Glass Secrets: Shattered Cove Series Book 2

by A. M. Kusi

  “Your wallet is a good start.” Rough hands reached into his back pocket, pulling out his billfold.

  “Sure, man. Take it and leave us alone.”

  The guy chuckled. He sounded young, like a teenager.

  “Get her jewelry,” the one with the knife said as a dark figure moved from behind the shadows. An accomplice’s footsteps crunched on broken glass.

  “I didn’t sign up for this, man. W-what are you doing?” a kid in a red sweatshirt, no more than five and a half feet tall, asked timidly, his eyes darting around nervously.

  “Just shut up and do what I said or your pretty sister is next,” knife guy growled at the shaky kid.

  The kid walked over to Mia and tried to unclasp her necklace. Mia shifted, turning her face slightly away. Andre’s self-control was fraying at the edges, about to snap. He wanted to fight back. But he had to protect Mia. They just needed to give these guys what they wanted and they would leave them alone. That was the safest option.

  Mia moved her shaking hands behind her body, not making a sound.

  “I’m sorry,” the kid said, struggling with the clasp in the dark.

  “Just rip it off!” the first guy yelled as the knife pressed harder into Andre’s neck.

  Andre’s body was too fueled on adrenaline to do more than register the pain.

  Knife-guy reached to the side of Andre and yanked on the chain as Mia winced.

  “Don’t you fucking touch her!” Andre snapped.

  The knife ground tighter against his throat. Andre winched his face towards the night sky. The blade serrated into his skin.

  His attacker chuckled. “I can take whatever I want from her and there isn’t a damn thing you could do about it. I’m the one with the power here, not you.”

  Fuck. He was right. Andre was powerless with the weapon pressed to his throat. Rage burned him from the inside out like hellfire sent straight from Hades himself. His hands itched with helplessness. There was no way he’d let this motherfucker lay a finger on Mia. Over my dead body.

  “You got what you wanted. Now leave us alone,” Mia said, her voice steadier than her trembling body.

  The knife loosened enough for him to look down at her.

  “I want that ring you’re hiding behind your back too,” his attacker sneered.

  “It’s not worth much. Please, it—it was my mother’s.” Her voice sounded so small. Damn it, Mia. Just give them the ring.

  “Hand it over or I’ll cut it off.”

  Mia’s gaze hardened as she twisted the gold band from her finger and placed it in the timid kid’s hand.

  “Now count to one hundred and don’t turn around until then. If you do, I’m gonna pay a little visit to the address from this wallet and make you regret the day you were born. And don’t think I can’t find out where you live, dirty whore,” he threatened Mia.

  The knife disappeared from Andre’s aching neck as the sound of running footsteps echoed in the dark alley.

  She sighed, taking two shaky steps forward before collapsing against his chest, as his arms went out instinctively to hold her.

  “Are you hurt?” He carefully caressed her face and her neck as if he could tell through touch alone. Concern laced around him, constricting his airway as her eyes grew glassy.

  “Just my pride . . . and my mother’s ring.” She sniffled.

  “Let’s go. We need to get somewhere safe and then call Bently,” Andre said, taking her hand and hurrying the rest of the way out of the alley. They emerged in the busy Main Street under the lights, where several pedestrians milled about.

  “Let’s just forget this ever happened. Don’t call Bently,” she said, and he stopped in his tracks, doing a double take.

  “We were just robbed by knifepoint,” he said, touching his neck before examining the red blood on his fingers. Is she in shock?

  Mia looked down. “I know. If you want to go, that’s fine, but please leave me out of it.”

  “But you were there. You were assaulted too, Mia. You saw the one with the knife’s face. I didn’t. The fucker has my license. He knows where I live.” How could the same woman who’d held it together when their lives were being threatened fall to pieces at a simple task of reporting the crime to the police? What if Mia had walked through here alone?

  Tears fell down her cheeks as her broken expression morphed into terror. “I know. Please, Andre, leave me out of this. If Bently comes and asks me, I’m going to say nothing.”

  Surely he had stepped into an alternate reality.

  “Why?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t . . .”

  If nothing else about the situation made sense, the fear in her eyes was real.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said, but his mind spun.

  She’d seemed afraid to report the guy who’d shoved her over the cliff too. A pattern was forming. Andre’s stomach sunk. Somewhere, sometime, something had happened to Mia. Something terrible.

  Chapter 19

  Mia’s Letter

  For the first couple years after we were denied asylum, my mother checked in yearly with Immigration and Customs Enforcement as I’ve said. I focused on my degree while working full-time at several different jobs. I was so determined to graduate and be able to give my mother a life with less stress about income.

  My friend Carmen is a programmer. During my last semester in college, we worked together to develop an app to help immigrants find resources and connect with others in their location for support.

  I watched as families were ripped apart. Our elderly neighbor had served in the military for twenty-five years before he lost a leg while putting his life on the line in service of the very country that deported him.

  I’ve been yelled at, propositioned, and assaulted all because of where I was born or the color of my skin—none of which I could control. Judged not for my heart, but my skin and heritage. I know you can understand what that is like.

