“While we wait… Can I get a drink, at least?”
Lyssa snorted, putting her hands on her hips. She was feigning confidence – and not doing too bad a job of it.
“If you sons-of-bitches are going to kill me,” the American growled, “I think the least you owe me is a shot of brandy.”
Chapter One Hundred and Sixty
Lyssa
Adolphe Buenaventura peered across the room at Lyssa, and his lips curled.
“That’s what I like about you American women,” he grinned. “Fearless little bitches, aren’t you?”
Leaning on his walking stick, the old man clip-clopped across the room to a drinks cabinet in the corner; where decanters of Spanish brandy were arranged alongside beautiful stemware.
“I guess that’s the least I can give you,” he admitted, as he pulled the cork from one of the decanters, and sploshed two fingers of amber liquid into a brandy goblet. “Here, you should try this. It’s eighteen-year-old Gran Duque d'Alba. Worth dying for, they say – which, in your case, is convenient.”
“And what about a cigar, too?”
Lyssa shrugged as she said it – as if challenging the old man.
At first, irritation crossed Adolphe’s wrinkled face – but then he smiled.
“Sure,” he grunted, reaching for the box of Romeo Y Julietas sitting alongside the brandy. “Why not? You poor Americans are denied the pleasure of Cuban cigars, so I might as well indulge you before you die.”
And, with that, the old man scooped up the brandy and the cigar, and clip-clopped stiffly across the room.
Lyssa took a step towards him, away from Silas. She gratefully accepted the brandy glass, and asked Adolphe: “Be a sweetie, and light that cigar for me, would you?”
Lyssa took a mouthful of the fiery brandy. Adolphe snorted as he watched her – but nevertheless complied.
Biting off the end of the thick cigar, the old man placed it between his lips. From his pocket, he pulled a butane lighter, and ignited it with a flick of his thumb. A hissing blue flame sparked into life, and he held it up to the end of the Cuban, igniting the tip slowly.
And that was when Lyssa turned to him, and spat her mouthful of brandy right in Adolphe’s face.
Woosh!
“Madre de Dios!” The brandy ignited instantly, and Adolphe was suddenly engulfed in flame. The old man staggered back, flailing and screaming, as scalding alcohol burnt his hair and skin.
It was the only distraction they needed, or got.
The moment everybody saw Adolphe go up in flames, Silas wheeled around and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun that was being aimed at him. The guard, Philippe, had been too distracted to notice.
He struggled valiantly as Silas tried to wrench the 12-guage out of his hands, but had no chance against a super-heavyweight.
Blam!
One of the barrels unloaded into the ceiling, filling the room with smoke, and sending debris raining down from above.
But by then, Silas had snatched the shotgun from the thug, and slammed the butt into the man’s face. There was a painful crunch, as his nose broke, and Philippe sunk unconscious to the floor.
Silas wheeled around, gripping the captured shotgun.
“Freeze!” He barked. “I’ve got one shell left in here; and by God, I’ll use it.”
Chapter One Hundred and Sixty One
Lyssa
The room was in chaos.
Gunsmoke filled the air. Over in the center of the room, Adolphe was moaning and writhing, lying on the floor and cradling his face.
Fortunately, it didn’t take much to burn away a mouthful of brandy – but as the old man slowly clambered to his knees, he revealed that his face was puffy and red.
“You puta,” the old man spat, as he clambered to his feet. “You perra. I’ll fucking kill you for that, you…”
Slap!
Lyssa’s palm left a ringing imprint on Adolphe’s already scalded cheek.
“Oh, shut it,” she hissed. “You were going to kill me anyway.”
Adolphe stood there, clutching his face, as Lyssa crossed the room.
In a heartbeat she was standing in front of Adolphe’s brother Hector, the Inspector Jefe.
“You,” she snapped. “Give me your gun. And don’t try anything funny. My boyfriend over there,” she jerked her thumb in the direction of Silas, “hasn’t got any reason not to shoot you.”
