“Lyssa Meadows,” she shot back, extricating her hand from his grip. Unlike the flirty attentions of the handsome Dr. Montoya, there was something uncomfortably dangerous about this ‘Bruno’ fellow’s touch. “I’m just visiting.”
“But of course you are,” Bruno purred, licking his lips as he looked her up and down. “Word travels fast in Logroño. The pretty American staying with the Batras boys.” He snorted dryly. “I came out looking for you. I wanted to meet you for myself.”
“Well, now you’ve met her,” Celestina hissed, eyes darting nervously between the two men flanking Bruno. “But if you’d excuse us, we’ve got a lot to do.”
“Oh, Celestina,” Bruno placed his hand over his heart. “You wound me, cariño. You have no time to speak to your old friend?”
Celestina snorted.
“You’re no friend of mine. Not anymore.”
Lyssa expected Bruno to stop that sneering smile when he heard Celestina’ barbed response – but, instead, it just widened.
Ignoring Celestina’s comment, Bruno purred: “So, has dear Alberte reconsidered my father’s offer? He’s willing to buy Bodegas Batras and all the surrounding land for a very handsome price.”
“Alberte isn’t selling,” Celestina snapped back. “You can quit asking.”
Bruno snorted.
“Well, he’s an idiot. I know how close you are to going out of business.” Bruno’s big hand slithered over his shaved scalp. “I’d rather give dear Alberte the money, than waste it at a public auction when you go bankrupt.”
Annoyed at the way this stranger was talking to Celestina, Lyssa barked: “Hey, buddy. Who the hell do you think you are?”
Like a rattlesnake, Bruno whipped his head around to face Lyssa. He licked his lips again.
“Lo siento, cariño,” he apologized, offering his hand. “Where are my manners?”
Lyssa ignored the offered hand.
Nonplussed, Bruno announced: “I am Bruno Buenaventura, son of Adolphe Buenaventura. We run one of the biggest bodegas in La Rioja.” He sniffed haughtily. “You’ve probably heard of us.”
“Nope,” Lyssa shook her head dismissively. “Should I have?”
Now that seemed to annoy him.
Brow wrinkling, Bruno took a step forward.
“We make six million bottles a year,” he hissed. “We’re in every supermarket in Spain.”
“Well,” Lyssa snorted back, “I’ve never seen any in a liquor store in Jersey – so you ain’t that big.”
Bruno paused for a moment, and Lyssa wasn’t sure if he was going to slap her, or laugh in her face.
But in the end, he just sneered.
“It doesn’t matter,” he scoffed. “What the fuck do you Americans know about wine, anyway?”
And then, straightening up, he turned back to Celestina.
“Besides, we have more important things to worry about than educating ignorant Americans.”
And, with that, he stepped forward, and grabbed the front of Celestina’s jacket.
“Hey!”
With a thump, the towering Spaniard hoisted Celestina off the cobblestones, and pinned her roughly against the wall.
“It’s time to give your husband a message,” Bruno sneered, as he held Celestina agains the wall – her feet dangling above the ground. “To remind him that there are consequences for turning down my father’s generous offer.”
Chapter Thirty Seven
Lyssa
“Hey!” Lyssa repeated, and her small hands balled up into fists. Talking an aggressive step towards Bruno, she hissed: “You let her go, you son of a bitch, or I swear to God…”
But she never got to finish that sentence.
She yelped, as the two burly men who’d been flanking Bruno grabbed her by the arms, and hoisted her clean off the cobblestones.
“Get the fuck off of me!” Lyssa screamed, as she struggled in their grasp. “I will kick your ass, buddy!”
But these two strong, silent men held her tight – and it was clear she wasn’t kicking anybody’s ass right at that second.
As Lyssa struggled, Bruno continued pinning Celestina against the wall.
She dropped her shopping bags. Eggs cracked, and tomatoes rolled across the cobblestones.
“Come on, Celestina,” Bruno hissed into her ear, as Celestina wriggled and struggled. “You know better than anybody that I don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
And, with that, he stuck out his tongue and slathered a wet slurp across Celestina’s cheek.
