugee had me in a funk. I’m dressed to impress in black dress pants that celebrate my curves, and a cream-colored T-shirt that ties in a bow on the front. The shirt is simple but complex with a tapered waist and pearl buttons. My black kitten heels give me an air of sophistication while remaining functional for work. My mane is pulled back into a bun on the top of my head, and I feel good. The sunlight warms me as I load my things, slip behind the wheel, and crank up the Rise Against.
Living with Ollie has been ridiculously easy. I worried that living together would dull the shine that comes with new relationships. With our insane schedules, we’re still seeing one another for the same amount of time, and I get to fall asleep in his arms. Everyone wins. A small smile tugs at my lips. It’s been a long time since anyone called me on my stubbornness and came out unscathed. We really are meant to be.
I pull up in front of the hall where they’ll hold the party. Family members are spilling out of the space, rushing to and fro with decorations and food. They’ve already held the church ceremony. The makeup is supposed to be part of moving her from being a young girl to a young lady. I grab my things and approach the front door.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for Mrs. Martinez. I’m the makeup artist,” I say, placing my hand on the shoulder of the kind looking older gentleman nearest me.
“Ahhh. They’re in the gathering space, down the hall, and to the left.”
“Thank you.” I nod my head and move inside weaving through the bodies. This little girl is loved, that’s for sure. Men ranging from their sixties and below are all hustling. The sight of tattooed forearms unsettles me. I shove the reaction away, ashamed that I’m prejudging, and make it to the gathering space. A tiny woman with raven-colored hair broken by streaks of gray stands up. Her flowing white dress complements her curves and pops against her bronze skin. Her full cheeks, heart-shaped face, and Cupid’s bow lips work together to create one beautifully aged older woman.
“Mrs.
Martinez?”
“Please, call me Paloma.”
“Then you must call me Quinn. I am so honored to be a part of Yelena’s Quinceanera today.”
“Yelena, this is Ms. Quinn. She’ll be doing your makeup today.”
Her eyes widen. “Mami, you got me a makeup artist!” She jumps, as much as she can in the pink ball gown, and I beam. This is a surprise done right. The moment passes and we head to the room where I set up shop. The vibe is joyful as Spanish and English is spoken. Her friends and family tease her while she sits in the chair and I carefully accent her cheekbones, lips, and eyes, making her seem a little older without over-doing it. Proud, I step back and admire my work.
“What do you think, Paloma?” I ask.
“She’s gorgeous. Ack, mija, you look so grown up.” I hand her mother the hand mirror and hold my breath as she moves the mirror in front of Yelena.
The girl gasps. “Is that me?”
“Sure is, darling,” I say as the warm and fuzzies start.
“But I’m so pretty,” Yelena whispers. Her eyes water and I pat myself on the back for choosing to go with waterproof mascara.
“You were always beautiful, mija.”
It’s like being in the middle of a Hallmark movie. The good feels have me on a high as I continue on to the next person’s makeup. Soon they’re all done up and lined up to make the big entrance. I feel like an interloper, but they insist I stay to watch the opening dance at least. I lean against the wall as she approaches the handsome boy dressed in a white tuxedo with a pink vest.
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the famalia.”
I turn toward the man in baggy jeans and a white T-shirt. He stands out like a sore thumb in the sea of nicely dressed men and women. Tattoos wind their way around his neck and arms.
Swallowing, I force a smile as my body tenses. “You haven’t. I did the makeup for the girls.”
“That’s right, Quinn Fleming.” He spits the words out like I’m something indecent.
My stomach bubbles, and I brace myself to keep from taking a step back. If I give an inch, he’ll take a mile. I square my shoulders, grateful for my height. “If you knew who I was, why ask?”
He glares down at me with obsidian eyes full of hatred. “’Cause I want you to know I realize who you are, you little bitch. Going around yapping to dem boys in blue. You need to keep your fucking trap shut.”
My jaw drops and I back pedal.
He follows me, pressing me up against the wall. “You think anyone here is going to help your dumb ass? No, this is my family.” He pats his chest. “I made all this shit possible, so don’t think for a second they’re going to help you. And you best believe, there’s plenty more like me out there. You got anyone willing to go to war for you like that? You see how easy it was to get your stupid ass alone? If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
I can’t breathe as I stumble back, spin on my heels, and run like hell hounds are at my back, refusing to look back. I dig into my pants for my key FOB and hit the open button. I can’t hear footsteps behind me, but I’m not about to slow down. Ripping the door open, I throw my body inside as I fumble with the keys.
My hand shakes as I force the key into the ignition and turn. I slam the door and peel out with my heart in my throat. My brain doesn’t start working properly until I pull up into the parking lot of Maloney Mechanics. I slam on the brakes, not remembering one minute of the trip. Oliver walks out with a smile that quickly slips off his face as I stumble out of my vehicle.
“What happened?”
“They were at my job. Oh my God. They knew my name, and they told me if I knew what was good for me I wouldn’t talk.”
He pulls me into his arms. “Who said this?”
“I don’t know, some Hispanic guy at the Quincera I was hired to work.”
“Did he put his hands on you?” He grips my face between his hands.
“No, but he didn’t need to. There are who knows how many guys out there just like him. Oh my God. What are we going to do?” I rest my head on his shoulder as my head spins.
