Page 30 of Mila: The Godfather

I try, regardless of the pain in my head and the heaviness of my heart.

“Kadra,” I whisper brokenly, reaching out my hand, but before her fingers meet mine, a knife comes out of the fog and plows right through her chest. Kadra’s lips moved in a silent cry for help as she dropped to the ground. I scream at the top of my lungs as she falls, and Arianna’s body disappears into a pool of her own blood.

Then the fog clears. It clears, and they both are gone. My sisters. They are gone … they are dead. My throat is raw from screaming, and my cheeks are sore from tears. I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t save their lives…

I failed them.

All I do is fail them.

* * *

Do you know that place somewhere between asleep and awake? The in-between. That place where you’re aware of your surroundings but can’t simply open your eyes because of how heavy they feel– because of how tired you are, and somehow in-between, you feel safer than being awake. I must be there. Except, possibly, a little more asleep than awake. I must be dreaming because there is no way this is happening. I feel myself being carefully shuffled out of a warm car, then nestled against the smooth material of an expensive shirt, the side of my face resting in a neck that smells of man and a smooth, crisp aftershave, with arms under my knees and around my back, strong, but somehow holding me ever-so-gently.

I feel tired. Tired as if I’d been walking the desert for a thousand days with no water or food. My limbs ache, and there’s a pounding on the back of my head.

What is happening?

Opening my eyes, I notice the light hurts, only worsening my headache.

Then it all comes back to me. Gus.

The loud noises.

The ringing in my ears.

The pain in my heart for leaving my friend behind, the rough hands of the cruel man pulling on my hair, and his ugly words.

Lastly, the man.

The tattooed giant with kind eyes and a devious smile as he emptied round after round on the man who was seconds away from hurting me more than he already had.

I know you…I whispered those words to my savior.

He appeared out of the blue to save the day like most heroes in romance books do.

But is this man the hero or the villain?

Perhaps, both?

I angle my head up to look at my maybe ’prince charming’. Except he didn’t exactly look like a prince charming. True, he was beautiful. In an extremely perfect and rugged way, with his amazing jaw, great nose, strong brows, and full pink lips. His hair was the color of sand after rain, as was the abundance of lashes he had framing his sky-blue eyes. He was a large man. Enormous, really. He’s taller than anyone I know, and his arms look as if he could crush me if he held me. He was that big.

Let’s not forget the abundance of dark ink that runs from his neck down to his knuckles. I’ve seen plenty of men with tattoos. Women, too. None with as many as this stranger.

He looks like a gigantic coloring book.

I also noticed his clothes were crisp. That’s always good. I like neat clothing. Neat clothes mean he’s not messy, and he doesn’t look dirty. I like that. I have come to learn that messy people have messy minds.

I don’t enjoy messy minds.

Forgetting all about his clothing and his potential tidiness, I concentrate on what happened back in the alley.

The image of him shooting the mean stranger in the chest without any remorse on his face should scare me. Heroes don’t look like he did. Giddy. Satisfied. Thirsty for more chaos.

His eyes.

Those blue eyes flash through my mind. There was something in them that made a shiver course through my insides and made me feel just slightly less like I was dreaming. Was he a figment of my imagination? Am I dreaming?

No, it can’t be.

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