She turned her head and sobbed, as he licked her.
“You remember that night when you were sixteen?” Bruno hissed, pinning her to the wall with one hand, and roughly squeezing her breast with the other. “In the back of my father’s car? When you kept telling me ‘no, no, no…’”
Celestina sobbed again. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Well, it’ll be the same thing with Bodegas Batras,” Bruno slurped up her tears. “My father will take it, just like I took you.” He snorted hotly into her ear. “Except this time, Alberte won’t be lucky enough to get my sloppy seconds.”
“Bestia sucia,” Celestina sobbed. “I…I was a virgin.”
Bruno laughed wickedly, and his hand left Celestina’s breast, and started pulling up the hem of her dress.
That was more than Lyssa could stand.
The moment the two men holding her relaxed their grip, she struck.
Her elbow crunched into the nose of the man on the left, and she slammed the heel of her boot into the shin of the man on the right. Grunting in pain, they both loosened their grip just long enough for her to wriggle free.
Thump!
Lyssa’s knee landed in the groin of one of the men. With both hands, she shoved the other one back too, hooking her ankle behind his leg, to send the stranger sprawling across the cobblestones.
And then, searching around frantically for a weapon, Lyssa spotted a cantelope melon sticking out of Celestina’s dropped bag of shopping.
She scooped it up, raising it above her head, and bringing it crashing down on top of Bruno’s head.
Chapter Thirty Eight
Lyssa
Splat!
The melon exploded as it impacted with the back of Bruno’s skull – spurting juice and chunks of melon flesh all over.
With a snarl, the towering Spaniard let Celestina drop to the ground, and he wheeled around with fire in his eyes.
But despite her small size, the fearless little American woman was enough to make him falter.
“Back the fuck away, buddy,” Lyssa growled, raising her tiny fists, and throwing her leg back into a classic boxing stance.
Bruno snarled as he towered over her, juice running down his face.
For a moment, Lyssa thought he was going to hit her… but he blinked.
Instead, looking at his two buddies pick themselves up from the cobblestones, Bruno turned to Lyssa and laughed humorlessly.
“Well,” he spat, wiping melon from his face. “You’re a feisty little bitch, aren’t you?” He licked the juice from his fingers. “I’ll give you this one. I like your spunk.”
But then he turned to Celestina, cowering on the ground, and hissed: “But you tell your husband to accept my father’s offer, or there’ll be worse to come.”
Brushing the melon juice from his jacket, Bruno turned back to Lyssa, and sneered hungrily at her.
“Next time we meet, bitch,” he hissed, “you’d better behave. Or I swear to God, I’ll hold you down and fuck that slutty little American ass of yours. Entendido?”
And then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode off down the alleyway.
Limping and groaning, his two injured buddies followed.
A moment later, they’d rounded the corner and were gone.
Lyssa breathed a huge sigh of relief. She uncurled her fists – winching as she felt the welts from where her nails had sunk into the flesh of her palms.
Celestina was sobbing
as she picked herself up from the cobblestones.
“Celestina,” Lyssa dropped to her knees and helped her scoop up the fallen shopping. “Are you okay, honey? Did he hurt you?”
“N-no,” Celestina sniffed, wiping her nose. “I’m okay.” She turned and looked down the alleyway. “The beast. Scared off by a tiny little girl.”
“Yeah, well, I’m small, but mighty,” Lyssa growled, helping Celestina to her unsteady feet. “Here, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Si, si,” Celestina promised unconvincingly. “I just need a moment.”
And so Lyssa let Alberte’s wife slump against the wall, and take deep, ragged breaths.
“Who was that asshole?” Lyssa demanded. She turned her head, and looked down the alleyway. “We need to go to the police. Get his ugly ass locked up.”
Celestina laughed bitterly.
“It wouldn’t do any good,” she murmured. “The Buenaventura family are powerful in Logroño. Bruno’s uncle Hector is Inspector Jefe of the local police. They wouldn’t do a thing.”
