#SummerGirl

by Brooks, A. M.

Before I can respond, Castillo slides in next to me, breaking the tension in the air. My eyes immediately search out the window as I fight not to cry. We start moving. When the wheels turn left instead of right, I realize I’m not going home. I don’t know if I’ll ever go home again. “Where are we going?”

  “To Mexico,” Castillo mutters.

  I nod my head once in understanding. My insides turn cold and everything in me tightens. I decide right here to make it my mission to do whatever I have to do in order to stay alive. I will push down all my feelings, my beliefs, my morals, and do what it takes to make my father pay for this. The fairy-tale life I was living shattered right before my eyes. I am no longer a princess waiting for my prince charming to come along and save me. I make myself a promise that I will do whatever it takes to prove to my father that I’m not only strong enough, but smart enough to protect the empire he’s built. I have to play his game, and when he least expects it, I’ll show him that I’m the motherfucking princess that’s going to save herself. When I’m done with him, he’ll know he never needed a son. I’m going to show him that I’m not less because I’m a woman. My father may think he made another soldier…but no, he made a weapon. A weapon who is out for revenge.

  Now

  Chapter One

  Trent

  The years I’d been waiting for this moment, all the anger, the pain and the betrayal building within me, was rippling under my skin as I stared at her. Scarlet Reyes. The girl who had ripped out my heart and shredded it underneath her motorcycle boot before disappearing from my life and ruining my future, sits in the chair directly across from me. Her once pristine, white suit, now covered in blood spatter and gore. Her sleeked-back ponytail is messy, creating a halo of escaped hair around her face, and her eyes blaze into mine from where she sits in the interview room of our private Las Vegas police station. After six years, I have her in my territory, under my rule, her life and freedom dependent on me.

  My partner, Jay McCall, and I had planned for her father, Raul Alverez, to be at the meeting spot where our team could finally bust the operation he’d been running for decades. The operation he’d been handing over to Scarlet in the past few years in order to build her up to take his place. My first run in with Alverez occurred my senior year of high school when I helped McCall with a sting operation, involving batches of drugs that were killing students in the neighboring towns. I was eighteen and terrified, knowing that these drugs and the dirty money were being funneled through the Motocross races there. McCall asked me to pretend to be looking for drugs before making his bust. I hadn’t known at the time that, that one incident would forever paint a target on my back until I could finally eliminate the source. Today in some Las Vegas hotel parking ramp, Raul finally met the end he was destined to have. And the crew of drug addicts he hired have also paid with their lives for killing my friend, Blake Palmer.

  I twist the pen in my fingers, letting it tap the paper lightly, each stroke in time with the small tic in Scarlet’s jaw. I wonder if she even knows how guilty she is for Blake’s death. It hasn’t been more than a year and the pain is still there when I think about him.

  “When is McCall coming back?” she asks, her voice edged in irritation. It’s been almost six hours of our shared silence. I smirk, my eyes eating up the way she squirms.

  “He’ll get here when he’s done cleaning up the mess you made,” I answer, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms across my chest.

  Her head turns to the side, and her jaw clenches even harder, her body sitting up straight. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Princess.” I lean forward, her words plaguing me. After everything, she still can’t admit that she’s wrong or account for all the lives her family have ruined along the way. “I know about every move you and daddy dearest have been making. Every deal. Every in with another criminal organization, every innocent person who’s lost their life at your hands.” I get up quickly, catching her attention, her chest rapidly rising.

  “Look at that wall.” I point to the other end of the room where multiple photos are lined up. Each labeled with a name, date of birth and date of death. In the center, the largest picture, is Blake. “That guy right there was my friend. He was one of the good ones. A guy making his way up from the bottom and he would have been a damn fine cop if it hadn’t been for your family and that shit excuse of a crew you threw together to launder drugs from the hotel.” My hands tighten into fists. It takes everything I have inside me not to launch myself over the table, wrap my hands around her delicate throat, and press her face to each and every picture, so I can force her to see the lives she’s not only ruined, but taken away from their loved ones.

