Defending Zara (Mountain Mercenaries #6)(18)

“I’m sorry,” Meat said when he had himself under control. “I shouldn’t laugh. You’re right. This shit is horrible for you. But with all this”—he waved his hand around them—“I wouldn’t think you’d be that picky when it came to what you ate and drank.”

For a second, he was afraid he’d gone too far and offended her, but she simply gave her signature shrug. “Growing up, my parents told me that soft drinks were bad for me. I guess I always remembered that and have steered away from them.”

Her words struck Meat hard. “Your parents?” he asked softly, before he quickly chugged the rest of the soft drink. She was right—it wasn’t healthy in the least—but he needed the calories, and the caffeine gave him a much-needed boost.

“Chad and Emily Layne.”

When she didn’t volunteer any other information, Meat realized he was going to have to ask anything he wanted to know. Moving slowly so as not to startle her, he put the trash from his odd dinner aside and reached a hand out to rest it lightly on her knee in support. “Where are they now?”

“Dead,” Zara said, with no inflection in her voice.

Meat flinched. “How? And when?”

Zara looked up at him then, and he’d never seen such sorrow in someone’s eyes. It was as if she’d lost them only yesterday, but he had a feeling it had been long ago. He didn’t think there was any way Zara’s parents would’ve left their daughter to fend for herself in the barrios of Lima the way she’d obviously been doing. Not if they could help it. Obviously, he didn’t know the Laynes, but if they’d come to this country on vacation with their daughter, it wasn’t likely they would’ve left her there on purpose.

“They were murdered fifteen years ago while we were walking back to our hotel in Miraflores after dinner.”

Meat could only stare at her in silence for a moment. “You were with them? What happened to you?” he finally asked.

Zara shrugged and dropped her eyes. “The men took me with them because I could identify them. They apparently didn’t have the guts to kill a ten-year-old kid, so they dropped me off in the middle of the night in one of the barrios . . . and I’ve been here ever since.”





Chapter Eight

Zara held her breath and waited for Meat’s reaction to the story she’d told only a couple other times in her life. The other people she’d opened up to when she was younger hadn’t understood her, or simply thought she’d come up with a new angle to beg for money, telling her to go home.

But she hadn’t been making it up, and she had no home to go to.

If Meat didn’t believe her, it wouldn’t really matter. She’d continue doing what she did every day, helping Daniela and doing her best to eke out an existence in the barrio with Mags and the other women.

What was harder for her to dismiss was the pull she felt toward Meat. He was the first person in a very long time, other than Mags, to look at her like she was a real person. The tourists usually just looked past her, or tossed down some money and continued on with their fun vacation. The other residents of the barrio were too concerned about their own struggles, finding food and remaining unnoticed themselves, to care about anyone else.

Zara hated begging for money but had known she’d never be able to steal the clothes he needed, so she’d spent all day sitting outside the tourist shops trying to look as pathetic as possible so people would give her money. And they did. She’d spent every cent on the clothes and resorted to stealing most of the food.

She had no idea if Meat would actually believe her, or pat her on the head and give her false sympathy before turning over and thanking his lucky stars he was leaving soon.

“Tell me more,” he said after a long moment.

Zara bit her lip, trying to decide what she wanted to tell him. When she’d gone back to the barrio to find out about Meat’s friend, Mags had told Zara everything she knew about Black, then said in no uncertain terms that if the opportunity arose, Zara should tell the American her story. She’d insisted this could be Zara’s chance to get back to where she belonged. Back to the States.

But Zara wasn’t sure she belonged anywhere anymore. She’d made the streets of Lima her home. She had only a fourth-grade education, was penniless, and wasn’t sure any of the relatives she vaguely remembered would want anything to do with her. She wasn’t a kid anymore, and she’d been out of America longer than she’d been in it.

At least here, she was needed. Zara and the others helped the local kids, did their best to keep them out of the clutches of men like del Rio and Ruben in the barrio.

But something in Mags’s tone had gotten to her, and sitting on the hard concrete, begging for change, she’d fantasized about going back to Colorado and finding her relatives overjoyed to have her back.

That, and hot showers and tables full of food.

Zara didn’t know if Meat would believe her story. Didn’t know if he’d be able to help her return to America. Wasn’t even sure it was possible, considering she had no identification, no proof she was who she said she was. She had literally only the clothes on her back. But like Mags had said, if she didn’t try, it definitely wouldn’t happen.

So she took a deep breath and started to tell her story. The whole story, for the first time in fifteen years.