Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance

by Scarlet MMA, Simone

  The two police officers, Costas and Delgardo, stepped between Silas and his brother – making it very clear that the MMA fighter was expected to stay back home.

  “It’ll be okay, hermano,” Silas yelled frantically after his brother, as Alberte was shoved into the police car. “We’ll think of something!”

  But as the Inspector hefted his bulk behind the wheel, and the little police car rumbled off, Silas’ own shoulders slumped in defeat.

  They had nowhere to go. Nobody to call. And if Alberte didn’t sign over the vineyard, who knew what would happen to Celestina and the kids?

  Chapter One Hundred and Fifty One

  Lyssa

  “How can you two live with yourselves?”

  Silas was growling at the two police officers, as they escorted the two of them inside.

  “We’re just doing our job,” Oficial Costas growled, as he led Silas into the kitchen.

  “Yeah,” Oficial Delgardo added. “And the Inspector Jefe made it very clear that you two were to stay here.” His hand curled around the butt of his police-issue baton. “By force, if necessary.”

  In the kitchen, the two police officers took up positions by the door, and Silas and Lyssa found themselves prisoners in their own home.

  Silas was defeated. You could tell by the look in his eye. He slumped into a kitchen chair, and his head sunk into his hands.

  But Lyssa wasn’t done yet.

  “Okay, you assholes,” she spat at the two cops. “You better get your heads on straight, or there’s gonna be trouble.”

  The policemen’s eyes widened. They were unused to women speaking to them like this.

  “I’m gonna call the FBI,” Lyssa continued. “The CIA. Whoever it is you assholes have in Spain who can pull rank on small-town beat cops like you two. You can’t do this to us!”

  When the cops didn’t react, Lyssa crossed the kitchen, and reached for the phone hanging up on the wall.

  Crash!

  In one lightening move, Oficial Delgado whipped out his baton, and crushed the phone with it. Plastic skittered across the kitchen, and Lyssa cried out in shock.

  She staggered back – clutching her hand.

  If Delgado had been even a fraction slower, it would have been her wrists and fingers he’d shattered with his nightstick, instead of just the phone.

  “You’re calling nobody,” Oficial Costas warned, as Silas stood up, and wrapped his arms protectively around Lyssa’s shoulders. “You just stay here, and shut up.”

  Hugging Lyssa close, Silas glared hatefully at the two police officers. Clearly they meant business – just like Adolphe Buenaventura did.

  Still wrapped in Silas’ protective embrace, Lyssa turned and looked up at him.

  “What do we do, Silas? We can’t let this happen! We have to do something.”

  But the big man didn’t know what. He just looked up, at the two menacing police officers, and wondered if everything they’d struggled and fought for was about to be taken away from them.

  Chapter One Hundred and Fifty Two

  Lyssa

  Twenty minutes passed, and each second of them was torment.

  Lyssa was thinking of all the awful things that could be happening to the people she loved, right at that moment.

  As those two cops kept her and Silas cowering in the kitchen, Alberte could be signing Bodegas Batras over to Adolphe Buenaventura. Or Bruno could be tormenting Celestina; doing to her all the disgusting things he’d threatened before.

  And, shit. Lyssa didn’t even want to know what horrible things could be happening to poor, terrified César and Chucho, too.

  Whatever the cost, she and Silas couldn’t just wait here like cowards. They had to do something.

  Taking a deep breath, she looked up, into Silas’ eyes – and she could tell by the expression on his fact that her lover felt the same way she did.

  Now they just needed a plan.

  “You two,” Oficial Costas barked, as Lyssa and Silas stared at each other. “Break it up. Go sit your asses down – you’re going to be here for a while.”

  Still wrapped in each other’s arms, the two of them turned to the growling cop.

  “I mean it,” Costas growled, taking a menacing step forward. He reached for his baton. “The Inspector Jefe just told us to keep you here. He doesn’t care what condition you’re in when we leave.”

  “Okay, okay,” Lyssa raised her hands, and stepped away from Silas. “But I…” She bit her lip. “But I need my medicine, okay?”