With a groan, she straightened up. Lyssa helped support her as Celestina stood there, swaying.
“What did that Bruno asshole want?” she demanded. “Why did he do that?”
“He wants Bodegas Batras,” Celestina sighed. “His father has been after it for years. And each year Alberte’s business suffers, the Buenaventura family grow more hungry for it.”
Lyssa lifted up the shopping bags. Aside from a few broken eggs, most of it seemed intact.
Slowly, painfully, Celestina limped down the alleyway, back towards the van.
“But Celestina,” Lyssa called after her. “What was he saying? About when you were sixteen?”
Alberte’s wife turned, and looked as Lyssa with glassy eyes.
“The Buenaventura family take what they want,” she stammered. “And when I was sixteen, I was what Bruno wanted.” She gulped down a sob. “He forced himself on me in his father’s car, when I was still a virgin.”
Lyssa’s eyes narrowed hatefully.
“That son of a bitch,” she hissed. “Wait until we tell Silas about this.”
“No,” Celestina sobbed. “Please, no. There’s nothing Silas can do. Nothing any of us can do. Nothing except stand firm.”
“Bullshit,” Lyssa spat. “Goddammit, we don’t let people treat us like that in America.”
“Well, this isn’t America,” Celestina sighed. “This is Spain. And things are different here.”
And then, with a sad sigh, she turned and started limping down the alleyway with the ragged shopping bags.
Belly swirling with bile and fury, Lyssa angrily followed.
Chapter Thirty Nine
Silas
“What happened?”
There was no point in lying about it. The moment Silas wheeled himself out of Doctor Montoya’s office, it was obvious something was wrong.
Celestina stood there, in her melon-splattered dress, with her eyes red and puffy. Silas powered his chair towards her, and she immediately broke down sobbing.
Lyssa stood in the doctor’s waiting room, arms wrapped around herself, and shivered.
Silas and Celestina were conversing in Spanish now – rapid soundbites that Lyssa couldn’t hope to understand. Silas sounded angry – rightfully so. Celestina was begging, and pleading. Presumably trying to prevent him from doing anything foolish.
“What’s the matter?” Doctor Montoya asked, as he eventually stepped out his office. He stood next to Lyssa and jerked his head towards Silas and his sister-in-law.
“We had a run-in with some ass clown called Bruno Buenaventura,” Lyssa explained. The doctor visibly flinched when he heard that name.
“Oh,” he blinked, as if the name alone explained everything about the situation.
“So, you know him?” Lyssa turned to Montoya.
The doctor, to his credit, looked ashamed as he admitted: “Everybody knows the Buenaventura family.”
He gave a glance over at Celestina, who was sobbing in Silas’ arms now.
“C’mon. Step into my office for a second,” Montoya demanded. “Let’s give them some privacy.” He paused. “And I’ll explain.”
Chapter Forty
Lyssa
Doctor Montoya’s office was cool, clean and sparse.
Letting the door click shut behind him, the doctor offered Lyssa a seat on the examination table.
“Um, no thank you,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Reminds me too much of the OB-GYN.”
Doctor Montoya laughed.
“Fair enough.” He offered his hand. “I’m Efraín, by the way. ‘Doctor’ is a little formal.”
Lyssa shook his hand.
“In America, they used to call me Frank.”
“The only Frank I know is Sinatra,” Lyssa purred back, a Jersey girl to a core.
“Listen,” Efraín took a seat on the edge of his desk. “I didn’t want to say it out there – but be careful.” He ran a hand through his thick, black hair. “This isn’t America, Señorita Meadows. We don’t have the ‘cops and robbers’, and there are families like the Buenaventuras who can get away with pretty much anything.”
“That’s bullshit,” Lyssa growled. “The guy, like, assaulted her. You seriously telling me the police wouldn’t do anything if I went to them to report it?”
“Bruno’s uncle is chief of police in this town,” Frank sighed. “He’d laugh in your face. Maybe arrest you for some made up reason.” The doctor shook his head. “It’s best to just keep your head down, and stay out of their way.”