  To be accepted into DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) you cannot have a criminal record. I thought this was common knowledge, but as the protests increased and immigration became the issue all over the news cycles, I heard them spreading lies on national television. They called us murderers, rapists, and criminals.

  I lived in fear of leaving the house. Would I be stopped and asked for my papers? At least I was protected by DACA, but would the ICE officers obey the law and let me go? Would they detain me for however long they wished or deport me?

  We are just like you. We are good, hardworking people trying to live a safe and better life for ourselves and our families. Some flee violence, others poverty, or some seek a better opportunity. Isn’t that what your founding fathers said this country was for? “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free” is carved on your Statue of Liberty.

  During this time, my mother still had to work, and she didn’t have papers. She’d take the bus rather than risk driving herself. When they started raiding buses, she began walking if I was at school and couldn’t drive her.

  Each year, we received a letter from the cartel describing in detail what they were going to do to us. How they would dismember and torture us. They kept a detailed list of all the men who would rape us. They knew where we lived. That’s the thing about fear—when you live with it like a roommate every day of your life, it becomes the bar for what’s normal. You get used to it. And once you get comfortable, that’s when the real terror starts.

  Executive orders were passed under the new administration by the same president who claimed he’d only deport criminals. My mother went for her usual yearly check-in with ICE, and as I waited for her to come out, I got a call to say my friend’s app had taken off and she’d been offered a large sum of money by another company who wanted to join our partnership. I was so excited to tell Mamá the news. To tell her she didn
’t have to work so hard anymore. I could take care of her and she could rest and relax and volunteer like she’d wanted but never had time to do.

  When she walked out of the building, my glee quickly faded, morphing into a sick feeling that twisted in my gut. Her face was ashen, drained of life as she approached the car.

  I asked her what happened and then, with her next words, she tore out my heart.

  “I’m being deported, mija. I have thirty days.”

  I held the tears in as a fierce determination overtook everything. “No, you won’t, Mamá. This can’t be right. I’ll fix this. Don’t you worry,” I promised her.

  I visited our senators, wrote to those in power in our state. I paid for a handful of lawyers with what money I’d saved. I petitioned and did everything else I could, but it wasn’t enough.

  The last day my mother was in the U.S., I went over all our possibilities. Her life was at stake, and the only people who could protect us turned their faces away from us, pretending people like us were not the very lifeblood of this country. The new partnership with the app was still pending, and the funds were not accessible or I’d have paid the cartel off. I’d have given everything so that my mother would be safe.

  I borrowed from friends to pay a coyote to return my mother as soon as she landed in Mexico. She packed light, because she’d be returning. I knew the journey would be hard on her. She was not as young as she’d been the first time we’d crossed. I pleaded with her to let me go with her, but she refused.

  She gave me her wedding ring and told me to keep it because it carried the love that my father had for her, and they in turn had for me. That someday, it would help me find my love. I remember the way she smelled—like wild rose with a hint of lemon cleaner.

  I think in my heart I knew she was saying goodbye, but my mind wouldn’t believe it. She was just preparing me for the worst, while hoping for the best.

  I hugged her as tightly as I could. “The coyote will find you when you land—his name is Javier. I’ll see you at the border in a few days.” I kissed her cheek.

  She smiled, not bothering to wipe the tears streaming down her face. “I love you, mija. I just want you to live a life that makes you happy and keeps you safe. I’m so proud of you.”

  She kissed my forehead and gave me one final hug before she walked away. She left on a plane, taking her back to the land in which she was born—a place I barely remembered.

  That was the last time I saw my mother alive.

  Chapter 20

  Mia

  Stretching out her leg, Mia arched her back into pigeon pose. She exhaled, focusing on her breath. Her muscles were still a little sore. Because of Andre. And the most explosive sex she’d ever had. She bit back the smile. Shaking her head in an attempt to refocus her thoughts, she glided forward into upward dog and then down to plank. A delicious heat stirred in her belly, but she’d blame it on the planks and not the image flashing in her mind of the intense desire in his eyes. There had been something so primal about the way he’d taken her like that. She’d never connected that way with any of her lovers before. Too bad the shadow that followed her all her life had to go and ruin it so soon. Would he go to the police? Anxiety gripped her chest, constricting her airway.

  Ping!

  Mia shot a quick glance at her upside-down phone out of habit. The message could wait.

  She eased onto her back as she relaxed and stretched out her sore muscles. Her neck ached from having her necklace ripped from her the night before. Bending her knees to her chest, she rocked side to side. Spreading her arms out, she straightened into her final pose of rest for a few minutes as she filled her belly with air. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead as she let herself drift into her safe place.

  She could have taken all that had happened in her life and chosen to be bitter and stay closed off from people in her life like Andre seemed to. But she owed her parents more. They didn’t die so that she could become a shell. Mia was going to do exactly as they wanted and be happy. She’d help others too. That was how she’d live in their legacy.

  Ping!

