The First day
Linda
Linda tapped her neatly polished nails against the marbled counter, eyes scanning the rows of pastries — donuts, cookies, and her most treasured indulgence, macarons.
“Here you go,” the salesgirl smiled, handing her a well-packaged, chocolate-filled croissant.
Linda returned the smile, slipping two crisp hundred-dollar bills onto the counter. “Thanks.”
With her treat in hand, she stepped out of the shop and sighed. Finally — her one-week vacation had begun.
When she was younger, she thought being a boss meant endless spa days, beach parties, and a secretary to handle all the work. How wrong she had been. The last spa day she could even remember was back when she was seventeen. Another sigh escaped her lips.
‘This time, I’m going to make the most of it.’
She walked to her Volvo 850, opened the driver’s door, and placed both her bag and the paper bag holding her croissant on the passenger seat. A genuine smile lit her face as she slid into the driver’s seat.
Just as she was about to shut the door, her car keys slipped and fell. She bent slightly, one leg outside the car, to pick them up — and froze. Cold grey eyes locked onto hers.
Startled, she snapped upright and slammed the door shut.
‘No… I’m imagining things. No one’s giving me a death glare from that café bistro table. You’re just paranoid, Linda. It’s day one of vacation, don’t ruin it.’
She inhaled deeply, repeating to herself, No one’s there.
When she finally dared to check the side mirror — nothing.
Chuckling at her paranoia, she started the car. But as she adjusted the rearview mirror, her blood ran cold. The same eyes. A man in black and white stood beside the car parked behind hers. She knew that face. Richard Lawson.
But how?
Heart pounding, she turned the ignition and pulled away. A Camry slid into the lane behind her, tailing close.
“Shit.” She snatched her phone from her bag and dialed quickly.
“Stance,” she said when the line picked up, panic edging her voice, “can you tell me why Richard Lawson is following me instead of rotting in prison?”
“Richard who?” came the masculine voice on the other end.
Her temper spiked. “What?! Did you just say Richard who?”
“Oh! Richard Lawson!” Stance’s tone shifted as he remembered. “His sentence was cut by five years. He was released last week.”
“What? Who cut his sentence short?” Confusion and frustration tangled in her chest.
“I don’t have the details right now. Why? What’s wrong?”
“He’s following me,” Linda snapped, “And I doubt it’s to exchange pleasantries.”
Silence hummed on the line before she demanded, “How far’s the nearest police station from me?”
“That’d be Eastwood Station. About five miles.”
“Eastwood. Thanks.” She hung up before he could say more.
Her grip tightened on the wheel as she sped up, taking the next turn. The Camry followed.
Day one of her vacation, and the universe just couldn’t let her breathe.
Her frown deepened until relief washed over her at the sight of the station. She pulled into the parking lot, checked the rearview — the Camry was gone.
Head falling back against the headrest, she closed her eyes and let a shaky smile form. It can’t get any worse, she told herself, starting the car again. Time to head home for some real rest.
---
Nacho
The bar was dim, heavy with cheap cologne, cigarette smoke, and spilled beer. Music droned from a jukebox, not loud enough to drown out the laughter.
Carlos slouched against the counter, whiskey glass dangling from his fingers. His voice was slurred but cocky.
“Man……I swear… I could run this whole damn city if I wanted to.” He jabbed a finger like he was making a speech.
Beside him, Nacho sat straighter, jacket still draped neatly over his shoulders. His cheeks were faintly flushed, but his composure remained intact. A half-finished glass of wine sat untouched before him.
“You can barely run your mouth right now,” he replied coolly, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.
Carlos barked a laugh, nearly spilling his drink. “That’s why I got you, Nacho! You’re the anchor. I’m the fireworks.”
Nacho shook his head, half amused, half worried. Carlos was reckless, wild, and unpredictable — but always his friend.
“I am Carlos Vega!” Carlos suddenly bellowed, staggering to his feet before collapsing back onto the stool. “And I am hot as hell!”
Nacho stood, snatching the glass from his hand. “That’s enough for one night.”
“No, no!” Carlos swatted weakly. “I can handle myself.”
“Fine. Meet me in the car,” Nacho said at last, watching his friend stagger out with forced dignity.
Nacho turned to the bartender, slipping her his card.
“Best friend or brother?” she asked, eyes lingering on Carlos’s exit.
“Both,” Nacho answered plainly.
The bar had thinned out, just the bartender and a quiet couple in the corner.
“It’s already nine. We must have kept you—” A crash shattered his words.
“Carlos.” Nacho knew instantly.
He rushed toward the sound. Carlos and a broad-shouldered stranger were locked in a violent brawl. Carlos’s shirt was torn, his knuckles bloody, but his grin was feral.
The stranger’s fist connected with Carlos’s jaw, making him stagger. Carlos spat blood, laughed low, and lunged back, twisting the man’s arm and pinning him to the wall.
The bartender gasped, frozen. The couple huddled in fear.
“Carlos, stop!” Nacho grabbed at him. Carlos’s eyes burned as he shoved Nacho aside.
“Let him go,” Nacho urged.
But Carlos only chuckled, and with chilling calm drew a pistol from inside his jacket. The bar went deathly silent.
“You think I don’t remember you?” Carlos pressed the barrel into the man’s ribs, voice sharp and sober now. “Your brother was in the way. That contract, that land — it was mine. And I took it.”
Fear flickered in the stranger’s eyes. Nacho’s pulse raced.
“Carlos. This isn’t you,” he said urgently. “Put it away.”
But Carlos ignored him, whispering something dark into the man’s ear before shoving him back, still clutching the gun.
The stranger fought back, grabbing the weapon. They struggled, tugging for control.
Nacho moved, ready to intervene — and then, BANG.
The gunshot echoed through the bar. The woman in the corner fainted. The bartender stood frozen.
Nacho’s eyes widened. Carlos’s breath caught, shock plastered on his face. His skin drained of color
