Page 17 of The Bronze Garza

“Small snag,” The Bronze Man replies.

“Long as it’s done,” the man returns with a nod. “You’re all set. We’ll take care of the ripples.”

The Bronze Man releases me and raises his hand to his forehead in an army salute, then the other two men do the same. They remain like that for several beats before the two men turn without another word and jog off to the vehicle we came in.

The Bronze Man presses his hand at my lower back and gives me a tiny push, urging me up the steps. I ignore the small tingle that shoots up my spine, because really, it’s pathetic. Wanting this man makes me no better than the other delusional Diamond Girls.

A stewardess waits just inside the door, greeting us with a pretty smile and a wave inside. “Welcome on board, Mr. Garza. Miss Henderson.”

Oh, wow. The stewardess knows my name, too. Still, I refuse to hope.

I won’t hope. I won’t hope. I won’t hope. Because the kind of disappointment that hoping like this brings isnotsomething I want to feel again.

“Go sit. Buckle in,” The Bronze Man tells me. “Need to have a quick word with the pilot.”

We split in opposite directions.

The jet is quite nice, with toffee-colored interior and large, roomy seats. As I’m settling into one of the seats, William boards the jet, rubbing his gloved hands together.

“Oh-kay, time to getthe fuckout of dodge,” he says, taking the seat across the aisle from me.

Frowning at him, I ask, “What happened to your accent?”

He pauses from buckling his seatbelt to look at me. “Oh, bullocks, do you meanthisone?” he replies in the thick English accent he’d been using the entire time. “Fake.”

Why?“Who are you guys? And where are you taking me?”

The Bronze Man walks out from the cabin just then.

William jerks his head in his direction. “Better to ask the boss.”

While the attendant prepares for takeoff, The Bronze Man comes to the section I’m in and settles into the seat that’s facing mine, separated by a table. He snaps on his seatbelt and rests his head back with a sigh, eyes closing.

I stare at him.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sexier, more brutally handsome man in my life. How can he look so dangerous, butfeelso warm and…safe? Instead of triggering alarm bells inside me, his aura feels like handwritten letters from an old friend.

He just feels right and wrong at the same time. So much it’s made a normally rational girl like me stupid. Lusting after a villain.

How sad.

“Who are you?” I ask out loud,again. “Where are you taking me?”

“Home, Lyra,” The Bronze Man replies, eyes still closed. “We’re taking you home.”

~

“Are you okayin there?”

Ignoring the voice on the other side of the door, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Red-rimmed brown eyes, tear-stained cheeks, quivering lips. Dark-brown flyaway tendrils sticking to my cheek. I suck on my bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

Home.

At first, I didn’t understand the monumental significance of the word. I figured he meant home to whereverhelived. I’d been about to ask where his home was, when the pilot’s voice cracked over the intercom, telling us to prepare for takeoff.

That we would be landing in Los Angeles in 9.34 hours.

Home.