Page 21 of Possession

Then he slams the door in my face.

Well.

Finally, something I can agree with.

5

BOZ, BRIAN, BOSS

Landyn

I’ve decided, from here until the end of time, silence is my friend.

That was after I riddled Boz with enough questions and complaints to fill a town hall meeting during election season. Here is a sampling…

“Where are you taking me?”

“Can someone get married in Mexico without a marriage license?”

“I’m starving.”

“I swear this day will never end.”

“Is your real name Brian?”

“Seriously, is our marriage even real? I didn’t sign anything. I’m sure they have marriage certificates in Mexico, right?”

That’s when he pulled over on the side of the road, got out of the car, grabbed a bag from the back, and got back in. He dug through it and tossed me a clean T-shirt. “Put that on. And, I swear, chica, if you keep asking me questions, I might lose it. We’ve experienced the same day, and it’s been a helluva one. Can we not ride in peace until we get to the house?” I was about to ask whose house we’re going to, but he didn’t give me the chance. He tore off his jacket and bloody dress shirt, yanking his own clean T-shirt over his dirty, white undershirt, before he turned and pointed a finger in my face. “We’re going back to San Diego. I’ve got your passport. If you make one peep to Border Patrol when we go through, you’ll have bigger problems than you do now. Answer yes when they ask who you are and keep your mouth shut. Do you get me?”

I got him loud and clear. So, I nodded, pulled the T-shirt over my head to cover Damian’s blood, and kept my mouth shut.

The shirt swallows me whole and smells like lavender, which is weirdly comforting, given the situation.

Crossing the border was easy and fast. But then again, I’ve never crossed the border at four in the morning. And as much as I don’t want to go anywhere with Brian “Boz” Torres, I feel a little bit closer to home, even though I have no clue if I’ll ever get to go back to the house I grew up in.

Other than my nap on our way back to Tijuana, I haven’t slept. We’re in the early morning hours, the sun will soon rise on a new day. I need a shower, food, and sleep. Then I can focus on what comes next.

Next…

I’m married.

I know what comes next. By the way Boz kissed me after I was forced to promise him my undying love forever and ever, until death, I try not to think about what comes next. In fact, I can’t think about the future at all.

Surviving the present is hard enough.

Which brings me to my current state of silence. I’ve decided I don’t need to know what’s going to happen next as long as no one else kidnaps me.

Being rescued, on the other hand, sounds really good right about now.

The farther we drive north, the more I recognize. I didn’t grow up in La Jolla, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t spend time here. I have friends who grew up here. I’ve been to countless weddings here. Shopped here and dined here and acted like I was from here.

The closer we get to the coast, lots start to sprawl, houses become estates, and the opulence climbs higher and higher up the Joneses chart.

Boz finally slows enough to turn into a wide drive and pulls to a stop in front of a solid black wall that’s manned by an attendant.

Though, from the last twenty-four hours, I imagine he’s no attendant. This is an armed guard, he’s just not out in the open about it as they were in Mexico. When he approaches our car, he looks as serious as the attack on my first wedding yesterday.

Boz rolls down his window and the attendant drags his eyes from me to my new husband. “I don’t know what to say, Boz. No one was closer to him than you. Sorry, man.”

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