Book Bodega Novels & Stories

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I assumed they were atoning their sins in jail, until one afternoon, a shrill alarm shattered the calm. "Level-one alert! Unknown explosive in Central Square! Structure unknown, impossible to defuse!" I rushed to the command center, where the massive screen displayed a bizarre bomb in 360-degree detail. Experts shouted into comms, "It's live! Any move triggers self-destruction!" My eyes locked on the circuit's unique looping pattern. "It's her!" I shivered, recognizing Rita's "genius" design from her coursework. I grabbed my jacket and stormed into Clifford's office, slamming the blueprint on his desk. "It's Rita!"

I muttered to myself. I checked my phone. No signal. I knew my spare tire was completely flat, too. The only sign of life for miles around was a bright, rowdy-looking building glowing in the distance. It was the local biker bar, a place owned and run by the Iron Reapers motorcycle club. I knew better than to go there. Everyone in this town knew better. The Iron Reapers were dangerous men who lived by their own rules. But tonight, I was desperate, deeply heartbroken, and officially out of options.

“What do you want, babe?” My mood flipped instantly. My lips curved into a smile as I stood up from the couch. My hair had grown long, longer than I remembered. It fell freely down my back, brushing my waist as I walked toward him, the novel still in my hand. I dropped the book onto his desk. “You look tense,” I said softly. “And you’ve been such a good boy.” His brow lifted slightly, silently questioning me as I leaned closer. “Should I make you feel better?”

Master Alejandro questioned suddenly out of nowhere with his deep husky tipsy tone while tilting his head a little to the right, still staring at his woman who still had her eyes down on her book, silently for few minutes. Captivated by the looks, she made the book her choose without having any idea what was it. Looking decent the book was said to be the best seller of 1930s, that's all she knew. Madam Genelia heard many famous mentions about it but never she got the chance to read it before, hence discovering it here in the library she grabbed it without any second thought. "Royal Bones are Holy Sinners." Madam Genelia was still having her eyes down on the book while she replied blankly to

The woman smiled in amusement, "So you're Spanish?" "Brazilian actually." "What's your favorite book?" "Uh... I don't really have a favorite... if I like I book, I like it." I raised my brows, I never thought that the hot headed boy would be a reader. Mrs. Bedivere hums, "but at the top of your head, what would be the first book you think of." "To Kill A Mockingbird," he spoke flatly. Mrs. Bedivere nodded her head, "Maycomb county had recently been told that-"

Then a staff member touched her arm. The moment vanished. Lena smiled. Turned away. And continued walking. --- By dusk they retreated. Nobody argued. Nobody wanted to stay. The place crawled under their skin. The false peace. The manufactured contentment. The smiles. God. The smiles. --- The bookshop basement was unusually quiet when they returned. People gathered around the central table. Waiting. Watching. Hoping. Bea hated being the one who had to speak first. She rubbed her hands over her face.

A loud click followed by a flashing green light came from the safe. "They didn't." Breyona shrugged, giving Mason a cocky grin. "Mom's horrible with remembering numbers. She used to forget Dad's birthday all the time." Mason and I waited withheld breath as Breyona opened the thick safe. An exhale of breath came from Mason’s lips as we locked eyes on the only book sitting in the safe. “One book?” Mason scoffed, shaking out his sandy blonde hair. “An entire safe for one book.” “Like I said, my parents are paranoid.” Breyona shrugged, her hands gentle as she lifted the book into her arms. “Plus, this book is probably priceless.”

he said. I looked out the window. “There’s a bookshop,” I said. “Two streets from the market. So small you have to turn sideways in the aisles. I bought two books I didn’t need.” “What kind.” “One about a woman who builds boats. One about a city that doesn’t exist.” He made a sound that was almost a laugh. “Of course.” “Of course what.” “You’d find the one bookshop,” he said. “In the whole city. First month.”

Mexico was heavy. It was like entering a room with a stuffy and suffocating air. Not to mention the fear that was crawling up on my spine that at any moment, someone might shoot at me. The warehouse is large, glass windows, and steel doors. It wasn't the typical warehouse I usually see that’s covered in steel and metal. It was more like a home than a slaughterhouse. Thank heavens for the transparent windows, it became easier to navigate and shoot. Wearing cargo pants, a black cropped top and combat boots that I changed into from the plane, I lay still on top of a hill by the warehouse, hidden in the grass. At least if I die, I was going to die with good clothes.