Spluttering in outrage, the Inspector slid his semi-automatic from his belt and handed it over. A moment later, the last of Bruno’s other thugs had done the same.
“Get over there in the corner,” Lyssa was a little too convincing, as she thumbed off the safety of the captured semi-automatic, and covered their new prisoners with it. “And let’s figure out what to do with you lot.”
The three Buenaventuras, and the two remaining thugs, all shuffled into the corner of the room.
Lyssa and Silas covered them with their hijacked weapons. But their elation at turning the tables was short-lived.
“Okay,” Silas demanded. “What the fuck do we do now?”
“We can’t call the Policía,” Alberte lamented. He pointed a finger at the Inspector, cowering next to his elderly brother. “Hell, Hector over there is the Policía.”
“Agreed,” Lyssa nodded. “But as you said yourself, earlier: We can call somebody else. Somebody much more important.”
She pointed at the phone, in the corner of the room.
“What did you call them? The Consueala della…”
“Consejo Regulador,” Silas corrected her. “The council that regulates wine production in Spain.”
“Yeah,” Lyssa grinned. “We’ll call them.”
She wheeled around, and grinned at the cowering Buenaventuras.
“Kidnapping? Assault? Attempted murder? None of you assholes seem to care about any of that. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you Spanish, it’s that when people start messing with your wine, shit gets serious.”
Chapter One Hundred and Sixty Two
Lyssa
“Celestina! Mis hijos!”
Alberte cried out happily, as his wife and kids were led out into the early morning sunlight. César and Chucho went running across the concrete into their fathers’ arms, and he embraced them tightly.
“Sapristi! I am so happy to see you!” He kissed them, and then turned to look up at Celestina. “Cariño, are you alright? Did they hurt you?”
Celestina knelt down on the ground and hugged her husband and the kids.
“No, no,” she promised. “It was fine. The moment the men holding us heard a gunshot, they ran away.”
Behind them, the two police officers who’d released Celestina and the boys looked on in satisfaction – happy to see the family reunited.
“We found them down in the cellars,” one of the officers explained. “They were tied up, but safe.”
Alberte gasped in relief – and he wasn’t the only one.
Across the courtyard, Lyssa felt tears spring to her eyes as she watched Alberte’s reunion with his kids. All that night, she’d been terrified that something awful would happen to Celestina and the boys.
Instead, by some miracle, they were all safe and sound – and finally reunited with Alberte.
“Hey.” It was Silas, wrapping a protective arm around Lyssa’s shoulders. “Are you okay, baby?”
Lyssa turned and looked up at Silas’ handsome face. Standing on tip toes, she kissed him.
“I am now,” she promised.
* * *
What had happened after Lyssa called the Consejo Regulador was mostly a blur.
Back when she and Silas had first grabbed the guns, in the smoky lobby of the Bodegas building, she’d picked up the phone and frantically dialed the number of the local inspector – not even knowing what she’d tell him.
But, fortunately, the official picked up his phone despite the late hour – and spoke enough English to understand what Lyssa was frantically explaining to
him:
“We’re at Bodegas Buenaventura,” she’d stammered. “They kidnapped us. They were holding us here, at gunpoint!”
There was silence on the other end of the line.
“And we also found them selling Vino de Mesa labelled as Rioja.”
“Madre de Dios!” The inspector gasped, as he heard that final detail. “You need to call the Policía!”
Lyssa explained the issue – that fact that the Inspector Jefe of the local Policía was one of the very men she was holding at gunpoint.
When he heard that, the official on the other end of the phone reassured her: “Don’t worry. I’ll call the Guardia Civil, myself.”
Then he’d snorted bitterly. “And I’ll be down there too, to validate these allegations for myself. Hang tight.”
* * *
That had been three hours earlier.
As promised, the Guardia Civil had turned up with wailing sirens and flashing lights just a few minutes after Lyssa had put the phone down.
