“Mrs.
Martinez?”
“Please, call me Paloma.”
“Then you must call me Quinn. I am so honored to be a part of Yelena’s Quinceanera today.”
“Yelena, this is Ms. Quinn. She’ll be doing your makeup today.”
Her eyes widen. “Mami, you got me a makeup artist!” She jumps, as much as she can in the pink ball gown, and I beam. This is a surprise done right. The moment passes and we head to the room where I set up shop. The vibe is joyful as Spanish and English is spoken. Her friends and family tease her while she sits in the chair and I carefully accent her cheekbones, lips, and eyes, making her seem a little older without over-doing it. Proud, I step back and admire my work.
“What do you think, Paloma?” I ask.
“She’s gorgeous. Ack, mija, you look so grown up.” I hand her mother the hand mirror and hold my breath as she moves the mirror in front of Yelena.
The girl gasps. “Is that me?”
“Sure is, darling,” I say as the warm and fuzzies start.
“But I’m so pretty,” Yelena whispers. Her eyes water and I pat myself on the back for choosing to go with waterproof mascara.
“You were always beautiful, mija.”
It’s like being in the middle of a Hallmark movie. The good feels have me on a high as I continue on to the next person’s makeup. Soon they’re all done up and lined up to make the big entrance. I feel like an interloper, but they insist I stay to watch the opening dance at least. I lean against the wall as she approaches the handsome boy dressed in a white tuxedo with a pink vest.
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you around the famalia.”
I turn toward the man in baggy jeans and a white T-shirt. He stands out like a sore thumb in the sea of nicely dressed men and women. Tattoos wind their way around his neck and arms.
Swallowing, I force a smile as my body tenses. “You haven’t. I did the makeup for the girls.”
“That’s right, Quinn Fleming.” He spits the words out like I’m something indecent.
My stomach bubbles, and I brace myself to keep from taking a step back. If I give an inch, he’ll take a mile. I square my shoulders, grateful for my height. “If you knew who I was, why ask?”
He glares down at me with obsidian eyes full of hatred. “’Cause I want you to know I realize who you are, you little bitch. Going around yapping to dem boys in blue. You need to keep your fucking trap shut.”
My jaw drops and I back pedal.
He follows me, pressing me up against the wall. “You think anyone here is going to help your dumb ass? No, this is my family.” He pats his chest. “I made all this shit possible, so don’t think for a second they’re going to help you. And you best believe, there’s plenty more like me out there. You got anyone willing to go to war for you like that? You see how easy it was to get your stupid ass alone? If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
I can’t breathe as I stumble back, spin on my heels, and run like hell hounds are at my back, refusing to look back. I dig into my pants for my key FOB and hit the open button. I can’t hear footsteps behind me, but I’m not about to slow down. Ripping the door open, I throw my body inside as I fumble with the keys.
My hand shakes as I force the key into the ignition and turn. I slam the door and peel out with my heart in my throat. My brain doesn’t start working properly until I pull up into the parking lot of Maloney Mechanics. I slam on the brakes, not remembering one minute of the trip. Oliver walks out with a smile that quickly slips off his face as I stumble out of my vehicle.
“What happened?”
“They were at my job. Oh my God. They knew my name, and they told me if I knew what was good for me I wouldn’t talk.”
He pulls me into his arms. “Who said this?”
“I don’t know, some Hispanic guy at the Quincera I was hired to work.”
“Did he put his hands on you?” He grips my face between his hands.
“No, but he didn’t need to. There are who knows how many guys out there just like him. Oh my God. What are we going to do?” I rest my head on his shoulder as my head spins.
“Hey, everything all right, brother?” I recognize Houston’s smooth baritone.