Page 3 of The Bronze Garza

Jhay Byrd calling…

On cue.

I hold my breath and hope this isthecall. ‘Cause, man, I want to be done andoutof this damn place.

“Tell me we’re good, Jhay,” I answer, “‘cause I just got another perfect opportunity and I don’t wannalose it.”

A raspy chuckle. “Well, that’s a bummer. Was hoping I could get another job out of you while you’re still there.”

“No.”

“I couldmakeyou.”

“Kill me,” I dare her. “Then good luck trying to find another me.”

Shecankill me. In a blink. And even if she couldn’t find another me, she couldmakeone. But with this organization, one of the most powerful organizations in the world, puppeteers of world leaders, showing any kind of fear or malleability is a bad move. And death, they need to believe you don’t fear it. No weak spots, or they’ll attack it hard to get what they want.

A long pause. “Okay, fine,” she sighs out. “We’re good. I’ll instruct the team to give you whatever you want. Until next time, Torin Garza.”

The call ends.

I glance up at Reuben and almost smile. Almost. “It’s time.”

ChapterTwo

“Not like the others.”

Lyra

He’s here again.

Though it’s not for me.

It’s never for me.

As he strides with austere confidence through the main area of the checker-floored penthouse, where all the Diamond Girls are lounged in racy lingerie like oiled hens primed for plucking, he casts a brief glance at me.

It’s uninterested. Dismissive.Meh. The same glance tossed at me by ninety-nine percent of the men who pass through here.

Unappealing. Unappetizing. Unattractive.

The lascivious, lip-licking, palm-rubbing reactions are reserved for Kimbella, Zoey, and Jess. Everyone’s favorite Diamond Girls.

I’m not jealous of them.Relievedis more like it, considering I’m not here of my own free will and am not spreading my legs for despicable strangers because Iwantto. I don’t have a choice in the matter, so I deem it a boon that I’m not appealing enough for these men. I take their snobby once-overs as a compliment.

Here, in Russia, the men seem to prefer women who look like trees in winter—skinny to the bone and pale to near translucency.

There’s too much flesh on my body. Too much width to my hips. Too much tits and ass. Rolls on my stomach when I sit. Skin too tan—thanks to my Grecian-Romanian mother. Thick lips that ask too many questions, and wide eyes that observe too closely.

The men who choose me are usually distinct foreigners, passing through for the night or a weekend. Blacks, Latinos, and the occasional Italian.

Which is why, whenhewalked in the first time and didn’t choose me, I was left stunned.

Men who look like him always go for me or Simone—the only Black Diamond Girl here.

I don’t know what he is. He speaks the Italian tongue as well as English, and has a smooth, burnish complexion—like bronze, or topaz. Silken dark hair and moss-green eyes.

Since day one, I’ve been perpetually repulsed, by everything and everyone. Only managing to make it through each day—without stealing a knife and sticking it in my throat—by taking the pills that are offered; pills that numb me and make me forget myself and my predicament.