  Scarlet’s face stays passive, and if I didn’t know her as well as I do, I would have missed the flash of remorse in those black depths. “I need to talk to Jay,” she tells me again, her voice thick with her accent, another sign that she’s not completely emotionless. Everything must just be buried deep inside the monster she’s become.

  My fingers flex at my sides. I don’t want to look at her. It makes my insides turn to be in the same room as her, yet I can’t help but be morbidly interested to know if I could bend her to my will. The clock in the room is ticking down the time I have left alone with her before McCall shows up. My irritation grows knowing he has some deal already worked out with her. “Trent,” her voice is laced with demand and frustration. Must really suck to sit on the wrong side of the table for once.

  Scoffing, I turn back toward the board, my eyes connecting to the indigo blue in the picture before me, content to ignore her until she can say something useful. Guilt burrows into my gut the more I stare at it, before anger bubbles to the surface, infusing the two emotions until my lungs squeeze in my chest and red clouds my vision. Blake should not be dead. I should not be here, and it’s all because of Scarlet.

  A tap on the door echoes in the room before Jay enters and shuts the door behind him. I feel his gaze land on me briefly. “Reyes,” he says. I can hear the tiredness in voice.

  “Did you get her back safely?” I ask, referring to his girlfriend, Blaise Palmer, Blake’s younger sister, and he nods. “At least you did one thing right today.”

  Jay sighs and cuts his gaze to mine. His eyes say shut the fuck up, while mine tell him to eat shit. Jay may be my partner per se, but he’s also the reason I can’t have what I want most-- for Scarlet Reyes to pay for everything she’s done. Jay turns back to Scarlet, who immediately relaxes now that he’s here. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but your father did not make it out of surgery.”

  “I didn’t expect that he would,” Scarlet replies, the coldness in her voice drawing my attention back to her. Her face is passive, as if the news of the bastard’s death doesn’t bother her, or more like she’s relieved. I scoff; she’s probably relieved he’s out of the way so she can takeover. Too bad for her, I now stand in the way of her ascension to the throne.

  “It changes things,” Jay warns her, sitting down across from her at the table.

  “I’d say things changed the minute Robocop, here, slapped cuffs on me and I had to walk out of my hotel parking garage for everyone to see,” she reports, her hot gaze landing on me.

  I’m about to open my mouth when Jay interrupts, “We have nothing concrete to hold you on. If you don’t wish to make a statement, you’re free to leave, Ms. Reyes.”

  “Like Fuck!” I turn to face both of them, the anger I’d been holding onto by a thread finally snapping. “It was a clean arrest and plenty of evidence. Unless you feel like sharing with the rest of the class while you are so willing to let a drug dealing, gun running, criminal walk, then she stays!”

  To her credit, Scarlet doesn’t flinch. Jay, however, looks like he’s about to combust. They lock gazes and seem to have an entire conversation with their eyes before Jay is up out of his seat and hauling me out the door.

  “Get off, fucker!” I use all my strength to pu
sh him back, before landing a blow to his jaw. Gasps sound behind me, and the room freezes.

  “Can we not do this here.” Jay steps back, hand cupping his jaw while he moves it side to side.

  “You’re going to let her go,” I make the statement. “Where’s your fucking loyalty, man? What about Blake? I finally arrest his killer and you want to let her walk, why? What could be so important that you’re willing to risk her getting away?”

  “Again,” his gaze darts around us, “Can we not do this here?” Grabbing my arm, he forces me back into the room.

  Scarlet’s head snaps up again, her eyes zoning in on the red mark quickly forming on his cheek. “Jay,” she says, almost as if she’s trying to warn him.

  “You can go, Ms. Reyes,” he tells her, moving to unlock the cuffs before tossing them my way. The metal hits my chest and clatters to the ground at my feet. Scarlet doesn’t meet my hostile glare as she darts out of the room, the door closing behind her.

