Brutal Heir (Billionaire Heirs #2)

Chapter 31

Sage

The scent of pizza wafts into my nostrils, making my stomach growl in anticipation. It’s been a long day, and all I want is to relax with some good food and even better company. It’s been months since I’ve had pizza, and it’s more tempting than I thought it would be. I’ve actually considered sneaking a slice before I get to the ranch. But, somehow, I’ve managed to hold back.

The thought of Ezequiel waiting for me sends a shiver of excitement down my spine. He didn’t ask me what was wrong, why I felt I needed meds to make it through. But I’ve already made up my mind to tell him. I can’t keep it bottled up forever, and I don’t think he’ll judge me too harshly.

On the heels of that thought, my phone dings, announcing a message coming in. The ringtone says it’s a message from Dad, which sobers me quicker than seeing the porch light come on when trying to sneak in after curfew on a school night.

Dad and Mom have been trying to get in touch with me, but I’ve been keeping them at bay. He’s been giving me space to settle in, which is a lot coming from him.

I pull up to the gate and put the truck in park before picking up my phone. It’s been a while, but I think I may finally be ready to talk to them. I consider what to say. I’ve had his email sitting in my inbox, waiting. Should I just reply to that instead of calling?

I know he’s going to start out about the inci…the beating I took. Meanwhile, Mom, an avid churchgoer, will try to get me to forgive and forget so I can move on. Sigh. I still have issues seeing past the fact the guy was an out-of-control criminal. I can’t deal with that in my life, and I don’t know that I ever will.

That still leaves me at a crossroads. Dad’s made the first move, and Mom’s made another. That means I’m next, so I pull up his text and read what he wrote.

Hey, pumpkin. Checking in. Hope you got to take a day off and enjoy the holiday. We’re flipping burgers at home, thinking about you. Miss you. Your mother’s praying for you.

Taking a deep breath, I try writing a reply. Everything I come up with is either too formal or too dismissive. I need something like the Goldilocks of texts. Not too long, not too short. Not too gripping, not too flippant.

My stomach rumbles. I drop my hand on the steering wheel and shake my head. Why did I ever think I could do this quickly? Ugh, why did I think I could do this, period?

Putting the phone in the cup holder, I exit the truck and glance around, checking the ground around me for any sign of danger. The sun is setting, the light turning dim all around me. Thankfully, everything seems quiet and peaceful, so I let out a sigh of relief.

Taking a few extra minutes, I go to the back seat and open the new snake guards I picked up earlier.

Pulling one out of the package, I wrap it on my left shin and set the Velcro strap in place then don the other. I wiggle each leg for good measure. These things feel really stiff, but it’s better than the alternative. With a vehicle coming down the highway, I straighten up and shut the door.

My body practically buzzes with anticipation as I approach the gate leading to Ezequiel’s house. I can’t wait for him to see me in these. My mind is already focused on what’s to come. Pizza. A warm bath in that monstrous bathtub. And, of course, Ezequiel.

Pulling up the chain, I palm the lock and cringe, quickly switching to holding it with my thumb and index finger. The metal has been baking in the hot sun all day. I flip it up to see the base then proceed to put the numbers in the right order.

My moment of peace is shattered by the revving of a loud engine.

My heart jumps into my throat as I turn to see a pickup truck bearing down on me. I fumble with the chain, trying to get past the gate so I don’t get crushed. The truck skids to a stop a few yards away. The dust it kicks up surrounds me like a cloud, stinging my eyes and making it hard to breathe.

My heart races as the passenger door opens. A dark, bulky man steps out and heads toward me, rocks crunching sharply with each quick, determined step.

My mind’s racing. I have to call Ezequiel, but I left my phone in the truck. The passenger door is locked, so I make a run for the driver’s side. He’s too fast, getting in my path, effectively blocking my way.

I stop in my tracks, weighing my options…or I would if I had any. Once again, I wish I had a weapon. “What do you want?” I back away, putting as much space between us as possible, but he keeps coming.

His expression turns murderous. “I want the money you cost me,” he says in accented English, “you stupid bitch.”

Before I can react, he grabs me and hurls me onto the ground like I don’t weigh a thing. I slam into the caliche underfoot; sharp rocks and grit dig into my arm and side.

Memories of the last time I was attacked flood my senses. The same fear and panic rise up inside me. I swallow hard, keeping the bile at bay, taking deep breaths to steady myself.

“I don’t have your money.” I shake my head, bracing myself on an elbow against the sunbaked ground. “ I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A second man, the driver, gets out. His hat’s pulled low, so I can’t see his face as he takes quick steps to go behind my attacker and get in my truck. Is this a carjacking? No, it can’t be. The man who threw me is wearing a designer shirt. His boots are dark, smooth, and recently shined.

His fingers curl into me like a vise. He drags me up, off the ground, tearing my sleeveless blouse in the process, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

“She doesn’t have my money.” The heat of his breath hits me square in the face, suffocating me with the stench of cigarettes. He’s so close, I can see the pores on his nose, the light layer of dust that’s settled on his face and hair.

I try to push him away, but he’s too strong.

“You cost me a lot of money, chica ,” he sneers. “And now it’s time to pay up.”

He’s going to punch me. My pulse is pounding against my temple as I struggle to break free. My gaze is focused on his fist, expecting it to come down on me again. I want to scream. I want to run. I don’t want to end up in the hospital, slowly trying to heal broken bones.

But he just laughs, the sound of it making my skin crawl.

“Alvaro.” The man inside the truck sticks his head out. His eyes are open wide, his face seeming overly long. “Es Ezequiel.”

My attention turns to the phone in the man’s hand. It’s mine. Ezequiel is calling, but my ears are buzzing so hard I couldn’t hear it ring.

“ Lleva cerveza y comida,” he says, sounding worried. “Y le está hablando Ezequiel,” he says, punctuating with the phone.

So he figured out I have food and beer and Ezequiel is calling me.

Alvaro, the man holding me, shoves me away and reaches for the phone. I scramble backward, trying to put some distance between us.

I know I’m in a mess of trouble, but I’m more concerned about this guy. What happens when the criminal willing to come after me in daylight seems afraid of Ezequiel?