  It was a bold-faced lie; but Lyssa was a Jersey girl. She could lie with the best of them when she needed to.

  She jerked her thumb towards the doorway.

  “It’s in the study. I could get real sick if I don’t take it.”

  Costas snorted.

  “Get sick, then. See if we care.”

  “No, like dead, sick,” Lyssa insisted. “And you don’t want me dying on you, do you?”

  Costas turned to Delgardo, and the two police officers exchanged wary glances.

  It was clear they thought this was a trick – not without reason, to be honest. But there was just that small sliver of doubt; and it couldn’t be ignored.

  “It’s just in the study,” Lyssa repeated. “Seriously, come with me. I’ll take me two seconds to get.”

  Delgardo narrowed his eyes.

  “Whaddya think, Fernando?” he asked, using the other cop’s first name.

  Costas snarled.

  “I guess,” he growled. Turning to Silas, the Oficial warned: “You try anything, big man, and Delgardo here will work you over like a dirty rug, entendido?”

  Silas nodded.

  Narrowing his eyes, Costas took a step towards Lyssa. He reached out and grabbed her arm.

  “C’mon,” he yanked her towards the door. “And I swear to God, if this is a trick, I’ll beat you like a 50 pesetas whore.” He dragged her into the corridor. “Which way?”

  * * *

  Lyssa’s heart was pounding in her chest as she led the policeman down the corridor.

  At the end of the hall was the old study – the one that had belonged to Silas’ father.

  Lyssa pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

  The cop followed, peering around the dark room suspiciously. He was sufficiently distracted enough to let Lyssa’s arm slip from his grip – and he stood in the doorway as she crossed the room to the big, old desk in the corner.

  Her heart was pounding as she reached for the key. She just prayed what she was looking for was still where she’d left it.

  Lyssa found the key. She unlocked the drawer with it.

  “Hurry up,” Oficial Costas demanded. “I don’t trust that big pendejo on his own.”

  “It’s okay,” Lyssa said reassuringly. “What I need’s right here.”

  And then she span around – and Oficial Costas found himself staring at the barrel of a gun.

  Chapter One Hundred and Fifty Three

  Lyssa

  The cop froze, as he stared into the unblinking black eye of Silas’ father’s gun.

  The .380 caliber Llama III-A semi-automatic was heavy in Lyssa’s hands, as she aimed it at the policeman.

  “You’re loco,” he hissed, raising his hands in the air. “Threatening a police officer with a gun? I’ll see that pretty little culo of yours in jail, puta.”

  Click!

  Lyssa had just pulled back the hammer.

  “I’m American,” she hissed, “so you need to know two things: First, I’ve been firing guns since I was five, so if you make me pull the trigger, I’m not gonna miss.”

  The cop gulped dryly.

  “Second,” Lyssa added, “the extradition treaty between Spain and America is pretty shitty; so I could shoot you dead, take a cab to the airport, and run back home to America without ever having to face the consequences.”

  Oficial Costas didn’t know if that was true or not, but he had no desire to find out.

  “Now reach down real s
low,” Lyssa growled, “and unbuckle your gun belt.” She narrowed her eyes. “Slowly, remember.”

  The cop complied. A moment later, his belt thudded to the floorboards – bearing his semi-automatic, baton and radio.

  “Now get your ass into the kitchen. Go.”

  “Puta,” Costas growled, as he reluctantly turned his back to her. “You’d better keep that gun on me; because the moment you turn your back…”

  He never got to finish that sentence. Leading him into the kitchen, they got the drop on Oficial Delgardo, who span around in surprise as he saw his buddy enter with his hands held high above his head.

  “What in the…?”

  Delgardo never got to finish that sentence. The moment he turned his back on Silas, the MMA fighter leapt across the kitchen, and wrapped his beefy arm around the police officer’s throat.

  Silas wrenched Delgardo off balance, and the terrified cop scrambled for his pistol.