  “Nice,” I say, “Blake would be so proud.”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Jay turns toward the board, his hands running through his hair. “I shouldn’t even have to be here right now. I have my woman, who’s going through her own trauma, waiting on me, and I have to sit here and listen to you be an asshole who can’t take direction. I told you the score before we even came back to Las Vegas!”

  “You didn’t tell me shit!” I yell, my hands flinging out at my sides. “You said they would be here. You said we were making a move, and that the case was moving forward!”

  “It is!” Jay hollers back. “If you could take your head out of your ass for two seconds, you’d see the whole picture. We need her to get to the main source. Then we can end them all, and whether you like it or not, we need Scarlet to end this.”

  “She needs to pay,” I remind him, only this time, I just don’t mean because of Blake. My whole life, my future went up in flames because of this woman. Being a cop, living an undercover life is what I do to make ends meet. The only job I could get after she set me up to take the fall on a drug raid. I only walked out of the situation alive because Jay had been there. Both times.

  Jay sighs, his head tipping back. “Once this is over, you get to decide what happens. You made the arrest. But right now, she’s under my protection, and she’s working both sides while going after the source.”

  I want to shake my head in denial. My fingers are already balling into fists and I know they are either going into Jay’s face or the wall if I don’t get out of here. I need air. I need peace, with only the sounds of engines and the crowd to calm the intense rage growing inside of me. I brush past Jay on my way out. I am sick of his shit and fed up with the lies. Everyone lies to gain something around here and secrets and lies...that shit is what gets people killed.

  Warrior Sneak Peek!

  Prologue

  2001

  Colt - Age 7

  Numbers are the worst. Being in first grade is even worse. School just stinks. All I want is to be at home, hanging out with my older brother, Alex, and his friends. Alex is done with school now and laughs at me all the time about how much school I have left. He’s eighteen and I’m seven. My mom likes to joke about how much of a surprise I was. I never minded having an older brother. I always got to see his baseball games and he’s been showing me how to throw a football. I don’t care that I can’t share his clothes or that we can’t watch the same movies. He watches what I want anyways. Alex lets me hang out with him and his friends. Some of them have college classes that don’t start until noon and Alex is taking a semester off while he saves money. So they’re at our house all the time, drinking my juice boxes and playing poker. Now that summer is over, my mom put the kibosh on how late I can stay up with them.

  No offense to Ms. Butterfield, but numbers are not my strong suit. All my friends agree with me that having math first thing in the morning is horrible. I’m not even sure my brain is awake half the time when I first get here. She’s at the white board with her back to us and misses the crossed-eyes’ face I give to my best friend Zane Thompson, who then pretends to flick boogers at me. He’s disgusting. My hand covers my mouth to hide my laugh. The desk shakes from holding it in. Zane’s face is scrunched up from trying to hold his own laugh in.

  I’m about to burst when Mr. Cobb, the other first grade teacher next door, comes flying into our room. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar and he looks upset. Are those tears in his eyes? Ms. Butterfield looks startled. He walks up to her and they talk in whispers. Our classroom starts to get antsy, everyone shifting in their seats. I have to fight the urge to turn to Zane and start talking.

  Ms. Butterfield’s face turns pink and her head falls to Mr. Cobb’s chest; she makes a noise that sounds like what my mom does when she’s watching Steel Magnolias for the hundredth time. Mr. Cobb pats her on the back, before she steps away and grabs her purse from under her desk.

  “Ah class, Ms. Butterfield is going to be leaving for the rest of the day. I will be sitting in until your substitute can arrive.” Mr. Cobb is talking, but I can’t take my eyes off Ms. Butterfield. Red splotches are decorating her cheeks and tears are just running down her face. With her bag over her shoulder, her free hand twists the ring on her finger over and over while she walks past all our desks and leaves the room. The door smacks shut and the room quiets.

