Page 5 of Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys 4)

  “Get away from me!”

  “Daisy!” Miss Anderson scolded, running up to us. “I saw you hit him, young lady. That is not acceptable behavior. You need to come with me to the principal’s office.”

  I bowed my head, tucking my chin up against my neck. The tears were already forming in my eyes as I trailed behind her to face my punishment.

  Except in that situation, the principal wasn’t who I was concerned about.

  They called my uncle a few times to no avail. The principal said I was suspended for a week. There was a zero fighting tolerance and my behavior would not be accepted at the school. I pleaded with him to give me another chance. I tried to tell him that this was the first time I had ever acted out like this, but he wouldn’t let me explain. He didn’t care that I wasn’t the one who started it or that the boy was being mean to me.

  Esteban picked me up shortly after. The school must have called him when my uncle didn't answer. They handed him an envelope with a letter that explained I wasn’t allowed back on school property for an entire week after telling him what happened. Embarrassment couldn’t even begin to describe how I felt about the whole situation.

  I gazed out the window the entire car ride back to the house that wasn’t my home. Never had been, never would be. I could sense Esteban's stare through the rearview mirror a few times, but I ignored every last glance.

  “Well if it isn’t my little fighter,” Uncle Alejandro’s rough voice filled the foyer when I walked into the penthouse. I immediately froze in place, not knowing what to expect.

  I peered up at him, trying to keep eye contact like I was required to do. I stood there not saying a word, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat.

  Esteban closed the door behind him. The latching noise startled me.

  “I’m… I’m sorry… Uncle,” I stammered.

  He folded his arms over his chest, cocking his head to the side and arched an eyebrow. Only emphasizing his tall, huge, intimidating stature.

  “What exactly are you apologizing for, Briggs?”

  He’d been calling me Briggs since the day I told him to at my parents’ funeral, Daisy died in the car accident as far as I was concerned.

  “For fighting or for getting caught?” he vaguely added.

  I looked all around the room as if the answer was written on the walls.

  “I told you to look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you, Briggs. I won’t warn you again,” he viciously spoke, snapping my attention back to him.

  My mouth parted as I peered into his eyes like he ordered. My eyes widening in shock.

  “I expect an answer. You’re wearing very thin on my patience, little girl.”

  “I—”

  “Señor.” Esteban stepped forward, away from the door, interrupting me. “I’ll vouch for her. The boy started it all.”

  Uncle Alejandro didn’t make a sound. He didn’t even move. His eyes shifted to Esteban who was now standing beside me. An eerie silence filled the room. It was then that I realized my uncle was like a venomous snake. You would never see or hear him coming but once he struck, it was too late.

  You were dead.

  His lip curled upward but not in a smile or comforting way. If anything it only added to the tightening sensation I felt deep within my bones that I swear radiated all around us. He nodded and then brought his right hand up to his jaw. Tilting his head to the side, he cracked his neck before placing his arms behind his back, holding them there. His eyes showed no emotion, no mercy, they were still dark and daunting as always. His expensive suit jacket perfectly in place, as he set one foot in front of the other with precise and calculated steps. His Armani dress shoes echoed off the tile floor, one stride after another, until he was up in Esteban’s face, who didn’t cower down either.

  “If you cherish the legs you’re standing on, I suggest you walk the fuck away.”

  I jerked back, stunned. My stare inadvertently moved to his hands that were still locked behind his back. Realizing he wasn’t holding his hands behind him, they were firmly wrapped around the handle of a gun. More than ready to follow through with his threat.

  “Señor,” Esteban coaxed, “I believe you asked me to do a job, and I go where she goes.” He nodded toward me.

  My mouth dropped open and I shouted, “Uncle! I’m sorry that I got caught,” I lied, praying that it would take the heat off Esteban.

  Uncle Alejandro snidely grinned, ignoring my outburst. “La peladita te tiene cariño, Esteban,” he mocked, “The little girl is taken with you.” His glare never left Esteban’s face.

  “Con todo respeto, yo también,” Esteban replied, “With all due respect, I do too.”

  My chest rose and descended with each word that fell from their lips, terrified of how this would end. Neither of them backed down. My uncle narrowed his eyes at him and swiftly moved his hands from behind his back, releasing his gun. I jumped when he started clapping, the sound deafening in the foyer. He stepped back from Esteban to finally peer over at me. My heart was beating a mile a minute.

  It was now my turn to answer to him.

  “Someone has a knight in shining armor, Daisy.”

  He said my name to hurt me, to make me remember who I really was which was inferior to him.

  “Briggs,” I simply stated, hating that it had the desired effect he wanted.

  I saw a gleam in his eyes that he didn't try to hide. Even though it was quick, I caught it. He put his hands out in front of him in a surrendering gesture, dramatically bowing his head.

  “By all means, Briggs. Since we’re all making fucking friends here, how about we cut the bullshit? Yo se que usted habla y entiende muy bien el espanol, peladita,” he added, “I know you speak and understand Spanish very well, little girl.”

  I didn’t falter.

  I couldn’t.

