Page 150 of The Crowned Garza
Tillie
THE HELICOPTER LANDS USinto a roiling cauldron of tension.
Before we’ve even properly descended the aircraft, over a dozen stony-faced men in black suits meet us on the tarmac.
These damn secret society people—whom I shall henceforth refer to as The Overprotectors—are annoying as hell.
Apparently, Saint thinks so, too. Because he initiates an intense face-off with the leader of the pack, and a growly shouting match ensues.
Frighteningly furious, Saint demands to know why there wasn’t a discussion on the handling of Iseppa, what gave them the right.
The leader of the pack makes it clear, in no uncertain terms, that Saint is anassetto them, that he’s of no use to them or Torin, busted up, bedridden, or dead. That Saint has proven he can’t be trusted not to endanger his life unnecessarily. That as far as they’re concerned, Iseppa was a threat to his life. And until he proves he can be trusted not to senselessly put himself in dangerous situations, he will be under strict and unyielding protection and monitoring.
After that terrifyingly intense showdown, in which Saint has no option but to yield, I’m pulled in one direction, and him in another.
Forced into separate cars.
The two stoic men in the car with me ignore all my questions in regards to where Saint is being taken. Without asking for directions, they drive me straight home, leaving me on the curb without a single glance.
The Overprotectors arenota fan of me, that’s for certain.
As I’m climbing the steps to my house, a text comes in on my new phone.
My Dream:I’m fine, I promise. Don’t worry. Be a good girl and relax for me?
Me:Only if you promise to stay alive for me.
My Dream:Prometto.
Wearily, I plod into the house and find True asleep on my couch.
These freaking cockroaches!
Grabbing a throw pillow, I smack him in the face with it.
Like Jack-In-The-Box, he jerks awake, blinking rapidly.
“What’re you doing in my house, you termite?” I half-shout.
“What do you think?” He rubs his eyes. “You narced on us. London kicked me out. Trent’s in your guestroom. Lexi kicked him out, too.”
Oh.
A few days ago, I tattled to their women in an effort to rally them to ally with me and asked them to show their support by withholding something important to their men that would make them lose it. The women all agreed that “something” was sex.
The ousting part is news to me, though. Solidarity. I like it.
“Well, you can’t stay here,” I tell him. “Go pitch a tent on the side of the road or something.”
“Is that Tillie?” Trent’s voice booms from down the hall.
Stomping footsteps approach, and seconds later, the scowling twin comes into view. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“You don’t get to ask me shit,” I snap back. “And why aren’t you at work anyway?”
“Why the hell do you think, T? Red Cage doesn’t function without Guy. The only departments still operating right now are tech and private security. Everything else is at a standstill. Our jobs are fucked and, thanks to you, our women want nothing to do with us.”
“What sad lives you live,” I mutter with open disinterest.
