Page 5 of Broken Cracks
“Isabella.”
Isabella. Sweet, sweet Isabella. As soon as I hear her soft, melodic voice, I feel better. That’s the right name. She is an Isabella—nothing else would fit.
“Isabella, nice to meet you, I’m Fiona. Come on over with us.” I don’t know if she gets what Fiona is saying, but she’s walking away with them. Her head rotates to look over her shoulder at me, and I wave back at her. Talking to the guys is next and I have to explain myself.
I walk over with a grim face to Slash, Bull, Snatch, and Sledge gathered in the group. Bull is slumped, thumping his hand on the table, and rolling his eyes. I pull up a chair and sit on it backwards.
“I had to take her. Sledge told you about the border, yeah?” I asked, addressing them all.
“Yep, I told them. You gotta explain the rest though, because I ain’t got no clue what you’re doing,” Sledge commented.
“Fine. When I was talking to Tito, one of the soldiers was coming onto her. He had this rapey look in his motherfucking eye. He was a horny little fucker and would stop at nothing to satisfy his urges from the way he was looking at her. I had to, she’s terrified and innocent. I could feel her energy, there was this weird jolt through my body that I can't explain. I had to do it without stirring the pot because Sledge and I were outnumbered and there was no way we would have made it out alive if we got into it with Tito and the soldiers.” I shrugged. “So, the next best thing was buying her.”
“Tha fuck it was!” Bull shook his head, but all the others sat quietly processing. I’m sure they got it. Next up was to try and tell Isabella I meant no harm to her.
I called her over to me a little away from the girls; this was a private conversation to be had.
“You don't have to be afraid of me, I'm not going to hurt you,” I say in a placid voice, but I don’t look placid, I look like a skinhead rebel. I’m aware and there’s a great irony in that, but this time it’s the plain old truth. I can see the whites of her eyes as she recoils from me. I got some convincing to do by the looks of it. “I know how this looks. Think of it this way, I didn't buy you, I bought your freedom. You're free to do whatever you want, you can come and go as you please, if you please. You want the truth?"
She nods.
“I saw what Tito's guy was trying to do to you and I couldn't let that happen.”
Astonishment covers Isabella’s face, and I’m hoping it’s enough. She clearly understands me, so I know I can talk to her in English, and then I receive the shock.
“I had no idea you saw what he was doing,” she admits softly.
One of the club prospects interrupts the headway I’m making. “Yo, Psych! Some Mexican guy is out front, saying you owe him money.”
I can feel her clam up into her shell. I want to help her, but with the door slammed shut, there’s not much I can do at the moment.
Chapter Four
Isabella
I’m not as wary and as terrified as when I was on the back of the bike. Both girls are nice people so far and the least bit scary to me.
“Hey, I think we’re about the same size and I have some clothes for you. What do you think, Isabella?” Fiona asks me as we walk through to the back of the club. She’s slim like me and she’s pretty. Her beautiful blue eyes are big, but not the same blue as Damon’s.
I hold my arm as I walk slightly behind her, feeling self-conscious that I’m at the mercy of someone else. I’m about to chew through my lip, and my first inclination is to find an exit to run, but I’m going nowhere fast, and I’m even scared to go. I can’t do that either, so I stand and wait. There’s a connection and a pitiful look that she casts my way. It lets me know that we’ve gone through similar tough times. That can be the only reason she’s giving me the look.
“Sure, I've been in these ones a while,” I admit, feeling the weight of being groggy, tired, and dirty. I’ve been in the same clothes for the last two days, traveling on the back of an old dusty pick-up, and it’s been a long road of fear and trepidation the whole way.
She takes me down a corridor with a bunch of large rooms and one of them is hers. It’s a nice space and I’m surprised. It’s nothing like the Mayan show my father introduced me to. It’s clean, neat, and there are showers as well.
“Here we go, these should be good. Feel free to take a shower, and my shower gel, shampoo, and conditioner are free to use. Go right ahead.” She smiles as my anxiety levels drop and she hands me a bunch of folded clothes.
“I have other clothes if those don’t fit either. Let us know,” the other girl states. She has lighter-colored hair, but she’s very sweet as well and overall, I’m feeling like it’s okay to be here.
“Thank you.” I feel grateful that I’m not being shot at or harmed for once.
“You can sleep in my room if you need to,” the same girl says, and I wonder if they’re like me and that’s how they got here.
I thank them again—to rest my eyes without worry of someone climbing into bed with me brings a sense of relief. As I shower, I let the hot water beads flow over my body. It feels so good. I shampoo my hair, watching the pile of dirt flow down the drain along with the golden dust from the bumpy roads we traveled. Once I’m fully clean, I step into the freshly-laundered clothes, feeling human once more. I can feel my feet and how sore they are, and it’s nice to see my fingernails without cakes of dirt underneath them.
I dry my strands and overhear Fiona and Simone talking outside.
"So has Slash made a move yet?"