Selena's Men (8 page)

They rode the elevator in silence until it reached the basement garage.

“Malcolm, you don’t have to walk me to my car. I’m perfectly safe,” Sharon scolded.

He knew she was. He’d be able to sense any threat long before it reached them, but with a shrug of his shoulders, he indicated for her to lead the way. She huffed, but didn’t argue any further. They reached her regular parking space and she stopped, eyes wide, and looked around. He watched her rub her eyes and do another small circle, then she rested her gaze on him. He knew he had a goofy smile on his face, but she looked so darn cute with her hands on her ample hips while she tapped her sensible loafers.

“Did you forget where you parked this morning?” Malcolm asked, coughing into his hand to cover his smile.

“No, I did not forget where I parked. Do you think someone stole my car?”

He barked out a laugh. “Why the hell would anyone want to steal your old beater?”

“Bertha is not a beater. She’s the best and most reliable car in the world.”

“You named your damn car Bertha? It’s a wonder it didn’t break down on you for that offense alone.”

When she reared back with her arm preparing to pummel him with her overly large bag, he laughed and held his hands up in surrender.

“You take that back. I love that car.”

“Well, I hope you can learn to love that car,” Malcolm said, pointing at a brand new Mercedes-Benz SL-Class.

“What are you talking about?” She looked truly puzzled and a little upset.

Malcolm didn’t like to see a female of any age cry.

“Happy Birthday Sharon.” He held up a set of keys and passed them to her. She looked at them, and then at the car before finally looking back up at him.

“You bought me a car?”

He shuffled his feet and nodded.

“Where is my old car?”

“Your daughter came and took it. She said you would want to keep it.”

He didn’t know why anyone would want to keep a VW Beetle that was over forty years old, but who was he to judge? He loved classic cars. Hell, his garage was stocked with several. She was looking at him like he was strange again and he could feel heat rise in his cheeks.

“Thank you, Malcolm King. You are a good man,” Sharon said before she burst into tears.

Malcolm dropped his head back and sighed up at the ceiling, and then he stepped forward and folded her into his arms. He knew she was all bluster when she ordered everyone around, but inside she was that motherly sort, who turned to goo when anyone did something nice for her. He held her until her tears stopped and she pulled out a tissue she somehow found in that cavernous bag.

“So do you like it?”

“What’s not to like? Oh my goodness, it’s beautiful, and you even got the same color as my beloved Bertha.”

“Please, please tell me you are not going to name this car Bertha.”

“I will have to ponder it, and get to know this girl first.”

He laughed when she compared her old clunker to the $200,000 machine in front of her. He showed her how there wasn’t really a key, but a push button. After she marveled at the car, he stood back and waited until she familiarized herself and finally pulled off, before he dematerialized.

* * * *

Tamara stood in the shadows undetected by Malcolm and his secretary. She smiled at the interaction between the two. When Sharon got into her new car, Tamara hurried around the corner before they spotted her.

Tamara’s mama was always right, and this time was no exception.
Bertha.
She nearly laughed her ass off at the disgust in his tone. Her best friend Selena had a way of naming her own vehicles the most absurd names possible too. The first vehicle she was given at the age of sixteen was a shiny silver jeep, which she immediately named Bullet. Why? Of course because it was silver like a bullet, she’d exclaimed. The girl had no imagination. But Tamara loved her.

Yeah, poor Malcolm was going to have fits with her girl Selena, and she couldn’t wait to see the fireworks those two, or three, if her mama was correct. Her mama always was right.

She reached in her bag as she walked out of the parking garage, flagging a cab while she walked. “Hola, Chica. Whatcha doin’?”

Tamara and Selena chatted for a few minutes. Afterward she filled her best friend in on the details of the meeting, minus the parking-garage snooping. There was no reason to give her that information, since Selena tended to be a bit of a stickler against what she called bad manners
.

When it came to Selena, Tamara would do everything within her limited power to protect her, even call on her mama. Now, she had real abilities that made the hair on the back of Tamara’s neck stand up.

If she was right, and Tamara was always right, then before long her best friend was going to be finding herself between a rock and a hard place. She snickered at her own internal dialogue, causing the cabby to give her strange looks. She gave him her best death stare, the one she often gave her own brothers. He turned back to the road and navigated the busy LA streets.

She had two more days in California, a yellow two-piece that wanted to be covered in sand, and a holiday that she deserved. Sunny days with the windows open at night on the beach, was just what she needed.

The dream that kept returning even in her waking hours telling her it would be her last, made it even more imperative she make it count. Yeah, being right all the time sucked major monkey balls.

So she was taking this time to do just that. Her brand new two-piece bathing suit was going to get covered in sand and ocean water, maybe even some gorgeous man juice. It’d been way too long since she’d let herself be covered in anything man-related.

Up ahead the tiny cottage she’d bought came into view. It’d taken over an hour once they’d left the city to get there, with no neighbors close by. Privacy was key.

“You all alone out here, little girl?”

Oh yeah, she knew what the bastard was thinking. “Nope, big guy. My husband is inside waiting for me. Would you like to come in and have a drink?” For the thousandth time she was glad Selena insisted they wore fake wedding rings when they travelled. Of course she had no doubt she could take care of herself, but then she’d have to call the police. Then there’d be a report. Then there’d be a paper trail.

“Oh…No, I just worried about leaving such a lovely lady out here all alone.”

Tamara barely stopped the snort from escaping, but the sunglasses hid the eye roll that she couldn’t control. “Oh, that’s very
kind
of you. Brutus will be very happy to hear humanity still exists.”

