“What was that about?” Gayle asked.
I spun at the sound of the bakery owner’s voice, not seeing her before. She shooed away the kid behind the register and leaned over the counter.
I let out a sigh and walked toward her. At this point, she was like a second mom to me. “I just wanted to get home.”
Gayle looked through the painted windows at the parking lot. “I don’t see your car?”
“She drove me.”
“So...you wanted to get home so you had your friend drive you here?” Her eyebrows drew together. “Something’s not measuring up, kid.”
A tall, slim man passed through the swinging doors to the kitchen. “I told you I’d get new measuring cups!”
Gayle batted her hand at her husband. “We’re not talking about that...but it’s about time,” she added.
Shaking his head, Chris came to the counter and leaned beside his wife. “What’s up, Jordo?”
I shook my head at his nickname. He was definitely the only one allowed to call me that. “I just didn’t want my friend driving me home is all. Is it a crime to want some fresh air?”
Gayle raised her eyebrows. “When it’s fifty degrees outside? Maybe.”
“You need a ride?” Chris asked. “I can drop you off real quick.”
I shook my head. “No, no, no. I just—it’s one of my friends from the Academy, and I didn’t want her seeing...” My sentence hung between us.
Gayle and Chris were Seaton natives, like me, and they had built their life and business here. They understood as much as anyone how hard it had been for me to leave public school and switch to the Academy.
Chris lifted a corner of his mouth. “You know, Beckett’s been great to have around. Kind with the customers...if that’s what your friends are like, I’d say they probably don’t care where you live.”
“But I do,” I said. The second they saw my run-down apartment, they’d feel sorry for me, start giving me things they wouldn’t normally. As a ‘ship, I already didn’t fit in. I didn’t need any help.
Gayle frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride?”
I shook my head. “I can walk.”
“You have your pepper spray, right?” Chris asked.
Actually, it was in the glovebox of my car, but I nodded anyway. They were just being overprotective. “I’ll be fine.”
They nodded, and Gayle said, “Be safe, honey.”
“I will.” I smiled and walked toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”
“Bright and early,” Chris said.
With a wave, I walked outside and started down the sidewalk.
I’d taken this path many times before, mostly with Martín. He loved that I could get free desserts here, so half of our dates consisted of us hanging out at the bakery. Now sitting inside didn’t seem as sweet.
The walk from the bakery to my apartment wasn’t the safest to make by myself at night, but I’d hurry. Hitching my backpack over my shoulder, I clenched my phone in my hand and picked up the pace. In the distance, I could hear car engines gunning—a street race. I’d been in a few of those with Martín, against all my wishes.
The more I thought of him, the angrier I got. The nerve of that guy, treating me like he did and then calling me after I’d blocked him, requesting—no, ordering—a meeting.
I sneered at his memory, but no one could see. The streets were mostly empty and dark, without regular streetlamps. If I saw Martín face to face, I’d tell him. He’d see the disgust on my face. The contempt in my voice.
I was so deep in my plotting that I missed the dark car with tinted windows driving around the apartment complex’s parking lot. Didn’t see it slow and stop.
But I heard the door open and then slam shut.
I froze, seeing Martín’s frame silhouetted by the lot’s floodlights. What was he doing here?
“Jordan, why are you out here by yourself?” he barked, but his voice was fuzzy.
I gripped my phone tighter. “I was with my friends.”
His footsteps were heavy on the ground as he wobbled toward me. “Friends? You don’t have any amigas since you switched to that rich school.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Get out of here, Martín.”
“You don’t tell me what to do,” he spat, literally, on the ground. “Puta.”
My lip curled in disgust at the swear word. “You’re drunk. Go home.”
He stepped closer, and I backed up. His meaty fingers clenched around my wrist, and I opened my mouth to yell for help, ask him to stop, but nothing came out. Why couldn’t I yell? I felt powerless, helpless, and his grip was tight. Too tight.
“Let her go!” a voice yelled, controlled but ready to snap.
Martín turned his big dumb head away, and I tried to use the distraction to jerk out of his grasp, but he doubled down, squeezing even tighter.
I finally found my voice as I cried out with pain. “Ouch! You’re hurting me!”
“Good,” he growled.
“I said, let her go!” The voice was just as loud but twice as deadly.
Hope swelled in me so strongly it almost hurt. I had no idea who was here, but I loved them.
As a thin figure approached us, all hope fled my chest. What was Kai doing here? He had no business being at my house and absolutely no chance against Martín. What I used to see as big and secure was now suffocating, terrifying. Especially since it outweighed my only defender by at least a hundred pounds.
If Kai noticed how outmatched he was, he ignored it, running right up to us. “Back off of her!” He shoved Martín’s shoulder, barely causing him to move despite the inebriation.
Finally, Martín released my wrist, and I cradled it with my other hand. The returning blood pumped painfully through my veins.
Now Martín spun on Kai, reaching his beefy arms out to shove him. I screamed, fearing Kai would be hurt, but he ducked easily out of the way.
“Go home,” Kai warned.
“You screwing my girl?” Martín roared.
“Go home,” Kai said through clenched teeth.
Martín stalled, his chest heaving, and then turned like he was going toward his car, but he swiveled at the last second and slung a fist at Kai.
Kai was ready. He ducked out of the way and jabbed quickly at Martín’s throat. A strangled cry came out his fleshy lips, and he grabbed at the spot Kai had hit.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and Martín’s eyes got wide. He stumbled toward his car, letting out a string of curse words on the way.
The door slammed, and his tires squealed against the pavement.
“He’s so drunk,” I managed, worrying he might hurt someone else in his escape.
Kai reached into his pockets, grabbed his phone, and held it to his ear. “Did you hear that?” His deadly, glittering eyes followed Martín’s car. “He’s intoxicated. Heading south on Bixby...I can’t see him anymore.” He hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket.
I stared at him, unable to find words. What just happened?
His fingers went to my wrist, gingerly turning it so he could examine it. “Are you okay?”
I was still stuck in stunned silence, though. How had he just taken down a guy twice his size? And how was he here? At my apartment complex?