Blinking back tears, Alberte reached over and laid a heavy hand on Lyssa’s slender shoulder.
“Well, we’re proud to know you. Thank you.”
And with a curt nod, the proud old winemaker led the three of them inside.
Chapter Forty Two
Lyssa
“I’ll make lunch,” Lyssa offered, as the four of them headed into the kitchen of the old mansion. She looked at the pale and trembling Celestina. “You just rest up, hun.”
And Celestina didn’t argue. She slumped into one of the kitchen chairs, and accepted the glass of Viura that Alberte poured for her.
“S-so,” she stammered, as she clutched at the glass with both hands. “What do we do? About the Buenaventuras?”
Alberte’s fury might have been softened, but the veins in his temple were still pulsing as he reached over to squeeze his wife’s shoulder.
“That cabrón Adolphe called me this morning, while you were out,” he growled. “He made me another offer on this place. I should have known there’d be consequences for refusing it.”
“Wait, are you guys for real?” Lyssa was arranging cold meats and cheese onto plates – the typical lunch at Bodegas Batras. This Buenaventura asshole is really trying to muscle you out of your family business? Like this is a gangster movie, or something?”
Alberte scoffed when he heard that.
“This isn’t America,” he growled. “It’s how things work in Spain.” He squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “But we Batras are tough. We’re not giving in without a fight.”
“Well, I say we do fight,” Silas growled, rolling his chair up to the kitchen table. His big fist slammed onto the heavy wood. “If Adolphe Buenaventura and his bastard son thinks they can threaten us…”
“What are you going to do about it?” Alberte interrupted him, turning to give his wheelchair-bound brother a scathing look. “You’re broken, Silas.”
Silas reeled back, as if Alberte had slapped him. Which, verbally, he had.
“If we need a disabled parking space, we’ll call you,” Alberte continued. “In the meantime, we have bigger things to worry about.”
And then he turned back to Celestina, and squeezed her hand.
For a moment Silas just sat there and watched, his face a mask. Then, with an angry snarl, he wheeled his chair around, and rolled out of the kitchen.
Lyssa watched him go, feeling wretched.
This big, powerful, intimidating MMA fighter – now so broken down and pathetic that he couldn’t even protect his own family.
He must feel awful.
“Leave him,” Alberte growled, clearly not sharing Lyssa’s sympathy. Looking up at her, Alberte sneered: “I know you want to run after him, but don’t. He needs to cool off. Get some perspective.”
Alberte shook his head.
“It’s ironic that the one time my brother’s ‘skills’ would have been useful to our family, they’re lost to him.”
Chapter Forty Three
Silas
The key turned in the lock again.
The drawer rattled open.
Silas reached inside, and felt the comforting coolness of steel and Bakelite.
Pulling his father’s Llama semi-automatic out of the drawer, he nestled the pistol in his lap, and once again tried to sum up the courage the press it against his temple.
Why not, Silas figured? What did he have to lose, by freeing his brother and Celestina of the burden of looking after him?
He couldn’t even protect them against the Buenaventuras. He couldn’t even do the one thing he’d spent his life learning how to do.
Fight.
Hand trembling, he lifted the gun, and pressed the metal against the side of his head.
“Silas?”
The voice echoed through the house.
“Silas?” It was Lyssa, and he heard her heels on the floorboards outside his father’s study. “Silas? Where are you?”
And then the door to the study swung open, and Lyssa came marching in.
Dammit, Silas thought, as he stuffed the gun down the side of his chair, out of sight. Why did she have to disturb him? Just as he was finally summing up the courage to do this.
“What are you doing in here, Silas?” Lyssa looked at the wheelchair-bound fighter, sitting in the dark. “What is this place?”
With an angry snarl, Silas sent his wheelchair rolling back towards the window. He kicked open the shutter – flooding the room in sunlight.
“This was my father’s study,” he explained, as he looked up at the pretty American. “I just came in here to…”
To what? He couldn’t tell her the truth.
“…to be alone.”
That seemed to satisfy Lyssa.
“Well, okay, champ,” she smiled soothingly, taking a step forward. “You’ve spent enough time being alone. I know it’s not easy for you – but we need you out there.”
“Need me?” Silas scoffed. “Nobody needs me. In fact, Alberte made it very clear I’m no use to anybody. It would be better for everybody if I was gone.”
And, as he said that, he felt the uncomfortable bulk of his father’s pistol shoved down the side of his chair.
“Don’t be stupid,” Lyssa was oblivious to that. She just took a step forward, and sunk to her knees in front of Silas’ chair. “Celestina needs you. The kids need you.” She allowed her lips to curl. “Hell, I need you.”
And then her hands slid forward, as she leaned in to kiss him.
And that’s when they felt it.
“What is that?”
Lyssa’s slender hands had slid between Silas’ hips and the chair – and she’d discovered the hard, cold metal of the hidden gun.
“No,” Silas snapped. “Leave that…”
But it was too late. She’d already wrapped her hands around it, and pulled the gun out from where Silas had hidden it.
“Jesus Christ,” Lyssa swore, as she realized what it was she was holding. “Silas, what the hell are you doing with this?”