  “Well, I need to make you all aware of what is going on. Something terrible has happened in the state of New York. This may be hard for you to understand, but it’s going to be something you hear about all day. Someday your children will learn about it in a history book.” He paces in front of our class, before pulling down the huge United States map from above our white board.

  “Now,” he takes a look at us, “which state do we live in?”

  Cherise Mobile, our class know-it-all, raises her hand first. I roll my eyes when she’s called on. “We live in Tennessee, Mr. Cobb,” her sickeningly sweet voice answers.

  He nods his head. “We do. And can anyone point out on the map where New York is?”

  To my surprise, Zane’s hand flies up in the air next. Mr. Cobb raises his brow, like he’s about as unsure as I am that Zane actually knows the answer. “Come point it out for us, Mr. Thompson.”

  My friend whispers “yes,” under his breath, and swaggers his way to the front of the class. Yes, for a seven-year-old, he has swagger. I think it looks like he’s limping, but he gets touchy about it when you ask him. When he gets in front of the map, his eyes trail over it before he jumps off his feet and his hand slaps the top right corner. “There.”

  Mr. Cobb nods his head approvingly. “That is correct, Mr. Thompson. Please head back to your seat.”

  With a giant smile on his face, Zane sits down next to me. Cherise looks over at him and rolls her eyes in frustration, just jealous he got the answer I bet. Her hand shoots up again.

  “Yes, Miss Mobile?”

  “What happened in New York? Why did Ms. Butterfield leave?” she asks. It’s an innocent question, yet Mr. Cobb’s face becomes grim. He looks sad and I swear I see tears in his eyes too.

  Mr. Cobb lowers his head. “This morning two airplanes crashed into the twin towers of the World Trade Center. People are hurt, and the news is broadcasting this heavily. As you move about the school today, you’re going to hear more and more about what happened. My job as a teacher is to make sure you’re safe and protected. If you have questions, I will try my best to answer them. I also encourage you to talk to your parents when you get home.”

  Mr. Cobb ends his speech, his chin to his chest; the man looks defeated. I heard every word he said. My brain is scrambling to picture a plane crashing into a building. In the next minute, our classroom television is turned on to the news station.

  The rest of the day passes by like normal for me. I don’t remember learning much. I also don’t understand why everyone is so sad. The TV in our class stays on all day. Each hour, the news reports something different. Teachers are in and out of our classr
oom all day, covering for Ms. Butterfield, and using their lunchtime to sit with us. A few of the teachers attempt our lessons, but they can’t hold our attention. Seeing a plane crash into a building over and over again is not something I can forget. My eyes widen. I feel instantly terrified for my dad who works in a tall building downtown. I keep hearing words I don’t understand. Terrorist. Death. Patriotism. I know my goldfish died once, and my mom said it went to heaven. Are these people like my goldfish? What if they don’t believe in heaven like my mom? At the end of the day, our principal comes in to tell us that Ms. Butterfield’s father worked in one of the towers in New York. She will be on leave, and we will have a substitute teacher until she returns.

  Zane is just as quiet as I am by the time our bus picks us up to take us home. His brow is tense, like he’s thinking really hard. I hand him half of the granola bar I had saved and he takes it, eating without speaking. His eyes just remain focused on the ground. I cannot wait to get home. My mind is screaming with questions. I hope Alex is around.

  I jump off the bus as quickly as possible and run into the house. The door closes loudly behind me. I wince, waiting for my mom’s reaction, but I don’t hear anything except for the television coming from the living room. Walking quietly into the room, I see my mom standing in front of the screen, a dish towel wrapped in her hands.

  “Mom?” I say quietly, almost afraid I’ll spook her.

  She turns to me, wiping tears off her cheeks. “Hey honey.”

  “Why are you crying?” I ask, concerned. My head swivels to the table where I usually have a snack waiting for me.

  “Oh honey.” She moves to me and her arms pull my body into a hug. “I just can’t believe this. I’m so happy you’re okay.”

  I shift back and see she’s crying again. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  She sniffles and stands up, a watery chuckle leaves her lips. “How about a snack?”