Page 81 of Something Tangled Something True (Rosa Ranch #1)

ANXIETY SHITS

Lola With The Phat

Russ and his mom are here, searching for the cameras Lemmon hid. I’m hiding and safe for now.

My stomach rebukes her message, bile, and a three-day-old chicken biscuit courtesy of the “hashtag mom life” stirring in my gut.

I hurry to check the door; it’s locked the way I rationally knew it would be, but I couldn’t help but make sure anyway.

It feels like I’m vibrating, watching as I move through my motions, as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. How is this happening? Is this body doubling?

Isabela is asleep in her nursery, blissfully unaware of the utter hell surrounding her.

I move on unsteady legs, carrying myself through the house, plugging in the code to the safe and pulling out the Glock I had Cynthia, the town’s sometimes-friendly arms dealer and volunteer firefighter, help me acquire.

I’d gotten it for this exact reason, but I’d never truly believed I’d be sitting here, waiting to use it.

My phone pings with another message.

Lola With The Phat

They’re coming for you!

I now know exactly what the term “bone-chilling” feels like, and I can say with absolute certainty I hope to never experience it again—and not because I’m going to die tonight.

I have too much to live for to let some dumb bitch and her even dumber minion kill me in my own goddamn home.

It’s not ideal for my hands to be shaking the way they are while holding a gun, but I’m scared shitless, and thank God for that, because usually, I’d be on the toilet with anxiety shits by now.

When I get to Isabela’s room, it’s dark, a quiet lullaby playing from the projector of swirling constellations on her ceiling. I open her closet door, setting the gun down on her dresser before pulling her into my arms.

I kiss her forehead, hot tears streaming down my cheeks, my lips trembling as I lower her into the bassinet I have stored in her closet.

She stirs in my arms, but she continues sleeping once I have her down. I count my blessings for that.

“I really should’ve looked into gun silencers or something,” I whine, grabbing blankets and pillows to use as a buffer around the sides of the mesh bassinet, praying no one from the AAP throws a lightning bolt to smite me for the risk of SIDS. I think we have more pressing matters.

I gently place a pair of tiny earmuffs over her head that one of my cousins had sent for my baby shower, not taking into consideration that I live in Oklahoma .

Rosalia, you useless pendeja , thank you.

I hear something slam against the front door, pounding on the wood, followed by the shattering of my window.

Those windows are stained glass . They have gone too far!

I rush to shut the closet and angle myself facing the door, my back pressed against the wall.

The Glock I’m affectionately naming “Betty White” is trembling in my hands. Okay, fine. That’s me, but I digress. I can do this. I have to do this.

They’ll come in here, I’ll stare them straight in the eyes, and I’ll shoot the shit out of whatever body part I can manage. No, no, like you practiced, Mayte. You know where to shoot. “Come on, Mayte. Pull your big girl panties on and get your act together,” I whisper under my breath.

I hear Amy and Russ as they get closer to the room, the lullaby still playing, obscuring their conversation, but Amy’s grating voice is hard to miss.

“Don’t you mess this up. You got it? We get her to tell us where the recordings are, and if she doesn’t know, we use her as collateral.

” Goddamn the state of Oklahoma and their one-party consent laws.

“Lola will be forced to admit to insurance fraud, and we can use that to get your investors back. They’ll take pity on you once they realize how awful your ex was. ”

I square my shoulders and prepare for what’s next as their footsteps grow nearer.

Door. Open. Shoot.

Door. Open. Shoot.

Door. Open. Shoot. Door. Open. Shoot. Door. Open. Shoot. Door. Open. Shoot.

I chant this new mantra over and over until the door is cracking open, all the chaos in my mind going blank. My eyes zoom in on Russ’s shiny kneecaps, and I blow those motherfuckers right off his scrawny body.

It all happens so quickly. Two shots, and Russ hits the ground, shaking the room with the impact, his shouts bloodcurdling.

Amy shrieks, flipping the light on, her eyes wide, body trembling.

Isabela’s wailing slices through the room, as if she and Russ are competing for loudest scream, and it jars me out of my stupor.

I keep the barrel of my gun trained on Amy, avoiding looking at what I’m sure is a bloodstained pink fuzzy rug in the center of my daughter’s once serene nursery.

Blood freaks me out. It’s sticky and hot, the smell of iron permeating the air.

Because I love myself, I refuse to assess the damage.

I’ve done my part. I’ve stopped the bad guys.

Now, it’s everyone else's turn to jump in.

Except, there is no one else. Not a single soul is in sight, and if I have to shoot Amy, I might faint. I hate this bitch, but shooting a woman seems so much more impossible than shooting Russ had been. I can’t imagine actually pulling the trigger again.

“Russ! Russ, my sweet boy,” Amy sobs, falling to her knees beside him, reaching out to tamp his bleeding wounds.

I back myself over to the closet, opening the door, keeping Betty White secured in my quivering hand.

“Shhh, shhh, mija. It’s okay, you’re alright,” I coo, trying to find a twisted balance between Mami and my new apparent job title: assassin.

Amy reaches for the gun Russ had dropped when she thinks I’m not paying attention, but I shake my head.

“Uh uh. You saw what I did to your son, and I’m sure you don’t want that gaudy pleather nonsense you call an outfit covered in blood.

If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your ass seated and call the cops so he doesn’t bleed to death and traumatize my child further. ”

She gapes at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

My pulse is racing in my neck, and my stomach chooses now to announce I have gas, rumbling loudly through the room.

The anxiety shits really need to wait. Just another hour, please .

I like this house. I don’t want to have to burn it down if I shit all over and have this hijo de puta's blood splattered all over.

She finally nods, slowly reaching into her back pocket and retrieving her phone.

“I need”—more groaning—“help,” Russ says hoarsely between screams.

“Should’ve thought about that before you entered someone’s home looking to kidnap them. Newsflash, Russ: Women aren’t your grandpa's victims anymore. We’re armed now. ”

Ringing from Amy’s phone drags my attention to her—her brown eyes glisten with tears, pale face red and puffy, gray hair a mess.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“Put it on speaker,” I instruct.

“Hello? Did you mean to contact emergency services?” the cool-toned woman answers again.

“Hi, yes. My name is Mayte Avila. I live at sixty-eight Silvercrest Drive in Hidden Valley, Oklahoma. There has been a break-in.” I repeat the words Cynthia told me to make sure I say if I ever have to use the gun she sold me.

“I felt threatened and shot the first intruder in the knees. I was protecting myself and my daughter. It was an act of self-defense.”

“Okay, hold tight, Mayte. I’m Lisa. I’m dispatching to you now. Is there anyone else with you? You mentioned a first intruder. Does that mean there’s a second?”

“Thank you, Lisa. Yes, the second intruder is unharmed—” I cut Amy a no bullshit stare and mouth the words, “For now. Don’t try me, bitch,” before continuing to relay the events to Lisa, impatiently waiting for the red-and-blue lights that’ll rescue me.

No, this is not one of those stories where I feel safe and protected by my local law enforcement.

What they’re rescuing me from, however, is my second worst fear.

And since I’ve overcome the first, my toilet is going to help me prevent the second as soon as I can get my child in the arms of someone I can trust.