  He didn’t want me to.

  It was now or never. I could tell myself that two could play his game, but some place deep inside, a place I just figured out existed, so desperately wanted to please him. Maybe I was looking for approval, gratification, support, knowing deep in my heart that all I was looking for was…

  Love.

  “You never asked. You never ask me anything for that matter,” I countered. “But I know all about you. My mom told me. You know? Your loving sister.” Throwing that in there for affect.

  His eyes glazed over for a split second, and then he blinked it away. Just like that, the cold obscurity in his dark blue eyes was back like it had never left, even if it was only for a moment.

  “She loved you.”

  Another glaze. Another blink.

  “She also said you loved me. ‘Adored me’ were her exact words, but since we’re putting out all the bullshit,” I cussed for the first time and it felt so foreign coming from my lips. I ignored the lingering sentiment and finally said, “You don’t love me. You barely even like me. You tolerate me because you don’t have a choice. I’m here because I have to be. Nothing more, nothing less. So let’s not get it twisted. You’re not the hero in this story. You’re not the victim either. To me… you look more like the villain in an expensive suit.”

  He smiled.

  Big and wide.

  It lit up the entire room.

  It was first time in three years that I saw the man smile, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me happy that I was the reason behind it. He took a seat on the leather couch, with a look I couldn’t begin to understand. He brought one leg up, resting his ankle on the opposite knee. His arms spread along the back of the sofa. The massive couch suddenly seemed small in comparison to my uncle.

  “Bueno,” Uncle Alejandro rasped. “I guess we can thank Esteban here for finally letting your balls drop. Trust me, Briggs, you’re a Martínez, it’s in your goddamn blood.” He lowered his eyebrows, concentrating solely on me. “You scurrying around my home like a fucking mouse, a home I brought you into out of obligation to your late mom, might I add, ends tonight. Whether we

like it or not, you’re here to stay.”

  I took in his words for what they were.

  My uncle was not a typical uncle. Maybe not even a typical man. He proved that then more than any other time. He was proud when I stood up to him and any other person for that matter. Taking pleasure in seeing my tough side that I never knew existed. He condemned all the traits my parents had implemented all my life.

  That wasn’t my life anymore, though, which only made all of this more confusing.

  I completely forgot that Esteban was still standing beside me. He hadn’t moved from where he was planted. He was listening to Uncle Alejandro as intently as I was.

  “Let me tell you a little something about me.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Hands clasped in front of him in a prayer gesture, mockingly. He looked me up and down, slowly cocking his head to the side, an evil grin spread across his handsome face. Breaking the silence, he spoke with conviction,

  “I’m your God, peladita. Driving the bus to Hell.”

  Chapter 4

  Austin

  Two years went by, a few months short of my fifteenth birthday. The boys were surfing. The waves were supposed to be at an all-time high, they always were before big storms. On any other given day, I wouldn’t miss the opportunity to surf either, but this day was different.

  My dad was a prominent cardiologist and my mom was a pharmacist. They were the ultimate power couple. I told the boys I had to watch my nine-year-old brother, Hunter, while my parents worked late.

  The truth was I just wanted to be alone.

  I heard footsteps descending down the dock, and I didn’t have to wonder who it was. Alex took off her flip-flops, pulling up her dress to sit beside me on the wooden plank, splashing her feet in the water like me. The day after we caught Lucas and Stacey on the beach, she showed up at church wearing a dress, make-up, and her hair down. It was her way of showing us that she was growing up too. I told you, she always had to keep up with the boys, reminding me that we were one in the same.

  I glanced up from my drawing to find her with her very own matching notebook, beaming.

  “Whatcha got there?” I asked, cocking my head to the side. An amused expression was evident across my face.

  She shrugged not paying me any mind, turning the cover over to the first page, placing the notebook on her lap.

  “I’m going to draw, too.”

  I perceptively nodded, letting her hold onto her pride, knowing that she was just trying to keep up with me.

  We sat in comfortable silence for a while, just sketching and watching the blue waters.

  Both of us lost in our own thoughts.

  I peered up from my sketch when the sun started to set, catching a glimpse at Half-Pint’s drawing from the corner of my eyes. She must have sensed me staring. She blushed, peeking up at me through her lashes.

  Before I could think twice about it, I blurted out, “Is that your wedding?”

  “Maybe,” she softly whispered, suddenly appearing tinier than she actually was.

  It didn’t take long to recognize the man in the picture. I could see his dark hair and tall frame. The way she captured the look in his eyes when he stared at her and thought no one was watching.

  Though I still asked, “Who you marryin’?”

  She bit her bottom lip and replied, “Just a boy.”

  “Bo?” I stated as a question.

  She closed her notebook, setting it to the side of her to look down at her feet that were now splashing in the water. Ignoring my question.

  “Half-Pint, why do you do this to yourself?”

  “What do you mean?” she retorted, still focusing solely on her feet.

  “Hurting yourself. Wanting someone you know you can’t have?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes you do.”

  That made her glance at me.

  “He kissed me,” she revealed out of nowhere.

