by Kayla, Mia
Wait until he is in jail. If he thinks I am crazy, I’m sure he’ll enjoy his inmates’ company. They didn’t treat pedophiles kindly in jail.
And before I knew it, I was cussing at him in Spanish because that made me feel better.
He laughed in my face, visibly annoyed. “It’s good I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“Is everything okay here?” The manager, a taller male wearing an apron that read Jack’s Pizza Place, approached us.
For all I knew, he could have been the infamous Jack himself.
“No, it’s not okay.” I pointed a shaky finger to the culprit. “This man has shamelessly been taking pictures of those teenagers over there.”
Crazy Guy took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Lady, it was one picture.”
I shrugged, indignant. “Before I stopped you. One, two, three—it doesn’t matter, pervert. You shouldn’t be taking pictures of underage children. You don’t even know them!”
“I do,” he said with his teeth clenched.
I peered up at the manager, smirking, and placed a hand on my hip. “Now, he knows the kids. Sure. Sure.”
This man was demented.
“I’m leaving. This is pointless.” Crazy Guy huffed and then turned to leave but not before I grabbed his forearm.
“You’re not going anywhere. I’ve called the cops.”
He condescendingly stared at me, glancing down at my grip on his forearm. “Good. Because I’d like to file a counter charge of assault.”
I retracted my hand like he had some leprous disease, and my mouth slipped slightly ajar. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He let out a sarcastic laugh. “I would, and I will.”
The nerve of this Ted Bundy–looking, maybe even serial killer pedophile.
“You’re ridiculous!” I adjusted my purse on my shoulder and threw him a vicious smile. I’d show him. “Macy! Sarah!”
“Lady, what the hell are you doing?” He frowned, panic clouding his features.
I raised my eyebrows. “Well, you said you know these kids, right?”
But the kids weren’t moving, all caught up in each other’s worlds and the games they were playing. Are these teenagers deaf? I walked straight into the game room, realizing the noise was quite loud. The dinging sound of pinball machines, balls rolling and thudding down a chute, the jingle of change and the chatter of kids must have drowned out the commotion outside.
“Hey, kids!”
All of my kids turned my way.
Macy waved. “Miss Cruz.”
I hated that I was about to ruin their evening, but this was what I’d been lecturing my kids about when we talked about predators inside and outside of school.
Keeping them safe and helping them learn were my top priorities.
“Sorry, guys. Can you come out here whenever you’re done with your game?” I stalked straight out of the room and stood a good distance away from Crazy Guy.
And right on cue, the cops stormed in.
Then, to my surprise, random patrons at the restaurant began to yell.
“Guys like you belong in a special kind of hell!”
“He needs to go to jail!”
“Someone should cut off his dick!”
I wanted to shout along with them, but I kept my cool and rested my hands in front of me.
The female officer tipped her chin toward us. “What’s going on here?”
Crazy Guy’s face was fifty shades of red. “I’m telling you, I did nothing wrong.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I was sure these cops had heard it all. Soon after, they’d find some dead bodies stuffed in his fridge. Hell, you never knew.
“I know those kids,” he protested, rubbing at his brow.
He shot daggers my way, and I simply waved and smiled with a tilt of my head.
Hi, Mr. I’ll Be in Jail Soon.
“Well, we’ll find out in a second,” I sassed.
Finally, the kids filtered out of the game room and staggered to a stop, most likely seeing the cops.
I sidled up next to Sarah and Macy and slipped my arms over their shoulders in a show of protection and support, hoping they didn’t get too upset when they found out what was going on. Caroline stood right beside Macy. The boys filtered out and stood around us. I felt ready with my gang to convict this man.
And then Sarah spoke, curiosity heavy in her tone, “Uncle Mason?” She blinked at Crazy Guy. “What are you doing here?”
The smile disappeared from my face.
And my heart stopped.
Mason
Sarah’s face turned a bright crimson. I paled.
I’d never forget the look on my sweet niece’s face—concern and a touch of fear. I took a step forward, but the cop held me back.
“Young lady, do you know this man?”
Her eyes teetered from her friends, to her teacher, and to the cops before landing on my face.
And my stomach dropped—to the floor and kept on going.
“Yes.” Her voice almost didn’t sound like her own, older, louder, confident. “He’s my uncle.”
She closed the gap between us, and linked her arm through mine. “I’m sorry, Officer. Did my uncle do something wrong?” Her voice was full of strength, a strength I’d heard her use when she was arguing with Charles or when she was at the playground, sticking up for Mary.
And it crushed my heart because she was on my side, and it was my fault the cops were here in the first place. I wanted to drop to my knees and ask for forgiveness, rewind time to three hours ago, where I could have made a different decision.
“Yes, there was a call made by this woman.” The officer motioned toward the petite brunette who had caused all this mess.
“Gabby Cruz,” she croaked out. She tugged at the front of her shirt and shifted in her spot.
I should feel vindicated, but I felt strangely amused, watching her cringe.
Well, well, well. Where was the fiery woman who had called the police earlier?
Even sheepish and annoying as hell, this woman was still beautiful.
