Page 6 of Viva Wed Vegas

“His name is Phoenix,” she says with a smile of pure happiness permanently on her lips. I stroke a finger along his little chubby cheek, admiring just how adorable he is.

I look up at Hap and see his face full of pride and love for Alina and his newborn son.

“Congratulations. Can we go now?” Rage asks, breaking the serene moment.

“Rage!” Dixie chastises, looking up at him.

“What?” he asks with a shrug. “I don’t like hospitals. It makes me want to fight.”

Dixie’s face softens as understanding washes over her. She takes his large hand in hers. “We can go gnome and visit when they’re home?” Dixie suggests, looking from Rage to Alina and Hap, to which Hap gives Rage and Dixie a nod.

Rage turns and leaves without saying another word, and Dixie gives us all a small wave as they go. “

So,” I sigh, turning the attention back to Alina. “How’s your vagina?”

CHAPTERTHREE

STAR

9 weeks later

The blood is poolingaround me, but as I try to escape it, to move, get up and run, I can’t. My legs won’t move, and my entire body is frozen still. I feel a hot breath tickle the edge of my ear, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to prickle in fear. As I open my mouth to scream, to yell for help, nothing comes out. I close my eyes, bracing myself for what I know is coming, for what I have survived before, for what I will continue to survive.

“Darlin’,” a deep voice calls out, and my heart lurches at the sound. “Darlin’,” he repeats. His body presses against mine, and as my heart rate begins to slow, that’s when I know I will be okay. I will be alright because he’s here. “Darlin’, open your eyes,” he says, again in a soft tone, coaxing me to awake from the nightmare.

I blink, and as my eyes open, I see Ghost’s ice-blue eyes staring down at me, full of concern and sadness. My hand instinctively reaches up and cups his face, making sure he is real and I’m not still dreaming.

I release a long exhale. “It was a dream,” I say softly, more to myself than to Ghost.

His hand cups my cheeks, and his thumb begins to stroke away the tears I must have been crying. He shakes his head. “That ain’t no dream, darlin’. That was a nightmare, fucking torture,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.

I give him a smile and shrug. “I’m okay. I mean, it would be weird if I was totally normal after everything I’ve been through, right?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

He sees through my bravado, not buying it, just like he always does. “Tell me about it. Tell me about your nightmare. You ain’t facing it alone, and you ain’t fucking brushing over this shit with your fake nothing affects me bullshit,” he growls, with a stern ‘I’m not taking any shit’ tone.

I sigh and roll my eyes at him. “Do you always have to be such a bossy little asshole?” I ask, playfully pinching his cheek.

He whips his head to the side, nipping the pad of my thumb between his teeth. “Darlin’, you know damn well there ain’t nothing fucking little about me. Now stop trying to deviate the conversation and fucking tell me about your nightmare,” he demands.

I look away. “If I tell you, then they are in my waking life, as well as my sleeping time. I don’t want them touching you, Enzo, or my daily life,” I confess.

He takes hold of my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You were screaming. Your body is covered in sweat, and your entire body was trembling, not to mention the fact that you were pulling and fucking crying. Now tell me. Let me fight them with you,” he orders firmly.

“What are you going to do? Jump into my dreams and fight the bad guys?” I retort.

“Fucking right I will.” He nods with certainty, like that was a plausible thing.

I grin, and a small laugh escapes my lips. “You would do it if you fucking could,” I breathe.

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to look down at me, waiting for me to tell him about my nightmare.

I sigh. “Fine.” I continue to tell him about my nightmares. I have more than one. They tend to differ every now and again. They aren’t every night, maybe two or three times a month. I don’t look at his face while I relay it all to him, knowing exactly what I would see if I did. I don’t like looking or feeling weak, and although it’s Ghost, and he knows me better than I know myself, it still doesn’t sit right with me. As I finish, I finally allow myself to look up at him. His face is hard as stone, and that glacial stare I’ve seen so many shit their pants over is glaring back at me.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” he says through gritted teeth.

“You can’t because you already killed him,” I point out.

“Then I will fucking find his body parts and kill him again, piece by fucking piece,” he snarls, like a rabid dog ready to strike. He pushes himself up to sit next to me, staring out of the window and at the moonlit sky. The bedsheet pools at his waist, revealing his muscular tattooed body dimly lit by the moon and cast in shadows.

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