Page 39 of Brazen Defiance (Brazen Boys #4)

Clara

I ’m dry by the time I make it to the old city center, a fountain tinkling in a patch of green, different songs fighting for notice on each corner, knickknacks and art scattered on blankets between them.

I nod at old man Matteo surrounded by his carvings on a threadbare blue blanket, works of art that belong in a museum rather than in tourist’s luggage, before I slide onto the purple and orange monstrosity next to him.

Walker opens his arms for me, pulling me close, his nose pressed to my head, his straw hat knocked back by the move. “To what do I owe this surprise?” he asks.

“How’s business?” I ask, motioning at the landscapes spread around us, some just sketched, some done with oil pastels, and some painted in acrylics and oils.

“The cruise ship leaves in thirty minutes, so I’m probably done for the day. But I sold two of my big pieces, and seven sketches, so we can eat for half the week.”

I laugh, happy that he’s happy. It was a struggle at first until he targeted tourists.

Then the money started dripping from their pockets to ours.

He’s not totally convinced his originals are worth something, but every sale pushes him in that direction.

They aren’t tricky, fifty-foot metal installations, but people like his art. Because he is good. Really good.

Even if he misses the tricky stuff.

“In that case, want to pack up? I’ll collect Murray and we’ll head back and feast.” Murray being Jansen.

Matteo chuckles, his English flawless after a lifetime of catering to rich Americans. “You kids make no sense to an old man like me,” he says. “I’d keep a girl like you all to myself, Marcy, if I were half the age I am now.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re too old, Matteo. No way you’d be able to keep up with me, and I’d hate to have you questioning your manhood,” I tease.

Walker flushes, helping me up. “I’m still not used to this side of you, princess,” he whispers in my ear.

I shrug, kissing the corner of his jaw before I reply. “There was no hiding what we were. Might as well enjoy the freedom of being the crazy gringos while it lasts.”

That kills the light mood we’ve been carrying. Because it’s not going to last. It’s ending. So soon I don’t want to think about it. Instead, I squeeze his hand. “I’ll be back.”

Across the square, Jansen has his cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes, his hair so long now that it hangs in a braid over one shoulder, the tail of it falling over his pecs and almost to his belly button.

He’d considered cutting it to be less recognizable, but looking like a hippy kid from the US helped with our cover, so in the end, he kept it.

And I’m glad. Every night, he has me brush it for him, the cool strands slinking over my fingers in a strange, soothing form of foreplay. I get to do whatever I want with it, and he always tells me he loves it.

An acoustic cover of Doja Cat’s ‘Paint the Town Red’ falls from his lips, and a few stragglers rushing for the boat stop for a second, their brows furrowed.

One laughs, tossing some cash into his case, and the group rushes on.

When the song finishes, I slide my arms around his shoulders, kissing the side of his neck.

“Beautiful!” He jumps up, laying the guitar to the side and welcoming me into the circle of his arms. He won the instrument in a dare with a stranger to climb up the side of a building in New Mexico, much to Walker’s annoyance.

“Hey! I’m here to walk you home,” I say, tugging on his braid, his eyes darkening with the move.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Should I help you pack up?”

His smile turns feral, the edge of mania showing through.

It’s been like this since we ran. Like we’re all waiting for the second shoe to drop, Jansen especially.

A few weeks after we landed here, he and I negotiated a deal where I have responsibility for most of his choices.

I’m happy to help, and it’s a fun power trip to have him at my beck and call, but I worry.

I can’t be the only thing keeping him together.

The plan, even if it works out perfectly, won’t be easy on him. And while he says he’ll be fine, well, I guess we’ll see. Instead of mulling over unknowns, I wind my hand around the braid, tugging him closer, our kiss probably too X-rated for a public space, but it’s exactly what we both want.

I let him pull back, his hands on my waist, strong fingers digging in a little harder than necessary. “I have a surprise when we get home,” I say, wishing this didn’t feel like the beginning of the end.

“I love surprises,” he says, pressing another, more chaste, kiss on my lips. Then he ducks down, his braid slipping through my fingers as he scoops up the cash he made and shoves it into his pockets, his guitar locked in the case while I fold up his chair, slinging it over my shoulder.

Walker meets us at the edge of the plaza, the three of us waving to Matteo as we leave.

The dusty alley I found RJ and Trips sparring in isn’t far from the lot we rented for the RV. Paula’s Tío Juan lets us hook up to his water and electricity for a minimal weekly fee, and otherwise, he leaves us be.

There was a short-lived spat between Fluffington and one of his chickens, but then the cat scared off a coyote that wanted the entire flock, and the prince became a hero instead of a menace.

That cat needs more moves than a pounce and hold on, but hey, if it works, I guess there’s no reason to change it.

Even if I have scars from that exact move.

Convincing Jansen’s mom that he’d had to take Fluffington with him to study abroad should have been impossible. But after a month-long campaign of photoshopped pictures of Fluffington at various Swiss landmarks, she bought it. Or at least, she stopped openly questioning it.

Stealing my boyfriend’s mom’s cat for more than half a year was preposterous, but none of this has been easy or predictable.

Honestly, the only easy part of all this was my mom’s silence.

I don’t even know if my dad has shared my emails with her, and I’m not sure I want to know.

The longer we’re apart, the less I want to put up with her shit.

The longer we’re apart, the more I want to get my dad out of that house so he can see what I see.

By the time we get back to the RV, Trips is damp and sprawled in his hammock, a tattered book on anger management in his giant hands. “Any news?” he asks.

“Yeah. Big news. Is the shower open? My skin is sticky.”