They were a different branch of the Spanish police, and one even the Buenaventura family didn’t have their sticky fingers involved with. Think of them as the State Police, as opposed to the township cops.
Which meant that when they stormed into the Bodegas Buenaventura building, they weren’t swayed by Inspector Buenaventura pleading innocence.
They took one look at the scene – the cowering thugs, and the shotgun blast in the ceiling, and handcuffed the lot of them.
Including the Inspector Jefe, despite his pleas of innocence.
Finally safe, Lyssa and Silas were allowed to stagger outside, into the security of each other’s arms.
* * *
As the sun struggled to climb above the buildings of Bodegas Buenaventura, Lyssa and Silas watched the proceedings.
After hours of questioning, the door of the main building finally opened, and two of the Guardia Civil officers came out; leading with them a handcuffed lineup that included Adolphe, Bruno and two of the armed thugs.
Nobody knew where the other thugs had run off to. They’d made a break for it as soon as the real police turned up.
Last out of the building was Inspector Buenaventura, Adolphe’s crooked brother. The disgraced police officer was looking angry and shameful, with his hands cuffed behind his back.
The soon-to-be-former Inspector was being hefted forcefully by the Capitán of the Guardia Civil, and neither of them looked too happy about it.
Silas squeezed Lyssa as they watched, reassuring her wordlessly that they were now safe.
“Ahem.”
The two of them span around.
“It’s lucky you called me when you did.”
A little man in a dapper brown suit was addressing them - the inspector from the Consejo Regulador.
“I just came from the harvest room, like you suggested – and you were right.” The little man adjusted his glasses. “It looks like the Buenaventuras have been making wine with substandard grapes for months.”
“The bottles haven’t hit the market yet,” Silas mused. “That explains why none of their customers had complained.” He paused. “Yet.”
“Oh, they will,” the inspector shook his head. “If we aren’t able to recall them all in time. This is going to be a huge scandal.” And then admitted: “And then there’s the kidnapping, and assault, too.” He shrugged. “That’ll probably be an issue.”
Lyssa and Silas exchanged a wry glance, amused at the wine inspector’s focus.
“Listen,” the inspector continued. “I’m going to have to ask you both some questions. A lot of questions. And I’m sure the Guardia Civil will too. But it can wait.”
The official pointed towards his car – a nondescript black Seat.
“Can I give you a ride home?”
Despite the fact that her rental car was sitting by the side of the road just a few feet away, Lyssa nodded gratefully – and she and Silas followed the inspector towards his vehicle.
The police would soon be bringing Celestina and Alberte back home with the kids, too – and then life at Bodegas Batras could perhaps finally start falling into some sort of order.
Epilogue
Lyssa
Lyssa sat on the steps of Bodegas Batras, and surveyed the chaos.
It had been three months since the fraught events of that night at Bodegas Buenaventura – and nothing had ever been the same again.
The courtyard of Silas and Alberte’s old winery had been completely transformed – from a run-down, crumbling monument to a bustling hub of activity.
Forklifts unloaded barrels. Trucks were getting loaded up with crates of wine. Wearing a hard hat and clutching a clipboard, Alberte Batras directed the bustle of activity, screaming at the workmen as they struggled to keep up.
As Lyssa watched, amused, she felt a hot hand on her shoulder.
Silas had come out from the house to join her. He eased himself down onto the steps beside Lyssa, and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.
“I can’t believe it,” the big Spaniard purred, as he watched the same unfolding chaos that Lyssa had been surveying. “It’s like this place has come alive again.”
And, in many ways, it had.
When news broke of Bodegas Buenaventura’s massive wine fraud, the market for Rioja had been thrown into turmoil.
Hundreds of thousands of bottles of bottles had been recalled, or smashed – and frantic distributors had scurried to find alternative suppliers.
Bodegas Batras had been the first on many of their lists.