The officer continued, “This woman called in about a man following underage kids and taking their pictures. Another complaint has been filed against your uncle for battery.”
Slowly, Sarah retracted her arm from mine, the strong set of her jaw going lax. “You followed me?”
I had no words. Because I didn’t want to admit it. When she stepped away from me, my whole world disintegrated. I’d embarrassed her, in front of her friends, in front of her teacher, in front of all these strangers and these cops.
When her lip quivered, I wanted to wrap my arms around her, just like I had when she was a little girl.
Gabby raised her hand and stepped in front of the officer, her eyes wide and horrified. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I had no idea this was a family issue.” She slapped her head. “I just watched a 20/20 special about predators yesterday, and you know”—she waved a hand—“with all these things going around”—she laughed nervously—“you can never be too sure.”
The cop nodded to his partner. “Okay, since that’s settled and no complaints are being filed, I think we’re good here.”
When he left, the silence was deafening. Sarah’s gaze flickered to everyone else, and mine remained solely on her.
“Sarah … let me explain,” I said, desperate.
She dug her heel into the tiled floor and shoved her hands into her pockets. “Uncle Mason, I just want to go home.”
A heavy breath escaped me, and I tried to meet her eyes, but they never made it my way. “Okay.” I plucked my keys from my back pocket. “I’ll take you kids home.”
She shook her head and only then did she firmly meet my gaze. “I’ll call Dad.” She turned to her friends, her shoulders slumped, her head bent. “Come on, guys. Let’s head to the mall while we wait for my dad.”
I watched them walk away, and my chest physically ached. After I took my baseball cap off, I fisted my hair. I�
��d experienced heartbreak pretty recently, but this was different. This ran bone deep because this was family, and I’d hurt my own flesh and blood.
Chapter 5
Gabby
Well, crap. I remembered a time when I’d been younger, and I’d accused Martina of taking my favorite lipstick. The manufacturer had discontinued my Plush Pinkalip, and it was my last tube. I chastised her and searched her room and her backpack. I was so sure that she’d taken it. My blood boiled, and we almost got into a hair-pulling, nasty-swearing, sister fight.
Then, I’d found it in my jacket pocket, and I’d apologized left and right and up and down for accusing her of something she hadn’t done.
This was a million times worse.
I teetered in my heels and fidgeted with my hands in front of me as Mason stared blankly at Sarah and her friends leaving the restaurant. His expression turned slack, his eyes downturned. He looked utterly defeated, and part of this was my fault.
“Mason …” I began even though I didn’t know him. It was my way—to always address people by their first names.
He flipped around, a frown heavy on his face, his arms hanging at his sides.
For a moment, I had a sudden urge to hug him, as though he were one of my students who had received a bad grade or one who’d just experienced a breakup.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I had no idea …”
He stepped into me, and his words were like a machine gun, fast and loud and merciless. “Who gave you—YOU”—he shook a chastising finger my way—“the right to butt into my business?”
I blinked up at him, and it took me about two seconds to realize I wasn’t the only one in the wrong. So was he. He was the one who’d been following his niece. I didn’t know the situation, but Sarah was clearly disappointed in him.
The stubbornness was back in my shoulders, and I straightened. Plus, I had every right to protect those kids. Any other person who had witnessed what he was doing would have taken the same steps.
My hands fisted at my sides. “I’m sorry—”
“You said that,” he snapped.
Oh, hell no, did he just cut me off?
“I wasn’t apologizing for my actions,” I said coolly. “I was going to say, I’m sorry that I was a concerned individual who had enough courage to approach a man stalking thirteen-year-old children and taking pictures of them without their knowledge.”
“I’m Sarah’s uncle.” His tone increased with mounting annoyance.
“I didn’t know that,” I snapped back, hands heavy on my hips.
“Next time, mind your business, lady.”
My eyes widened. Breathe. Inhale through the nostrils. Exhale through the mouth. And then punch him in the face to make yourself feel better.
“Ms. Cruz,” I corrected him with my nose in the air. “My name is Gabriella Elise Coratina Escavez Cruz.”
Gosh, my patience with this irritating, stubborn, too-damn-good-looking man was running thin. I’d reached my limit. Why couldn’t he just shut up and just stand there, looking pretty?
He turned around, searching for his niece, who was long gone. Then, he scanned the area, noting everyone’s eyes were still on us. “This is your fault, you know,” he addressed me, his voice lowered.
My fault? How the hell is this my fault? Okay, maybe what he had done was kinda sweet in an overprotective weird way, but there was no way I’d admit this to him.
“This is no one’s fault but your own.”
I shoved a finger into his chest, and he caught it and wouldn’t let go. We were in some weird glaring contest, like both of us were too stubborn to blink or turn away or laugh.
This was stupid.
I pulled back my arm, turned on my heels, and stalked to my table with the big stack of papers I’d been quietly grading until he came into the picture.
But he followed me, stomping angrily on the ceramic tiles, his looming presence behind me. “How do you figure this is my fault? I was simply babysitting her.”
