Page 38 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

T he sea breeze almost cuts through the heat of the day as I run along the beach, my feet bare, my legs working harder than they ever did in the years of racing at home.

Sweat drips down my spine as I kick into a sprint, the power of my strides strong enough that I feel invincible.

Passing the pile of rocks at the end of the beach tells me I’m done for the day, and I try to ignore the tightness in my chest that gets stronger daily.

I wade into the cool waves, letting them lap at my burning thighs while I watch the sunlight twinkle over the water.

It’s beautiful here.

Stark, sandy, blues and tans instead of the seasonal greens and grays I’m used to. So many unfamiliar smells, sounds, and such a change in the pace of life. It was all so different when we first came. But now, these differences are approaching something that could be as familiar as home.

The urge to dive under the waves, to stay, consequences be damned, floods.

I don’t fight it. I dive into the next wave, coming up sputtering on the other side, swimming as far as I dare, not wanting to risk this area’s ever-changing and vicious riptides.

One caught RJ when we first got here, and if he’d been a weaker swimmer, he wouldn’t have made it back to shore. It was terrifying.

Now, even that danger is familiar and avoidable.

Treading water, panting, I start my goodbyes. Everything is set, every risk and probability analyzed late into the night, all our steps laid out in front of us. We have a plan. A real one.

One that will change everything not just for us, but for those around us, too.

It’s the best option. The only one.

We told our families we’d been admitted last minute into study abroad programs scattered around Europe.

RJ paid people with unlaundered funds to travel with our IDs, which tricked Trips’ dad just long enough for our trail to run cold.

And with weekly emails to our families—because everywhere we ‘visited’ had terrible phone service—we hid our true purpose: buying time to come up with a plan.

Paddling back to the shore, for a moment I regret not stripping off my shirt and shorts, not liking the gritty feeling of dried salt on my skin.

But what’s done is done. I slip my feet into the sandals I left hidden in a crevasse in the rock pile, moving quickly and shaking them off before slipping them on.

Yet another lesson learned the hard way.

Walking home, a commotion from the end of an alley have me turning from the main road.

I follow the sound to a circle of teenagers and kids shouting as two men circle each other.

Sweat leaves one man’s white shirt plastered to his skin, the other man shirtless, ridges and valleys of muscles on display.

I lean against the wall behind me, happy to enjoy the show.

With no obvious tells, one man pounces on the other, a series of slices, punches, ducks, and twists looking more like a dance than a fight, and then, with a well-placed knee, they’re on the dusty ground, rolling, wrestling, working to pin the other.

The shirtless man gets an upper hand, and the other man, after a brief struggle, taps out.

Then they’re helping each other up, the kids laughing and cheering, chattering as RJ and Trips catch sight of me behind the crowd.

Trips wipes his face on his shirt, his gaze dark, but he doesn’t approach me.

We’ve hardly touched each other since we arrived, safe behind a boundary I’m not sure either of us want up, or that either of us is happy with. But it’s stayed up—I’m still uncertain I should trust him. And he knows he’s still far from proving he’s worthy of my trust.

Every time his eyes glaze over in fury, but he breathes through it, coming back to the present, is a step in building that trust. And each success improves the likelihood that I’ll give in to the electrical storm that’s building between us.

But not yet. Neither of us are ready for that step.

The test will be when we go back home.

Only then will I know for sure he’s gained enough control to not endanger me again. To not endanger us. Or our plan.

RJ leans down, pressing a kiss to my temple, his smile soft. “Sugar, you smell like the ocean.”

I run my hand over his chest, greedy for the contact. “I dove in to cool off after my run. Training turned into teaching again?”

“Yup. And then the kids wanted to watch us spar for real. It’s a good reward for paying attention, especially when they have to put up with our shitty Spanglish.”

Trips joins us, the kids dispersing, one girl hanging back.

“How’s the hand?” I ask, like I do every few days.

He wiggles his fingers, the fading scars less noticeable than they were months ago. “As long as I don’t punch any walls or trees, it’s back to normal.”

It’d taken nearly all the cash we had, pawning everything we found, and a doctor willing to take half up front and half later, to get the surgery Trips needed. And even that was due more to luck and Jansen’s charm than anything else. She was more than a little smitten.

“Good,” I answer.

“Do you want a turn?” RJ asks, nodding at the pile of cardboard coating the alley to make the landing softer. Not gym mat soft, but much better than the cobbles underneath.