  My eyes widened, surprised.

  “Like… really kissed me,” she emphasized, nodding to get her point across like it would change something.

  When in reality, all it did was piss me the fuck off.

  I didn’t hesitate, viscously spewing, “Before or after he fucked around with Stacey?”

  She gasped, shocked. Hurt was apparent all over her face by my response. Now, I was no better than the other boys. I did the one thing that I had avoided up to that moment.

  I hurt her.

  “They’re making love?” she innocently questioned, her big brown eyes showing more emotion than I’d ever witnessed before. All glossy eyed.

  “There’s a lot more to fucking around than just sex, Half-Pint.”

  “Oh…” she paused for a few seconds. “So, they’re doing the other stuff you’re talking about then?”

  I shook my head, annoyed with I don’t know who. “Never mind.” I closed my notebook and stood, wanting the conversation to be over. She immediately followed my lead.

  “No! Don’t do that. Answer me. Are they doing those things or not, Austin?”

  “Ask him. Ask your Bo,” I mocked.

  Her eyes filled up with tears. I wish I could tell you that I felt bad, that I regretted telling her the truth she was so blind to see.

  I didn’t.

  At least not that time.

  “She’s just a girl, Half-Pint. She’s just a fucking girl.”

  She jerked back like I had slapped her across the face, and then she took a step toward me. Invading my personal space, the same one I wanted that day. She gazed deep into my eyes for what felt like a lifetime.

  My truths that I hid…

  From her.

  From the boys.

  From the world.

  Especially…

  From. Me.

  Stared her blatantly in the face for the first time in our short complicated lives.

  “Would you hurt me like that, Austin? Would you hurt me like Bo hurts me, just for a girl?”

  I watched how her hair blew in the wind. How new freckles had formed on the bridge of her nose from the sun. How her lips were parted and her body slightly trembled, waiting on pins and needles for my response. The smell of her sunscreen and cherry lip-gloss assaulted my senses, leaving a sense of longing for the little girl in pigtails. The same little girl that would follow her good ol’ boys around everywhere we went.

  I took in every last detail we loved about her.

  “Yes,” I lied.

  That was my first and biggest mistake.

  Briggs

  I was almost twelve years old and settling into my new life. Another three years had flown by. The life and memories I once knew went right along with it. Everyday I remembered my parents less and less. Everyday another piece of my heart went missing, disappearing and leaving me with nothing but the hollow, empty space that formed in its place.

  I read and I wrote a lot.

  I had a huge collection of books. My otherwise neat room was filled with stacks of novels. Stories that were poured out of someone’s heart and soul onto a piece of paper for another person’s enjoyment. These books were my freedom.

  Sometimes the books were about epic love and other times they were deeper than that, life lessons on yellowed paper. My collection was quite impressive thanks to my uncle who spared no expense to indulge me. I loved getting lost in the fictional worlds of the author’s creations. It took away the pain from my own.

  My way of escaping.

  My book friends.

  Where I was loved, cared for, and cherished. Where there’s always a happily ever after and the hero always ends up with the heroine. Those were my favorite kinds of stories.

  Except, my story wouldn’t be one of those, and I knew that even then.

  I’d been writing in a journal for the last few years. At first it was memories of my parents so I wouldn’t forget them, but then somewhere along the way I began writing about my feelings and emotions.

  My journal bec

ame more therapeutic than a remembrance of the people I tried to keep so deeply in my heart.

  Esteban caught me writing a few times, and to my surprise, he never asked to read what I wrote. He never even asked what I was writing.

  He just called it, “The window to your soul.” Which was all he ever said about it.

  Esteban was a man of very few words, but when he did talk, it meant something. I really liked that about him. He never felt the need to fill the silence with meaningless banter. So when he said something I really listened, appreciating the wisdom he may have to offer.

  I’d changed schools four more times in the last three years and at the rate I was going, there wouldn’t be any more schools to transfer to. A few things changed with my uncle for the better I guess. He was around a lot more, and we ate dinner together a few nights a week. He asked me how my day was and if there was anything I needed or wanted. That was pretty much the extent of our conversations, but at least he tried.

  “How was class?” Esteban asked, pulling me away from my thoughts.

  I started taking a creative writing course outside of school. The instructor was nice and most of the students kept to themselves, lost in their own thoughts about what they would be writing on the blank pages of the notebooks placed in front of them.

  “It was good,” I answered, looking at his face in the rearview mirror as he drove.

  “I bet you write better than all your friends.”

  I scoffed. “You’re my only friend, Esteban.”

  Our eyes locked through the rearview mirror.

  “You listen to me, and you’re there when I need you. I guess you’re my chosen person,” I shyly smiled.

  He didn’t falter. “I’m not your friend, Daisy,” he informed, catching me off guard.

  My happy moment was quickly replaced with disappointment.

  “I’m your bodyguard and driver. I work for your uncle. Don’t ever forget that,” he rudely added, focusing back on the road in front of him as if I didn’t exist.

  He’d never treated me like that before, and I tried to hide my tears because in my mind I thought he was my friend.