  “Non,” Silas breathed hotly into the cop’s ear, and Delgardo’s hand froze above the butt of his semi-automatic. “You don’t want to be doing that.”

  Silas tightened his chokehold on the cop’s throat.

  “One more squeeze, and it’ll be nap time, entendido?”

  Delgardo paused, as if considering his options. But the beefy arm wrapped around his windpipe was difficult to argue with – and he knew it would just take a couple more pounds of pressure to choke him out.

  “Okay,” Lyssa sidestepped Costas, and covered both cops with the old gun. “Now very slowly lower your hands,” she was talking to Delgardo, “and take off that belt. Capiche?”

  “W-what?”

  “Understand,” Silas hissed into his prisoner’s ear. “She’s asking if you understand.”

  “S-si,” Delgardo nodded, and a moment later his belt dropped to the floorboards.

  Silas released the disarmed cop.

  Clutching his throat, Delgardo staggered over to his comrade, and they both stood there miserably, staring at Lyssa as she covered them with her gun.

  “Fuck,” Silas remarked, as he scooped up the discarded gun belt. “What now?”

  Lyssa narrowed her eyes.

  “We need to get to your brother. Do you have anywhere to lock these two up?”

  Silas snorted.

  “We have a mile and a half of cellars here,” he grinned. “I’m sure we’ll find somewhere.”

  Chapter One Hundred and Fifty Four

  Lyssa

  Ten minutes later, Lyssa was behind the wheel of her rented Seat, tearing through the evening darkness.

  “Bodegas Buenaventura is ten kilometers north,” Silas was navigating. “Be careful on the corners, though – or we’ll go straight over the edge.”

  Lyssa didn’t need to be told twice. She tightened her grip on the wheel, and powered the speedy little hatchback down the winding roads. It was invigorating – if not a little terrifying.

  “So, how do we know they’re there?” She asked, as she down-shifted and powered the car up a curving hillside road. “What if Adolphe is keeping Celestina and boys somewhere else?”

  “Why would he?” Silas snorted. “He’s got the Policía in his pocket. That crooked old bastardo doesn’t fear anybody.”

  Silas narrowed his eyes, and his hands balled into fists.

  “But he should.”

  Lyssa shuddered at the unspoken threat.

  The truth be told, though, she shared Silas’ anger. This was Spain, not the Wild-fucking-West. In civilized society, people shouldn’t be kidnapped. There was nothing normal, or right about how she and Silas had just had to lock two police officers in a storage room, just so they could rescue their family.

  “Silas, honey,” Lyssa admitted, “this is a mess. I think even if things turn out okay – if we rescue your family, and save the Bodegas…” She shuddered. “I think we’re still going to be in trouble.”

  Silas snorted bitterly.

  “Locking the Policía up? Stealing their guns?” He shook his head. “This is more like one of your action movies than real life.” He reached over and squeezed Lyssa’s hand, even as she shifted gears. “If we get through this, I might have to come back to America with you, just to stay out of jail.”

  As they hit a straight, Lyssa turned and glanced at the handsome Spaniard.

  He looked magnificent, sitting there in the darkness. His face was a mask. He was huge, and powerful, and dangerous.

  Lyssa felt a throb between her legs. She was terrified, and anxious, and adrenalin was rushing through her bloodstream like cocaine.

  But right then? Looking at her big, dangerous lover?

  She was also seriously in lust.

  “Hey!” Silas’ bark regained her attention. “Over there.”

  He was pointing ahead of them, and as Lyssa’s attention returned to the road, she saw twinkling lights in the distance.

  They were looking down on a long, low, modern building, with an ornate metal roof. Outbuildings stretched out in every direction. Miles and miles of vineyards stretched even further.

  “Bodegas Buenaventura,” Silas narrowed his eyes. “They added all the fancy, modern art stuff a decade ago.”

  The winery was a complete contrast to Bodegas Batras. While Silas’ family estate was all towering red brick, steeped in history, this place was like a collision of edgy architecture and industrial aesthetics.