“I just ran and took an unplanned swim. I think I’m good for now.”

The girl who stayed hovers, and I turn, realizing I know her. “Guys, why don’t you head back home? I think I’ve got a message.”

The guys see what I do, and after tidying up the alley, they disappear the way I just came.

These sparring matches used to be vicious—a way for them to work out their anger and fear on each other. But somewhere in the last few months, it’s changed, and it’s almost back the way it was before. Almost.

Trips defers to RJ. A change that I’m not even sure they’ve noted, but I for sure have.

Smiling at the girl who stayed, I force my concern over the guys from my mind, instead pushing myself into the headspace to speak Spanish.

That was tough when we first arrived, but now feels like a light switch that I flick, the words rolling off my tongue with confidence.

“Hey Paula. What’s up? Did you hear anything interesting? ”

She smirks up at me, her dark eyes twinkling. “I heard Ricardo drank so much he got lost going home and ended up tangled in Tía Maria’s laundry, and pulled it all down, getting it all dirty. She’s making him clean it himself. You should have heard him sputter.”

I chuckle, the two of us trailing the guys out of the back alley. “That’s a good one.”

“Why do you collect the gossip, Marcy?”

Marcy. My name here. It still sounds wrong.

“Because you never know when it will come in useful,” I say, not wanting to tell her we want to make sure no one is asking about us.

“I have another one, if you want it,” she says, spinning a curl around her finger.

“You know I love all the stories you share, Paula.”

“There was a gringo that stopped by last week, but didn’t stay.

He was looking for a bunch of people, and it sounded a lot like you and your guys.

But when he asked Tía Maria was there, and you know she loves you, so she lied and said that nobody like that was around here.

Why would he be looking for you? And why would Tía Maria lie?

I asked her, and she just gave me chores to do instead of answering.

” Her face twists, remembering her chores.

Meanwhile, my heart gets tight in my throat as I try to think up a good reason for her aunt’s reticence. “Because not every man is a good man, Paula.”

She nods, scuffing her foot against the ground. “Like Guillermo.”

And now my heart is pounding double time. “Who’s Guillermo?”

“He married my sister last year. He’s awful.”

“What kind of awful?”

“The kind of awful that has my sister covered in bruises. She tried to run away last month, but he found her and dragged her back.”

“Paula, why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Because you want the gossip, and that’s family, not gossip.”

I stop at the entrance to the main road, debating what to do. “Does you sister want out? Really?”

She nods. “He was sweet when they met. He brought her fancy gifts and treats, told her she was the most beautiful girl in town. She was. But when I saw her after they married, it was like the light was sucked out of her. He wasn’t so sweet afterwards.

My abuela thinks it’s the devil in him, but Mama and Papa just want her safe and away from him.

Only he’s got money, and a huge fence around his house and guard dogs and guns.

She could only leave last time because she got to go to church. But now, she isn’t allowed to do that.”

It takes me a minute to absorb her monologue, but once I do, I know there’s no way I can just go home and not worry about this. “Paula, if I got your sister back to you, do you think your mama and papa could keep her safe? Would she stay?”

“Not if there are guns. She wouldn’t want any of us to get hurt.”

“What’s Guillermo’s last name? Where does he live?”

“Afaro-Grande. And he lives about an hour’s drive up the mountain.” She points and I try to calculate where that would be.

“Paula, I can’t make any promises, but you’ve been a good friend while we’ve been here. I’ll do what I can to help your sister.”

“Why do you sound like you’re leaving?” Her dark eyes lock onto mine, and I’m reminded why I chose this girl to be our ear to the ground. Intelligence, curiosity, and an innate strength I pray she gets to keep as she becomes an adult.

“Because we are. We’ve been planning to for a while, but that man your Tía lied to about us? That means it’s time we go. But first, I’m going to try to help your sister.”

“Is Benny going to punch him? I hope Benny punches him so hard he cries.”

The image of Trips knocking out some unknown abuser has a grin sneaking across my face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She nods.

“And Paula, we might need your help with this, too. So your sister knows we’re safe.”

“You know I’m good at helping you,” she says, before skipping down the main thoroughfare.

A plan forms in my mind as I switch directions, heading towards the tourist side of town. With the information Paula just shared, it’s clear I’m going to have to cut into Walker and Jansen’s work time.