He goes back to his book. “RJ should be done. If not, it’s not like that will stop you from joining him.”

“Your jealousy is showing,” Walker says, his hand on the small of my back.

“Maybe. Doesn’t mean it’s not also the truth.

” He flips a page, and I sigh, Jansen pulling the chair from my shoulder and adding it to the circle we’ve made in the yard.

The RV is too small for five people and one cat, so our living space spread into the dirt out front.

I climb into our tin can and run into RJ’s freshly-washed self.

“I miss having a big bathroom,” slips out of my mouth before I can stop it.

His grin turns dark, and his arm bands around my waist, pulling me close. “We’d get into even more trouble in a big bathroom, sugar.”

“Exactly.”

His laugh has my bones melting, and I press my sticky forehead against his clean chest. “This is nice.”

“You sound sad,” he says, pulling back and urging me to look at him.

“Maybe a little. I’ll tell you after my shower.”

The room is already full of steam, and I make quick work of getting clean. The news is important, and everyone here knows what I look like, clean or not.

Clothed or not.

Even if one of them is less intimate with that information than the others.

My hair piled on my head, a loose red wrap dress I got off one of the plaza vendors months ago covering me, I head outside.

The guys are already holding beers and Walker sets down a bowl of some of his homemade tortilla chips and salsa for us to snack on.

A few coconuts wait for us to hack into by Trips’ hammock —turns out that I love coconut water.

Just past everything sits Walker’s easel.

RJ snags my wrist as I pass him, tugging me into his lap, and I’m happy to be there. The guys have found a balance with me, and I don’t feel overwhelmed by their attention, and none of them seem to feel left out. Except Trips, but we both understand why.

It hasn’t been that way the whole time, though. Those first few months were all about healing. Ourselves. Our relationships. Our team.

But that time has come to an end. And I’m the one who has to pop the bubble we’ve been living in. Sun, beer, music, art, sparring, running, laughter, and sex. Even if that has been sparse until recently.

It takes time for scars, even invisible ones, to heal.

Jansen hands me a beer, and I take a swig, prolonging the moment. Only, I’ve always been more of a ‘Band-Aid off quick’ kind of girl. “Paula found me today. And about a week ago, someone came looking for us.”

This gets everyone’s attention. “A week ago?” Trips asks.

“Yeah. Tía Maria was there, and she lied for us. We got lucky.”

“Between you and Jay, this whole town loves us,” RJ says.

“Don’t forget that the parents around here consider you spending time with their kids, keeping them out of trouble, a blessing. Or that Matteo and Walker don’t have some sort of artistic soul connection.”

The circle is quiet as we realize we’ve found a place here. We’re not local, we never will be, but we’re liked. At least enough for people to lie about the fact that we’re here. At least enough to accept that I have a gaggle of guys instead of the typical one.

If I’d grown up in this town, I’m sure they’d think differently. But Marcy Montgomery is equal parts free-spirit and sweetheart, and American to boot, so they just rolled with it. Would they judge more harshly if they knew my abuelita’s family came from not too far away?

I guess I’ll never know.

“So, we’re leaving?” Jansen asks, breaking the silence.

I nod. “We’re leaving. But we have one last thing to do before we go.”

“What?” RJ asks.

“How do we feel about rescuing Paula’s sister from her jackass of a husband as a parting gift with La Pieta?”

Jansen’s grin tells me he’s all the way in, like I knew he would be. Climbing with Walker hasn’t done much to curb his need for danger, and stealing from these people would be cruel.

Walker exhales, scooping up the bowl of chips. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t we be packing up and heading out tonight?”

“Paula deserves better than simply praying her sister will live another year. The people here have given us more than they needed to. We can’t give back much right now, but we can give them back one of their daughters. Keep her safe.”

“What are you thinking?” RJ asks, pulling me closer.

“I think this guy probably has a ton of dirt on him we can use, based on what Paula knows about him. She’s only eleven, so her parents are sheltering her, but he’s trouble.”

“Kill trouble? Because we all know the cops down this way are a joke.” Trips closes his book, giving me his full attention, his eyes silver against the tan of the desert behind him.

He’s not wrong. We bought them off just last month when RJ caught wind that Trips’ dad’s guy was getting close. We weren’t ready to leave yet. But now?

We’re as ready as we’re going to be.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s done something that would get him in trouble with the US? I need more information. I can dig into him tonight. But you guys should at least scout out his house before it’s dark.”

Jansen pops up, walking to one of the dirt bikes we got a few months ago. “I can go.”

RJ groans, standing up. “I’ll join you. We probably should reinstate buddy rules, just to get in the habit for when we get back.”

Walker beckons, and even though I roll my eyes, I cross to him, perching on his lap.

“Where are we headed?” Jansen asks, swinging his leg over the back of the bike. I point in the direction Paula indicated. “About an hour up the mountains. I’ll text the address when I get it.”

They pull on their helmets, the engines revving, and they’re gone. Walker urges me to my feet, trailing me as I go into the RV and boot up the laptop. “You’ve got this,” he whispers before kissing the top of my head and heading to the bathroom for a shower.

RJ taught me more than enough about how to get around on the internet, even introducing me to the dark web and showing me all the secret corners he hides in. It’s time to put that training to good use: Guillermo Alfaro-Grande won’t be an unknown for long.

Four hours later, the roar of engines halts outside the RV announcing Jansen and RJ’s return. Trips joined Walker and me inside about an hour ago, and I have a list plenty long with more than enough dirt to keep this guy away from Paula’s sister.

Now, to turn the intel into a plan.