Page 22 of Splintered Security
I managed not to think of August when I stood before Ren and gave him my wedding vows. I avoided thinking of the childhood image I’d conjured of the same. The one in a chapel with August at Ren’s side. A younger, more carefree Ren. All of us with fewer worries, safely nestled in a more idyllic setting. The fantasy version of a young girl who hadn’t experienced the world.
Considering that… what could’ve been is a beautiful, yet painful alternate reality. Somehow, when we were choosing our own adventure in the book, we turned the wrong page and ended up on rougher paths. Ren certainly didn’t have it easy. The scars on his back are evidence of that. August didn’t even make it to the end of the tale. And I picked up the slack for both of us. The fairytale became grim to say the least.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was low and solid, and he reached his hand for mine yet again. Mine slid into his like it was made to do so. I soaked in his warmth and strength, and for once, didn’t feel the need to fill the car with idle chatter.
The silence has been fine, not awkward or heavy, and he doesn’t make an effort to break it, allowing me the time in my head to sort through my emotions.
That comes to a screeching halt when we get to my rental house in Pueblo, only to discover it blockaded by a trio of motorcycles laden with bikers, each of them with their arms crossed, awaiting our arrival.
Ren’s head turns to me as mine does the same. The question in his eyes changes too quickly from challenge to assessment, and he stares back out the windshield while asking me, “Tell me quickly what I need to know.”
“The middle one is Heath, in case you don’t recognize him. Troy Smith is on the left and Junior Conyers on the right. All are carrying, but Junior prefers a knife. All have LEO connections. They were the witnesses at our wedding. And Heath has keys to the house.”
His gaze whips to mine, and I duck my chin, even though my voice is strong. “Not my choice, Ren.”
“Stay here.”
He exits the car and stands at the driver’s side front tire. His stance is wide and his arms fold over his broad chest. The trio opposite him suddenly look less formidable. In fact, they look like they’re trying to imitate him instead of intimidate him.
If I weren’t so worried, I’d settle for watching this standoff. Instead, I crack a window, hoping to pick up bits of the conversation where I can.
“… Ren Gallo. Who’s asking?”
Heath makes some comment and looks left to right at his boys as they all laugh.
Ren stiffens and stands taller, but gives one curt nod.
Heath continues, but his words don’t carry, making them impossible to hear.
I strain, fighting the mounting frustration of not knowing what’s happening mixed with the fear of what could happen when Heath discovers what we’ve done. His body language clearly articulates what I know of him. That doesn’t bode well for the situation.
Ren says nothing as Heath swings a leg from over his bike, walking to stand between the bikers and our vehicle. He gesticulates and paces and overall looks like he has no control over his emotions.
Ren, though, doesn’t seem to care. His military training is visible in his posture and demeanor. No matter that Heath has back-up and perceived authority in this town, everything from the outside indicates that he’s already lost this battle. He’s emotional, volatile, and reactive.
Ren is staid, watching and calculating. With no warning, he turns, slides back into the SUV and calmly buckles his seat belt. We drive away with none of my stuff and a stewing Ren who seethes all the way home.
I don’t know what I missed, and I hate not being able to soothe the bear, but he gave me silence on the way down. I give him the same as we head back to Denver.
11
door number two
Ren
My phone has been blowing up since seven this morning. Christian wants a word, and I can’t put it off any longer.
I kiss Anni on the forehead, feeling her go soft under the touch. “I won’t be long, and I’ll bring dinner home. Unless you want me to cook?” Her eyes lift as do her lips, but she doesn’t choose. “We’ll figure it out. Mi casa es su casa, so do whatever you need. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I know she won’t leave. Her car was apparently near the club, but that was two nights ago. I have no doubt the City of Denver has already towed it somewhere in the metro area and is stowing it behind high fences with razor wire.
Fine by me. That means where she goes, I go with her.
We need to discuss Heath and Pueblo, specifically how he knew we’d be there. And I’m sure we need to discuss our visit with her mom, Adrienne.
There are lots of things to work through, but as I step out of my SUV at Christian and Ayla Barone’s Cherry Hills Villagehome, I focus on the task at hand. I push open the door to the sitting room off the kitchen—it’s where all the staff enter and exit Barone’s mini-mansion—and head to the office off to the side.
Christian sits in the chair behind his desk and doesn’t bother to stand when I enter. “Ren.” Hell, he doesn’t bother to look up from his screen. “Have a seat.”