“Hey, everything all right, brother?” I recognize Houston’s smooth baritone.
“Naw, man. We got problems. I need to get out of here and take her to the station.”
“No.” I clutch his shirt. “Do you know what they’ll do to us if we go to the cops?”
“We have to.”
“No! Please, Ollie. God, don’t make me do that.” My body shakes at the thought of their retaliation.
“Quinn, they singled you out and got you alone. Do you know how much worse this could’ve ended?”
My chest aches and my shoulders tremble as the sorrow builds up inside of me. My life is spiraling out of control, and I have no way to pump the brakes. Hot tears escape from my eyelids and run down my face as I break. The sobs threaten to tear me to pieces as they rocket through my body, and Ollie holds me through it all.
“It’s going to be okay. We’ll see what Kunes say. They’re not going to get away with this shit on my watch.”
“Please, please, please.” I hiccup. “Don’t go to the station. They’re watching it. I know they are.”
“Okay. We won’t. I’m going to take her to my office, brother,” Ollie says as he steers me away from the parking lot where I’m making a spectacle of myself. I allow him to take the lead.
Sinking down in a chair, he pulls me onto his lap and wipes away my tears. “Hey. You okay?”
“I never even saw it coming, Ollie. I was enjoying myself. Hell, I actually berated myself for being paranoid. How do we stand a chance against them?”
He shakes his head. “We’re going to be scared to death either way, Quinn. We owe it to ourselves to stand firm on this. That’s how I view it. They damn near took my life. Am I going to let them punk me and push us into a corner, too? Fuck that.” His chest heaves and his voice deepens under the weight of his conviction. “Look, I’m going to call him, okay?”
“Fine.” I know I can’t stop him and he’s right. We need help. However, I can’t help but feel this is the worst idea.
“Hi, Detective, Kunes? This is Oliver Hemingway. There’s been an incident with Quinn. ... No, we don’t feel safe coming into the station. We think we might be watched and possibly followed at right now. ... Yes, she was approached at a job. ... No, there was no physical altercation, but they made it clear how easy it was to get her alone. ... I’m not sure. To be honest, it was hard enough to get her to let me call you. You didn’t do anything about the messages and now it’s escalated. ... I understand those were dummy accounts, but the fact is, you’re not offering up much in the form of protection. Do we have a firm date on the trial? ... Three months is a long time. ... Yeah, I understand. Do we have to come in to file a report? ... No, you can meet us? I think that would be best. You choose the time and place. We’ll be there. ... I know the place. Tonight at eight o’clock? You got it.”
Like or not, the die has been cast, and all I can do is live with what follows. An ominous sense of foreboding encases me like ice. My blood runs cold, and my chest aches. What lies ahead is going to test us both.
I SINK LOWER INTO THE booth as I peer around the diner. I’m making my best impression of a college student in gray sweatpants, an oversized hoodie, and a University of Texas hat. Ollie is dressed similarly beside me as we wait for Detective Kunes. The restaurant is a twenty-four-hour spot about an hour away from the house. I should feel safe, but I don’t.
Ollie places his hand on my knee and squeezes lightly. “You okay?”
I shrug. Giving him a line would be futile. We both know I’m on edge. Leaning my head against the cool glaze of the window, I close my eyes. Things have gone quiet. There have been no messages on social media since I changed my settings and no more odd occurrences. Maybe they’re waiting to see if their threats have succeeded. If I’d had it my way, they would have. The look in that man’s eyes was a promise of murder plain and simple. No
hesitation, no remorse. I know without a shadow of a doubt, he’d slit my throat, watch me bleed out, and step over my prone body once I left his planet. There’s no winning against people like that. They have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
I tried to explain it to Ollie, but he can’t see it the way I can. Not when all the attacks have been me-centric. I think it’s an experience you have to go through in order to fully understand. I tense as a black sedan pulls into the parking lot. My heart rate increases, and I sit up straight. The sight of Kunes exiting the vehicle hits me with a quick burst of respite that makes me shudder.
“He’s here,” I croak. I clear my throat as he walks inside and spots us in the corner booth in the back where we can watch the entire restaurant and the parking lot.
Slipping into the opposite side of the booth, he turns his blue gaze on me. “How are you, Quinn?”
“Hanging in there,” I say.
“I hear you had a scare?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and take a sip of water. “I was hired for a Quincera. Everything was going fine until the actual event. A man approached me, told me who I was, and basically said if I knew what was good for me I’d stop talking to the cops.”
“Is your Facebook page private?”
“No, I’m running a business. I want people to be able to find me. How could they know my name?”
“Their lawyer.”
“Wonderful,” I whisper.
“It’s not ideal. We’re working on getting the way things work changed.”
“But in the meantime, innocent bystanders are caught in the crosshairs for trying to do what’s right,” I retort.
He studies me, and I glance away from him.
“We can file a report and try to find the man.”
“Don’t bother. I know there are dozens more waiting to take his place. He made that very clear.”
“This is when we lose most of our witnesses.”
“Don’t try to sweet-talk me. We’re in this for the long run. I still have the right to be scared.”
“Yes, you do. These are dangerous men, but what you’re doing here is brave and necessary to get men like this off the street.”