  She exhaled and sat up, reaching for her phone.

  Mateo: Buenos días, beautiful! My flight gets in next Thursday morning at 9 and I can stay until 4. I have to drive to Boston after that for some meetings.

  Mia: I guess we have quite a lot to do in such little time. Can’t wait to see you! I miss you.

  She plugged in her cell by the bed and rolled up her mat before heading to take a shower.

  A little while later, Mia was dressed in a pair of shorts and a white V-neck as she brushed out her long, wet hair. Knocking sounded from the first floor. She jogged down the stairs and opened the door.

  “Andre.” She searched for any sign he’d brought Bently or another policeman. Only green grass and trees stood behind him. She let out a sigh of relief.

  “Can we talk?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Mia opened the door, allowing him access.

  They walked over to the kitchen island and he took a seat.

  “I was just going to make some coffee. Do you want some?” she asked.

  Please don’t be here about the mugging.

  “No, I, uh … I just wanted to talk about the other night.”

  Shit. Option number two it is, then—distracting with flirtation.

  “Well, we could go upstairs and you could show me. You made a lot of promises.” She smiled, hoping he’d take the bait and not bring up the mugging again.

  His eyes darkened as he stared at her protruding nipples. She had no plans of leaving the house, so she’d gone without a bra.

  He swallowed. “Not about that. About the robbery.”

  “I told you—I just want to forget it ever happened.”

  “Is there a reason why you don’t want to go to the cops and report it?”

  She met his gaze as her whole body flushed with heat. Did he know?

  Should I just tell him?

  “They were kids. I’m worried about the younger one. It was obvious he did it under duress. The one with the knife threatened his sister.” It was true.

  “All the more reason to talk to Bently,” he argued.

  She’d walked right into that one. “Andre, you have every right to report it if you haven’t already. I am choosing not to. It’s too . . . risky.”

  His expression softened as he stood and walked over to her. He caressed her cheek softly. “Are you worried he’ll come back and hurt you?”

  Was she? He didn’t have her information, but if he sat outside Andre’s house, the maniac would be sure to see her. It didn’t matter. He was the least of her worries.

  “Please don’t ask me to do this. I just can’t.” She leaned into his hand, drinking in the physical contact. It was a shame this would be all that would ever happen between them. She had promises to keep.

  “I have a friend who works with homeless teens and runs a program for youth in the city. I’ll visit him and see if he knows anyone that fits the bill. I can ask if he has any idea who the younger one could be. Maybe we can help each other. He gives up the guy, and you don’t have to have any part in it.”

  “You’d do that?” For me?

  Andre nodded.

  “What is the name of this place?”

  Maybe the kids would benefit from a yoga and mindfulness class.

  “Hope Facility. My friend Aaron runs it.”

  She nodded.

  His hand traced the edge of her chin as he leaned in to brush his lips softly against hers. A rush of sensations splintered through her with the contact. She brought her arms around his neck, and he deepened the kiss. Opening her mouth, she tasted him with her tongue. Gripping the back of his neck, she pulled him closer. She’d enjoy this explosive chemistry between them while it lasted. She wanted more—needed him.

  “I
want you, right now.” She hoped he could sense her impatience.

  His hands moved down her shoulders, slipping farther to her hips as he lifted the hem of her shirt over her head. He broke the kiss to free her top, and she shivered as the cool air met her hard nipples. Her core throbbed with overpowering need. What was this man doing to her?

  His eyes glazed over as he licked his lips, admiring her breasts. Her nipples ached in anticipation. Andre leaned down, sucking one into his mouth.

  She gasped and moaned. The heat of his tongue against the sensitive flesh was almost enough to make her come on the spot. One of his hands cupped the other breast as his teeth raked over the hard nub. Fire tingled from the base of her neck and spread throughout her body, until every cell was aflame with unbridled yearning. “Andre, I need you.”

  He pulled away, breaking the contact. “And you’re going to have me. But first, I believe I promised to make you come on my tongue.”

  Damn. If her panties weren’t already soaked, they were now.

  He reached for the button on her shorts and pulled them off, letting them drop to the floor. Her white lace panties didn’t last much longer, and then she was completely bare—standing in front of him with nothing but hazy lust intoxicating her senses.

  “You’re fucking perfect.” Andre picked her up before setting her on the granite countertop. The frigid surface only registered for a moment as he spread her thighs and pulled her core to the edge. Fire and ice ravaged her body at once as his head dipped lower and his tongue lapped between her slick folds.

  The sight of his head bobbing between her legs as his tongue lashed greedily at her pussy created a swirling vortex of pleasure. Until nothing else in the world existed except her euphoria. He devoured her as her body trembled, growing closer to her release.

  He groaned as if this too was bringing him satisfaction. “You taste just like I thought you would. Sweet and spicy.” He dove back in, sucking her clit into his mouth as she screamed.

  The orgasm took hold as she arched her back, grabbing his head and pulling him closer. His expert mouth sucked, swirled, and raked. The tormenting pleasure left her with a hollow ache.