The struggling winery was suddenly inundated with thousands of new orders – and in the space of a couple of weeks, Alberte had been forced to hire dozens of new hands, and make down payments on racks of new equipment.
But it had been worth it. In less than three months, business had tripled. Overnight, Bodegas Batras had gone from barely-getting-by to making profit hand over fist.
Which was why Lyssa was smiling, as she watched the chaos in the courtyard.
In his hard hat and fluorescent jacket, Alberte might look like he was on the brink of meltdown – but Lyssa knew that Silas’ brother was thriving in this new, high-pressure environment.
All his life, he’d wanted to make the winery a success. Now, finally, he was getting that opportunity.
“Hey, listen,” it was Silas, leaning over to kiss Lyssa on the cheek. “I’ve got to get down to the gym. The local paper’s going to write it up today, and I want to make sure the place is looking perfect.”
Alberte wasn’t the only one grasping business opportunities.
Now that Silas was back on the MMA League roster, he’d decided to make a real go of it – but not at the price of his family, or the estate he’d fought so hard to protect.
Which is why he’d talked Dan Blanc and the MMA League into helping him finance an MMA gym right here, in Logroño.
Not only was Batras MMA a smart business decision – there were lots of kids in town who wanted to learn martial arts – but it gave Silas a world-class place to train without having to go back to America.
And it was the perfect place for Lyssa to base herself, too – as she continued to cover the MMA League for the official blog.
“Okay,” Lyssa kissed her lover back, and rubbed his arm affectionately. “I’ll try and make it down there a little later.”
“Oh no, you won’t,” Silas reprimanded her, laughing as he kissed her forehead. “You’re going to take it easy, okay? You promised.”
And as Silas said that, Lyssa dropped her hand down to her belly, and rubbed it instinctively.
That was something else that had happened unexpectedly: A new life, growing in her belly.
Silas leaned over and kissed Lyssa wetly on the mouth.
“You can write your blog posts at home today, cariño,” he murmured, kissing her again. “Promise?”
And the thought of spending the day in this big, old house that she’d come to love so much – filled with the laughter of César
and Chucho, and the smiles of the family she’d come to call her own – was as warm and comforting as a glass of Gran Reserva.
Not that she was allowed to drink any more, now that she was pregnant.
“Have a good day, honey,” Lyssa kissed Silas one last time, and let him finally get up. She watched him walk down the stairs, broad, and tall and powerful. Love surged inside of her.
As Silas clambered into the car, to drive away, Lyssa felt her lips curl into a smile. She watched him drive off, and slowly clambered to her feet.
Turning from the chaos of the courtyard, Lyssa walked towards the front door.
She could go in and finish her blog post for the day, and then maybe help Celestina bake cookies for the kids. There’d be time for a nap, or a walk. Anything, really.
Lyssa’s life was now rich with possibility, and meaning.
It was ironic, she thought, as she stepped into the cool darkness of the old house. This whole chapter of her life had begun the day Travis and Nikolai had dumped her for the first time.
All those months ago, as she’d sat sobbing in the press pit of that MMA stadium, she’d been distraught at losing the affection of those two men.
But now, Lyssa had come to realize that both of them together would never have loved her as hard, or as much, as Silas did.
When she and Silas had met each other, they’d both been broken in their sharp, jagged, selfish ways.
But by bringing those two broken pieces together, they’d made a beautiful new whole. And as Lyssa rubbed her belly, she realized that was literally true.
Happily, she sat down at the kitchen table, and opened her laptop.
Life was like the blank page she was staring at on the screen: Rich with possibility. All she needed to do was start typing.
Lyssa hit the keys, and got to work.
The End
Acknowledgements
Every book an author writes takes a little bit of blood, and soul. Broken was no exception. It’s been one of the most enjoyable tales to tell, but also one of the toughest to write. I hope you enjoyed it.
Broken: An Alpha Bad Boy MMA Romance Page 34