Chapter Forty Four
Silas
Lyssa looked down at the former MMA fighter, as he sat pathetically in his chair.
The gun suddenly felt cold and heavy in her hand.
“Oh, God,” the penny dropped. “Oh, Silas… You weren’t thinking of…”
She left the rest of that sentence unsaid – but she didn’t need to finish it.
“It would be better for everybody,” Silas growled, reaching up to take the gun from her. She wrenched it out of reach. “I mean it… Give it here!”
“No!” Lyssa pulled the gun away. “Don’t you dare!” Her eyes flashed angrily. “I can’t believe you’d even think of that… Not with the kids in the house.”
“They’re at school.”
“It’s the same thing,” Lyssa growled. “They love you, Silas. How could you even think of… of whatever you were thinking of doing with this thing?”
But they both knew what he’d been planning.
“Give it back!” Silas spat, snatching for the pistol.
“No!” Lyssa repeated, and she stepped towards the door.
“Where are you going with that?” Silas demanded. “It doesn’t belong to you!”
“I’m taking it away from you,” Lyssa growled, clutching the gun tightly. “I know you’ve got a lot of problems to deal with, but this isn’t the answer to any of them – so until I can trust you again, I’m keeping it out of your reach.”
She turned the knob of the study door, and it creaked open.
Framed in the doorway, she turned and looked at Silas as he sat there in his wheelchair.
“I came in here to bring you back out to your family,” she murmured. “But maybe you do need some time alone.” Her eyes darted to the old, gleaming semi-automatic, cold and heavy in her hands. “You need time to realize that you’ve still got a lot to live for.”
And then she left, clicking the door shut behind her.
Silas flopped back in his wheelcha
ir, and let out a single, ragged sob.
Now even that solution to his problems was out of reach.
Chapter Forty Five
Lyssa
It wasn’t surprising that Lyssa couldn’t sleep.
As she lay awake in the big, wooden bed, she thought about how awful the day had been.
It had started with that vicious assault in the streets of Logroño. It had continued with the tension and simmering anger, as each of the Batras family had tried to process what had happened.
When the kids had come back from school, everybody had at least tried to play nice; but it was still clear something was wrong – and César and Chucho had both acted up as a result.
In the end, Celestina had lost her temper with both of them; and the two boys had been sent to their rooms crying and sniffling.
God, what a disaster.
But, of course, all that was immaterial compared to what Lyssa had stumbled into in the old study.
Silas, hiding that gun.
Had he really intended to do what she thought he had? To press that gun against his temple, and blow his own brains out?
It was a chilling thought – not least of which because Lyssa had painful personal experience with it.
When she was a kid, back in Jersey – not much older than César, in fact – her uncle had done the same thing with his police-issue 9mm.
Lyssa shuddered at the grisly memory.
Honk!
The sharp sound of a car horn snapped Lyssa from her thoughts.
Throwing back the covers, she clambered out of bed and padded, barefoot, to the shuttered windows.
Honk! Honk!
A car was revving outside. She heard loud, raucous voices.
Unbolting the shutters, Lyssa threw open the heavy wooden panels and looked down into the courtyard.
A big car had slewed to a halt on the cobblestones – a gleaming late-model Mercedes, with the searing headlights illuminating the old yard.
Four men were downstairs, cackling and laughing.
Lyssa felt a chill as she recognized one of them – the tall, shiny head of Bruno Buenaventura.
Chapter Forty Six
Lyssa
“Wakey, wakey!” The swaggering Spaniard roared, his voice echoing around the courtyard. “Alberte! Celestina! You have visitors!”
What the hell was going on, Lyssa wondered. It was past midnight.
Lights flicked on in the other rooms, as the rest of the household woke up. The shutters of Alberte and Celestina’s room flew open, and Albert poked his sleepy head out to see what the commotion was.
“Alberte!” Bruno spotted him instantly, and called up to the window. “Wakey, wakey! Are you going to leave us out here all night?”
Alberte’s face contorted in anger.
“Buenaventura!” He screamed. “What the hell are you doing here?” He shook his fist at him. “I’ll call the police on you, you devil.”
“Go ahead!” Bruno mocked. “I told my uncle we’d be coming.”
Alberte’s eyes narrowed as he heard that.
“What do you want?” Silas’ brother demanded.
Bruno roared with laughter.
“We want her,” he barked, pointing up towards Lyssa’s window. She staggered back as she saw the Spaniard pointing at her. “I have some business with that American whore.”
“You get back in your car and leave, Bruno,” Alberte roared. “Or, so help me, I’ll come down there with my shotgun.”
“Send the girl down,” Bruno spat back. “Let us settle our business with her, and then you can all go back to bed.”
Lyssa’s fingers tightened on the windowsill, and a flash of anger surged through her.
“Oh, I’ll come down there alright,” she barked down at Bruno Buenaventura. “Just as soon as I’ve put my boots on – so I can shove one of them up your ass!”
“Lyssa!” Looking up at the window above him, Alberte barked at his guest: “You stay there! Don’t move!”