She hated waiting for him to open her door, but as soon as the bastard lifted the handle she gave him a little help with a shove. He stumbled back a step before righting himself. The saccharine smile didn’t quite meet her eyes. At five foot nine and in her five-inch heels she towered over his much shorter frame, giving her the upper hand.

The ringing of her phone distracted her and him. “Hola. Oh are you on the beach then? Si, I’ll be right down. Just paying the cabby. His name is Carl. Oh yes, he was very friendly. His cab number? Just a second.” Tamara looked at the numbers on the cab. “243. Of course I tipped him well. Geez. Hold on. Thanks Carl.” Tamara gave the cabby the required fee plus tip and walked beside the cottage toward the beach. The sound of tires on gravel as he backed out reached her ears while she continued toward the water.

She hit end on the fake call she’d initiated with just a touch of a button on her smart phone. “What a complete dick,” she snarled.

He was not the gorgeous man she planned to let see her yellow bikini. The sand under her feet felt good between her toes, warm and soothing, an ache deep within her soul. Goddess, she was going to miss this.

Tamara sat on one of the Adirondack chairs that faced the ocean. She remembered the first time she’d seen Selena Ramos. A smile curved her mouth, and she closed her eyes and thought back to the day so many years ago.

Tamara had gone out to get fresh eggs for her mama. It was early, but the sun was up and it was only around the corner. They’d only been in Texas for a couple of months, having moved from the bayou that Tamara had loved. She still wasn’t sure why her mama wanted them to live there, only that mama Mejia said she’d had a vision. Sometimes Tamara hated her mama’s visions.

She wasn’t really paying attention to her surroundings, just thinking about how she wished she was back home. Not Texas home, but her swamp. She missed the gators, and the people there. Texas was too big, too strange, and the people talked funny.

At sixteen she was already taller than most of the boys in her class and had already been asked out by half the football team. It seemed football was real big in Texas. The saying everything was bigger in Texas made her laugh. You’d think she’d fit right in, what with her being close to five foot nine. She hated being so tall. Add in the fact she had a big chest and she hated that more. Boys tended to look straight at her boobs instead of at her face.

She stepped off the curb near an alley that was a shortcut to her house and contemplated taking it, but dismissed the idea. Her mama told her to stay on the streets where people were. Before she could take more than two steps a hand grabbed her from behind and dragged her deep into the alley.

With one arm wrapped around her waist and one around her mouth she tried to kick out, dropping the grocery bag in the process. She watched in horror as the eggs dropped and broke all over the concrete ground.

Tamara fought the man holding her, used all the techniques her brothers had shown her. An elbow to his midsection, heel to his shin, but never did they teach her what to do when another man punched you in the face while an extra held you.

They dragged her behind a dumpster where three other men were waiting. The stench, or maybe the knowledge of what they planned to do, made Tamara gag.

“Bitch if you throw up on me, I’ll make you lick it up before I make you suck my cock. Do you understand me?”

Tamara swallowed hard, tears clogging her throat.

A hand fisted in her hair. One of the men jerked her head backward, demanding she answer the other man.

She couldn’t get anything to come out of her mouth other than choked sobs. They were going to do whatever they wanted to her, but she’d be damned if she was going to make it easy.

With renewed strength she started flailing. They obviously weren’t expecting her to fight back.

A scream that wasn’t hers pierced the air, and made the men freeze in their attack.

Tamara had never been happier to see an angel in all her life. She had fought as hard as she could, but was no match for the men. They had charged her from all sides and gotten her down to the ground, one holding each arm and leg, leaving one man free. He was going to be the first. Just the thought made Tamara wish for death.

The angel seemed to fly over the garbage can, knocking the men nearest to her in the head with her feet. She spun, lashing out with her hands and feet. Tamara swore sparks flew from the angel’s fingertips. Lying on the cold, hard ground, she heard the crunch of the men’s bones as they tried to fight the smaller girl. The angel’s long blonde hair was in a braid that whipped around in an arc, looking like a weapon too. A man jumped on her back and Tamara tried to yell out a warning, but the girl merely flung him over her shoulder. There was a loud snap followed by the man’s groan, and then silence as the angel punched him in the throat, cutting off his oxygen.

The hum of erratic breathing sounded overly loud and Tamara recognized that the young girl was the one doing the heavy breathing. She had backed herself against the brick wall and was covered in blood splatter. She looked about two seconds away from freaking out.

Tamara scrambled up and righted her clothes as best she could. She went over to where the younger girl was leaning. “Thank you,” Tamara whispered.

“Are you okay? My name is Selena.” She shook so hard her teeth rattled.

“I dreamed about an angel who would save me. I just…” Tamara stopped. She wrapped her shirt together. Both of their clothes were completely ruined.

Tamara smiled at the memory. After she reassured Selena that she hadn’t killed any of the men, she’d taken the younger girl to meet her mama. From that point on they’d been best friends, even though she was three years older than Selena. That day Selena had saved her. Tamara knew it was meant to be that way. She’d dreamt it. But no one could save her this time. She’d dreamt it too. Yeah, it sucked monkey balls always being right.

Selena Ramos couldn’t wait for Redneck Paradise to open its doors here in Kansas City. The Power and Light District was an extremely busy area that didn’t seem to have a down time of year. The seasons went from football to baseball straight into each other and never seemed to lag for customers.

After holding auditions for every aspect of the bar and hand-picking the employees, they were then put through what she and Tamara called
Redneck Hell.
During this time they learned the choreographed dances they were all expected to do. These were mandatory, along with the uniforms. In this business it was all about the tips. Even though they made a good wage, it was all about the tips.