“But what about them?” Lyssa pointed angrily towards the door. “Celestina and her husband can’t ‘stay out of his way’ if what that Bruno asshole wants is their goddamn winery.”
Frank shrugged.
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
Lyssa blinked when she heard that. As an American, she wasn’t used to that kind of dumb resignation. There must be something you could do. Somebody you could call. Somebody’s ass you could kick.”
But no. The look in Efraín’s eyes told Lyssa everything she needed to know about life here in beautiful, but corrupt rural Spain.
She laughed bitterly.
“Alright, then,” shaking her head, Lyssa demanded, “what about Silas, then? Can you tell me anything about him?”
Her face softened as she considered the implication of what she was asking. “How bad is it, doc?”
“His back injury?” Doctor Montoya shook his head. “You know I can’t discuss that with you.”
Lyssa took a step forward, and placed her palm hotly on the doctor’s bare hand.
“Please,” she knew exactly how to play a guy when she needed something. “I’m gonna be gone in a couple of weeks anyway… And I just want to know. For the sake of his family.”
Efraín looked into Lyssa’s eyes, and she knew he was struggling internally. As a doctor, discussing a patient’s medical information was grounds for being struck off…
…but Lyssa wasn’t your normal, everyday ‘anybody.’
“I don’t know what to tell you,” the doctor repeated – but this time, he followed it up with: “It’s still early.”
“Is he really paralyzed? Forever?”
“It’s difficult to tell the extent of the damage,” Doctor Montoya admitted, throwing a guilty look in the direction of the doorway, “but there was no dislocation, or fracture.”
He looked at Lyssa, and sighed.
“Silas just fell badly. The spinal cord could just be bruised, or it could be damaged. But either way… I’d expected him to start making better progress by now.”
“Y-you mean he’s not paralysed?” Lyssa stammered.
Doctor Montoya narrowed his eyes.
“With this kind of injury, you never can tell. But we’re reaching the four week stage – and if he hasn’t made progress by then…”
Montoya took a deep, heartfelt sigh.
“…the odds are he’s never going to.”<
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Chapter Forty One
Lyssa
The drive back to Bodegas Batras was conducted in sullen silence. Silas sat in the back of the van, his chair rattling from side to side, and Celestina turned the big wooden wheel in her hands while blinking back tears.
Lyssa, huddled in the passenger seat, didn’t know what to say to either of them.
When the rickety old van finally rumbled under the archway, back into the courtyard of the old winery, Alberte was waiting for them with a cheery wave and a smile – a smile that instantly faded the moment he saw Celestina’s tear-streaked face.
“What happened?”
Silas’ brother wrenched open the van door, and helped Celestina out onto the cobblestones. “What’s wrong?”
“Our old friend Bruno cornered her,” Silas hissed, sitting in the back of the van with a murderous look on his face.
It was a look soon mirrored by his brother.
Alberte’s big hands balled into fists, and his eyes narrowed hatefully.
“El cabrón,” Alberte growled, helping Silas out of the van. “I’ll get papa’s gun and kill the hijo de puta myself.”
“Alberte!” Celestina snapped, as Alberte finally straightened up. “Don’t say such things. Think of the children.”
“I do think of them,” the big man wheeled around. “I think: What kind of father would I be, if I didn’t avenge this?”
“You don’t need to avenge me,” Celestina insisted. “Lyssa already did.”
She snorted bitterly.
“Little Lyssa sent big, bad Buenaventura running off with his tail between his legs. She broke a melon right over his head.”
Alberte’s eyes widened.
He turned to Lyssa, and demanded: “Is this true?”
Lyssa scoffed: “The guy was an asshole. He’s just lucky it was only a melon.”
And the look of rage on Alberte’s weather-beaten face softened.
“Gracias,” he gasped, reaching out to squeeze Lyssa’s hands. “Gracias, a thousand times.”
“Bah, it was nothing,” Lyssa scoffed, but she still allowed herself to smile. “I’m a Jersey girl – and we look after our own.”
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 7
