Page 19 of Burn for Her

He sure as shit didn’t deserve love or the honor of having a woman who loved him back. No one should be so unfortunate to be tied to someone like him for all eternity.

When Dorian popped his eyes back open, his vision blurred, and he no longer saw himself in the mirror anymore. He saw his father glaring back at him instead.

Angry, scared, withdrawn, and cold, he screamed, “I’m not like you.” But even his words were weak and unconvincing. Heart hammering, he roared again, “I’m not like you!”

Furious to be stuck in this position with no way out but death or damnation, Dorian smashed his fist against the mirror and shattered the goddamned thing to pieces.

Chapter 6

Lena caught up with Bane after a couple days of radio silence. Relief washed over her when she saw Bane’s number light up her phone with a text: All good. Lay low. Be in touch soon. Phew. She worried they might have been arrested. The cops were getting smarter and faster, which meant the fight club was running out of spots to meet in. There wouldn’t be any fights until a new spot was designated. Once that happened, Bane would text her with the location so they could resume the fun.

Lena bit her lip and smiled at the thought. She liked it when they switched meeting places. It made things more exciting.

Man, if her parents could see her now. They were probably rolling over in their graves.

Good.

Okay, that was harsh. But… well… damnit, she was a shitshow and refused to be shamed back into a box and put on a shelf ever again. She always loved her parents but didn’t know why. They had only loved themselves and money. Not her. Never her. She was a tool for them. A bargaining chip.

Now? She was a weapon for herself.

A weapon with no use since there were no fights happening for a while.

Damnit! That left her with nothing to do. Her stomach grumbled. Today was as good a day as any to grab tacos. It was also a good day to make someone else’s day a little brighter. Grabbing her keys, she slid her flats on and hopped in the car for a drive. Before leaving, she texted: Where are you today?

Carmen texted back: South and Main.

Sweet! Fifteen minutes later, Lena pulled into a vacant spot and headed straight towards the food truck, Count Tacola. That name was never going to not be hilarious, and Lena had a good amount of pride in having come up with it when Carmen asked her for a loan to get her business started.

“Holy shit, what happened to your face?” Carmen gawked from the order window.

“You should see the other guy.”

Carmen cringed. She never asked Lena about her bruises and Lena never offered answers. Besides, it wasn’t a secret that Lena trained in boxing, judo, and a few other martial arts, so Carmen most likely assumed this was from one of her lessons.

“Business is doing well, I see.” Lena stuffed her hands in her pockets, her fingers brushing the folded envelope tucked away.

“Well enough to have you paid off sooner than I expected.”

Lena grinned with pride. “I’m not surprised. But you know there’s no rush.”

Two years ago, Lena lent Carmen all she needed to start up her business—from the truck, licenses, supplies and advertising. Carmen promised to have her loan paid off in ten years, but Lena would bet it took half that time. Carmen was a driven woman who built her business and ran it like it was all she lived for. Passion was in her food. Pride was served with every order, too. Count Tacola had become a tourist sensation and local favorite fast. Hell, customers drove up to three hours away to get her street corn alone.

Crazy right? But good for her. Carmen had a vision and was making her dreams come true. Lena was still trying to figure hers out.

“Street corn and a lunch combo number 6. Heavy on the heat, please.”

Carmen grinned. “Coming right up.”

Lena glanced behind her at the line forming. “I’m so proud of you, girl.”

“Not gonna lie, I’m proud of me too.” Carmen scooped the street corn into a paper to-go bowl. “That magazine article really helped. People are coming from all over the place now.”

Yeah, she figured that write-up would boost Carmen’s exposure to a new level. That was the point of Lena’s recent interview with a small business magazine for a piece on legacies. Her tragic backstory, coupled with a string of happy endings, gave the magazine piece a “pay it forward” gold star in popularity. Lena, however, kept the focus targeted on her pride and joy: top picks of local businesses. Carmen’s, especially. Next time, it would be the florist on the other end of town.

“What do I owe you?” Lena asked while grabbing her lunch sack.

“Your money’s no good here and you know it. I’m just so glad you came!”

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