I stuffed my papers back into my laptop bag. “Babysitting her?” I lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t think teenagers needed babysitting.”
“It was her first date.” His tone was condescending, and I didn’t appreciate it.
Someone needed to clue this guy in on teenagers. Hell, I knew teenagers, more so females since I’d helped raise two.
“Date? They seemed like they were hanging out.”
His glare deepened. “You know nothing, lady.”
If he called me lady one more time, I swore I’d lose it.
I slung it over my shoulder. “I know a lot more than you, obviously. You don’t understand teenagers like I do. I teach them for a living. I should know.” I peered up at him and glared back with matched intensity. I turned to leave but then faced him one last time. “What did you think she was going to do? Make out in the booth with Liam, in front of her friends, in front of everyone?”
His condescending look slipped. “Well, no.”
My face was smug. “Well then.”
“You might know teenagers, but you’ve never lived as a teenage boy.” His hands were heavy on his hips, and he sported this all-knowing look that I would guess he wore often.
I chuckled haughtily. “I don’t know teenage boys, but I do know your niece, and she’s not the type to make out with a boy in broad daylight. Do everyone a favor and check yourself. If you love your niece, then trust her.” I shoved past him, up to the counter to pay, and then left, never looking back.
Mason
I stood there, watching the sassy, petite brunette with her endless flowing hair swaying from side to side. She had the cutest ass, which also swayed.
Wait, what?
I shook my head. No. No. No. She irked me. I wanted to chase after her and tell her that I did trust my niece, but I didn’t trust boys around her, and that was my issue. But didn’t I just say that? Didn’t she just try to tell me to trust Sarah not to do anything?
I hated how Gabby had gotten in the last word. I hated it even more that she was partly right.
Besides Sarah hating me, I’d get it from Charles and Becky and Brad …
I rubbed at my brow. Or … maybe they didn’t need to know.
I packed up my pizza, paid the check, and drove home.
When I entered my condo, I planted myself on the couch and debated on texting Sarah. Should I? Shouldn’t I? Would she even text me back? Do I apologize for embarrassing her? And for following her for that matter? The inner dilemma was fucking huge. In the end, I simply texted that I needed to talk to her.
I watched the phone, waiting for a response, but there was nothing. Maybe she was mulling it over. Sure, she was steaming mad, but she’d eventually forgive me, right? She had to. We were family. I was the closest family she had.
I scrubbed a hand down my face.
Did I go too far? I shook my head. Any sane father would’ve done the same thing, right? But then Charles didn’t up and stalk her, so what was my problem? I cared for her, but I wasn’t her dad. I had to remember that.
When the message popped up as Read, I straightened on the couch and held my breath.
Then, nothing.
Five minutes later, still nothing.
I groaned and laid back on the couch.
Holy hell, what a day.
I got annoyed again, which happened every time I thought of that crazy woman with the fiercest hazel eyes and a firecracker mouth that kept going and going like the Energizer Bunny. Wasn’t there a shut it switch on her?
If she hadn’t gotten involved, then none of this would have happened. Sarah never would’ve known. It all would’ve been good.
I growled and pinched the bridge of my nose.
“If you love your niece, then trust her.”
I hated that she’d had the last word. I hated that I didn’t know Spanish. I should have kissed her to shut her up.
I straightened. Where the heck did that come from? Kiss her?
Now, I couldn�
�t stop picturing it. She did have a very enticing mouth.
I shook my head to focus. When did I think with my dick first before my head? Never. That was Brad, not me.
I definitely did not want to kiss her.
My cloud of anger was messing with my judgment. One thing was for sure: this was not over. I would not let Gabriella Elise Coratina Escavez Cruz have the last word.
I laughed.
How the hell did I remember all of that?
* * *
Being the VP of Brisken Printing Company was by far the best job that I could have. I had been made to crunch numbers and work our financials and manage our bottom line.
Our company functioned smoothly because our father had trained and positioned us where our strengths lay. Charles, being the oldest, was the CEO; Brad, being the talker that he was, was in sales; and me, I was the finance guy.
More recently, work had been my safe zone. It was the only place where I didn’t feel the stress of my daily life.
So, when I left work, anxiety immediately tensed up my shoulders, and as my job from work had ended for the day, I knew that there was another job that needed to be completed. I needed to make up with my niece. I’d given her three days to fester, and now, I was done with all this awkwardness.
After work, I headed out to my childhood home, and as I entered the house, the tension in my shoulders rose to my neck.
I couldn’t sit there and simply wait for Sarah to talk to me. We needed to hash this out now and get things settled. I took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. I knocked on Sarah’s door. Mary had piano today, so Becky had taken her. Charles was still at work, as he was always the last to leave; therefore, I knew she’d be home alone.
When no one answered, I peered in. She wasn’t in her room. She was here; her phone had indicated so. Unless … she’d left her phone here and gone somewhere else altogether.
The latter was inconceivable, given she was a teenager and she was with her phone all the time.
I padded my way down the stairs, to the kitchen, to the movie room, to the den, to the family room, to the game room, and through every crevice of the house, but she was nowhere to be found.
