Page 93 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
“Shae! Shae!” Yennifer screams.
Oh, God. I’m going to die.
Daddy, please keep my babies safe. Take care of them.
I close my eyes and think of my babies’ faces…of Storm’s face back when he loved me. I let these be the last things I see.
Pop-pop-pop-pop.
My body jolts with each burst. Sound warps—sharp, then distant. It’s like being underwater with a bomb going off above me. I jerk, my eyes sliding shut and my ears ringing as the force of the blasts steals my hearing.
Hot liquid splatters my body.
Then, a thud.
A heavy weight lands on my back, pinning me to the ground.
“Help!” I shout, even though I can’t hear anything—not my own voice, not the chaos, not the soundtrack of Yennifer’s panicked screams over the speakerphone.
When I finally lift my head, I gape in horror at the bloodied arm draped over my body.
My jaw unhinges, and I feel my mouth open as if in an endless scream as it becomes clear: I’m in the middle of a blood bath.
Before I can draw any more conclusions, the world explodes into movement with a dozen people showing up from what feels like nowhere. The weight of the corpse disappears from my back, and I’m pulled into someone’s arms.
My throat burns as I scream, taking in the death scene around me. The man who dragged me from the vehicle lay on his back with his eyes open and unseeing, half of his face missing, blown off.
The pain in my throat intensifies.
I fight against the hold, kicking, screaming, biting, but the person carrying me only grips me tighter.
So, I do what my body—my soul—commands, and I put all my might into pushing out a single word.
“Storm!”
We stop moving, and I think the person’s going to release me. Instead, soft, familiar lips land on my temple.
“S-Storm?” My ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton, and I stop fighting, start breathing, and try to look at my savior.
And meet a pair of moss-green eyes.
I repeat his name, but the word barely passes my lips before everything goes black.
TWENTY
STORM
Iwas shot and tortured for three days a few years ago. I’d gotten on the wrong side of an arms deal in Qatar, and the people I pissed off decided to kill me slowly, rather than a swift murder. Luckily, Axel and Riale got me out of there and to a hospital in Germany.
Getting shot and being intermittently electrocuted within an inch of life sucked, but even that time felt more peaceful than right now.
I haven’t felt this hopeless, this out of control, since the explosion killed my parents.
Killing the fuckers who tried to hurt Shae should make me feel better. Instead, I feel like a lion pacing back and forth as its pride is threatened.
The plane engine hums beneath me, gearing up for takeoff. I bring the joint to my lips, taking in a deep draw. Alcohol and I are too good of friends, but I’ve been able to manage some weed without leading to excess.
If there’s ever a time to smoke it up, it’d be right fucking now.
