Page 37 of Falcon's Prey

One holiday intrigued me, in particular.El Día de los Muertos.Day of the Dead. As a society, we feared death because we feared the unknown. A holiday dedicated to celebrating it fascinated me.

“What are we doing here?” Ren scanned the area, looking skeptical about getting out.

People were walking down the street. Someone was selling corn on the corner, and kids play with a soccer ball in the empty parking lot. I thought the place was bursting with life.

“I’ll be quick,” I told Ren as I got out of the car. I was about to get the door open when he grabbed my elbow.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t get to run away from me?”

“Wait in the car.” I turned around and crossed my arms, glaring at him.

“Either I go in with you, or I carry your ass back to the car.”

He stared me down. The harder I glared, the more I could see the laughter in his eyes.

“Don’t say a word.” I pointed a finger at him.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. Seriously, sometimes I didn’t get this guy. He ran hot and cold, but I guess he could say the same about me.

The place smelled like flowers. I liked the fresh smell; it was pure.

Mrs. Rosales came from the back and greeted me. “Niña.”

“Hóla,” I greeted her, making my way to the counter.

“I see you have another one,” she mused at Ren.

“This one is annoying,” I told her.

She looked at Ren and then at me, and she smiled. “Está guapo.”

Yeah, not going there.I was going to pretend like I didn’t know what she said.

“I brought donations for the festival, and Jorge told me my stuff was ready.”

I could feel Ren staring at me, but I ignored the heat of his gaze. I would rather he never knew this about me, but he was like a thorn in my side.

“Jorge!” Mrs. Rosales yelled.

“Sí, abuela.”

Jorge came out. He looked taller than the last time I’d seen him. He was tan with dark eyes, skinny, but now with a little muscle.

“Brasa.”

I gave him a look. He got a kick out of saying Ember in Spanish. He came up to me, ready to give me a hug, but Ren pulled me back.

What. The. Hell?

“Let me go.”

Jorge just shrugged it off. “So, now that I’m nineteen, will you go on a date with me?”

“Hor-hay, boy. Eighteen, nineteen, thirty, I’m not the girl for you. You need a good girl.” I told him the same thing I’d been telling him since I met him. He thought I was joking, but I wasn’t.

“Denied again.” He shook his head but had a smile on his face. “I’ll get your stuff.”

While Mrs. Rosales helped him, I put my wallet on the table and wrote the check. I needed to make sure I laid low and didn’t get the board pissed at me so it could clear.

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