  “About ten years ago, the Consejo Regulador invested a ton of money into the region, to make La Rioja wine young, and hip again,” Silas explained. “The big vineyards, like Bodegas Buenaventuras, got fancy new buildings, and art, and all that shit.”

  He snorted.

  “My father refused any of it. He told me: If Bodegas Batras needed fancy gimmicks to sell wine, our wine clearly wasn’t be any good.”” He shook his head. “That’s why the Buenaventuras needed all the fancy new buildings, I guess.”

  They’d reached the bottom of the hillside now, and Lyssa pulled the car to the side of the road.

  She turned to Silas.

  “Now what?”

  The big man grinned crookedly.

  “I don’t know. I was hoping you had a plan.”

  Lyssa picked up his father’s semi-automatic. It was loaded, and the safety was on.

  “In America, this is our plan,” she explained. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go get your family back.”

  Chapter One Hundred and Fifty Five

  Lyssa

  Leaving the car by the side of the road, Lyssa and Silas darted through the towering vines towards Bodegas Buenaventura.

  The place was sprawling. As the two of them scuffed through the dry dirt, it became obvious pretty quickly that finding Celestina and kids would be a problem.

  “What do we do?” Silas demanded, as they finally reached the low wall surrounding the winery compound, and ducked down behind it. “Split up?”

  Lyssa snapped her head towards him, and rolled her eyes.

  “I’ve seen enough horror movies to know how that would turn out,” she growled. “No, we stick together.” She leaned it closer. “Listen, you know the winemaking business. Where would they stash your family, to keep them out of trouble?”

  Lyssa almost didn’t need to hear an answer to that question. They’d had to make the same decision less than half an hour earlier – with the two cops they’d themselves imprisoned.

  “The cellars!” Silas’ response confirmed Lyssa’s suspicion. “C’mon, I know the way.”

  And then he was off – ducking over the wall, and skirting across the concrete courtyard like an oversized James Bond, or something.

  Clutching the old gun, Lyssa hopped over the wall and followed.

  * * *

  Immediately, a problem presented itself.

  As soon as Lyssa and Silas started running between buildings, lights switched on. A glance up at the corner of the towering blocks revealed motion sensors, and spotlights activated by movement.

  “We’ve got to keep out of sight,” Silas grabb
ed Lyssa’s arm, and dragged her into the shadows. “Look, we’ll head through the warehouses. We’re less likely to be spotted that way.”

  The two of them skirted the edge of the buildings, until they came across a long, low, metal door. Fortunately, it was unlocked. With a rattle, Silas hauled it open, and the two of them ducked inside.

  They found themselves in a spotlessly clean warehouse, with a freshly mopped concrete floor, and towering, stainless steel machinery looming either side of them.

  “This is the harvest room. The conveyor belts are where they load the grapes,” Silas explained, as they darted across the courtyard. “They get fed into those drums to get crushed.”

  He was pointing at two enormous, stainless steel vats. They looked almost like oversized blenders, with gleaming metal paddles inside.

  It was all incredibly high-tech compared to the wooden mashers and old wooden vats of Bodegas Batras.

  Silas saw the look on Lyssa’s face.

  “Yeah,” he snorted. “It’s a different world from what we do. But remember, Bodegas Buenaventura is one of the biggest winemakers in La Rioja. They make millions of bottles a year. We make a fraction of that.”

  He sniffed derisively.

  “And quantity doesn’t mean quality, entendido?” Silas scoffed. “They make more, but it’ll never touch the quality of our wine.”

  But Silas surprised was surprised to see that his answer hadn’t stopped Lyssa looking confused.

  Turning to Silas in that darkened warehouse, Lyssa stepped forward and laid a hand on his massive chest.

  “That wasn’t what confused me,” she explained. “I get it. They’re a bigger operation that you are.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “But if Bodegas Buenaventura grows and picks so many grapes, where the hell are they?”

  Chapter One Hundred and Fifty Six

  Lyssa

  Another door swung open, and Silas peered inside.