Page 3 of The Crowned Garza
With a reluctant sigh, he stands up and rounds his desk. He opens a drawer, takes something out, and hands it to me.
It’s a photo of a man in a US Army uniform. Looks around mid-twenties.
“This is him?” I ask. “He looks so...normal.”
Serious. A little menacing. But still boringly normal.
Uncle snorts. “That’s the point. Our biggest mistake in life is judging people by their outward appearance. Take no one at face value, son. Half the people you come across are never who they say they are.”
Got it.“What’s his name?”
“On the back.”
I flip the photo over and there’s indeed a name and date of birth scribbled in red ink.
Torin Garza.
CHAPTER ONE
“What’s his name?”
Tillie
Age 19
Beverly Crest, Los Angeles
7 years later…
PRESTON MATTHEWS STARES DOWNthe barrel of my gun.
“Whoa there, Tillie T,” he says with a nervous laugh, arms out in a placative gesture, briefs around his ankles, his unimpressive dick on display. “Just calm down for a minute. You’re misreading the situation, I swear.”
His other two douchebag friends have scampered to one corner of the room, pressing themselves against the wall as if hoping it’ll magically gape open and set them free.
“I am?” I strengthen my stance, desperate for him to give me a reason to pull the trigger. “So youdidn’tdrug her and bring her here to run a train on her with your small-dick friends?”
His answering scoff is anxious, forced. “That’s ridiculous—”
“What’s happening?” Lola rouses and tries to get up but is too out of it to do more than flail her lax limbs around. The sheets shift, exposing her lower half, and my finger twitches on the trigger.
“You son of abitch,” I hiss then point the gun at his dick.
“I-I didn’t know she w-was a virgin, I s-swear,” he stutters out.
“If I could shoot your dick off right now and get away with it, I would, you scum of the earth shitstain,” I say quietly. “But you’ll get what’s yours,promise.”
I drive a backward kick at the door behind me and call out, “In ten seconds, I’m gonna open this door, and if I so much as glimpse anyone out there, someone’s gonna bleed. And you allknowI don’t bluff.”
A commotion ensues on the other side, and only when there’s nothing but silence left behind do I open the door and motion for the three limp dicks to get the hell out.
Once they’ve scurried out, I lock the door, tuck the gun in my purse after putting the safety back on, then rush to the bed. Lola is murmuring and slurring.
Using a travel pack of wet wipes from my purse, I try cleaning her up as much as possible.
“It’s okay, they’re gone,” I whisper. “They’re all gone.”
When she stops slurring and looks at me, tears streaming down her face, I realize she’s not as out of it as I thought—she’d just wanted it to seem that way.