And the look of concern on Alberte’s face convinced her that it might be a good idea to listen to his orders.
But Buenaventura disagreed.
“Get your ass down here!” Bruno snarled, pointing his finger at Lyssa. “Or we’ll come inside and get you.”
And, as he said that, another shuttered window swung open.
Little César poked his sleepy head out, and then turned to look across the front of the house towards his father’s window.
“Papi?” He asked, curious.
“Get back to bed,” Alberte snapped at his son. “Go! Now!”
And even as he said that, there was a momentous crash from across the courtyard.
All eyes turned to see what was happening – and Alberte swore as he saw it.
Two of Bruno’s henchmen had hefted an old wooden barrel out of a nearby shed, and sent it smashing onto the cobblestones.
Dark, red liquid flooded the stonework – gushing through the gaps between the cobblestones like blood rushing through veins.
“El cabrón!” Alberte roared. “That was our Gran Reserva!”
“Send the slut down,” Bruno roared, “or we’ll bust open another barrel. Save paying customers from having to drink your swill!”
This time, Alberte left the window, and Lyssa heard the hammer of his feet as he galloped down the stairs.
She was on the move at the same time; throwing open the door and running barefoot down the corridor.
Chapter Forty Seven
Lyssa
Smash!
The sound of another barrel being busted open echoed across the courtyard.
Lyssa skidded down the stairs, and into the kitchen. A moment later, she was throwing open the front doors, and staggering barefoot into the night.
Alberte was barreling through the other front door at the exact same moment, and their eyes caught as they both came to a halt outside.
“Lyssa!” the big Spaniard barked. “Get back inside! It’s not safe!”
And then, as if to confirm that, the two men who’d been smashing wine barrels grabbed the burly winemaker by his arms.
Thump!
One of them punched Alberte in his rotund stomach, and the big man doubled up in pain.
“Hey!” Lyssa raised her hand to strike the nearest thug. “Get your hands off of… aaiiiie!”
The third of Bruno’s thugs had grabbed her wrist, and sharply twisted it behind Lyssa’s back.
“Let them go!” It was Celestina, still peering through the window above them. “Let them go, bastardo!
“Papi!” César cried. Chucho was standing behind him at the window, sobbing inconsolably as he watched his father get assaulted.
“S-stay inside,” Alberte groaned, as he sunk to his knees, clutching his stomach. “Celestina! Keep the kids inside!”
Thump!
One of the thugs punched Alberte in the side of the head, and the big man slumped, half-unconscious, to the cobblestones.
“Aiiieeeee!” Lyssa cried, as she was manhandled over to the gleaming Mercedes. With a thump, she was thrown face-first onto the hood – trapped there by the painful grip on her twisted arm.
“Right, then,” Bruno Buenaventura grinned, bending over to look Lyssa in her tear-filled eyes. “Shall we get down to business?”
Chapter Forty Eight
Lyssa
Lyssa squirmed and struggled as she was pinned to the hood of the Mercedes.
Bruno knelt down, until his face was level with hers.
“Good evening, Senorita Meadows,” the shaven-headed Spaniard grinned, as she struggled and twisted. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“You let me go!” Lyssa spat, twisting and writhing like a rattlesnake. “You let me go, or so help me I’ll tear your balls off!”
Slap!
Bruno’s palm left a stinging, red handprint across Lyssa’s cheek.
“You watch that mouth, slut,” Bruno spat into her face. “Trust me, the only thing you’re going to be doing
to my balls is licking them.”
“In your dreams, you pig,” Lyssa growled, blinking the tears from her eyes.
“What do you want?” Alberte groaned, clutching his stomach as he knelt on the cobblestones. “Why are you even here, Bruno?”
The shaven-headed Spaniard straightened up, and brushed down the front of his jacket.
“Why am I here?” He asked, looking down disdainfully at the struggling Lyssa. “I’ll tell you why. Her.”
As he said that, the tall man bent down to stroke Lyssa’s tear-streaked cheek.
“You know, I was going to let it go,” he sneered, his breath hot in her ear. “What you did this afternoon. I kind of admired your sass.”
He snorted derisively.
“But then I took my jacket to the dry-cleaners, and you should have seen what they tried to charge me to get that melon juice out of it.”
Buenaventura shook his head.
“After that, I figured you owed me a little something.”
And that’s when Bruno’s hand trailed down the curve of Lyssa’s back, and squeezed her ass.
She kicked, and struggled, but with one of his goons bending her over the hood of his car, there was nothing she could do to defend herself.
“Yes,” Bruno grinned, squeezing her ass through her pajama pants. “I figured you owed me. And you’ve got a nice, ripe culo to pay up with.”
Chapter Forty Nine
Lyssa
Lyssa felt a chill when she heard that.
Was Spain really so lawless? That this well-dressed stranger could threaten to rape her with impunity?
“You leave her alone, you pig,” Alberte growled, as he knelt on the cobblestones. In response, Bruno nodded at one of his men, and they slapped the helpless Spaniard across the back of his head.
Bruno laughed, as he watched Alberte slump to the ground.
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 8
