Page 100 of Hearts Held
My wife is my enemy?
But before I can make any sort of sound decision, my body takes over. Fight or flight kicks in and I’m running away from the one thing that brought me happiness in this life.
Chapter 35: Brielle
Arsonist’s Lullabye, Hozier
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
I wanted to tell him.
I tried to tell him.
Allude to it.
But I didn’t know how.
How was I supposed to tell the man I love that I am one of the things hehates?
A German.
A “Kraut,” as he calls us.
The enemies that tortured him. Wrapped him in barbed wire and lit his handsome flesh on fire. All the scars may have closed on the surface, but underneath hewages a war.
He can never forgive our kind and I don’t blame him.
The only thing that can be heard is water dripping from afar. The men from my family’s mob stand around me at the ready.
My family had been sabotaging shipments and setting it up so the Aftons would turn on the other mobs and cease their dealings—all in hopes of increasing the chances of business relations between our two families.
My extra jobs weren’t a complete lie.
Just a farce.
Information I withheld.
Working at the flour factory allowed me to watch the inner-dealings of cocaine production.
The funeral home allowed me access to watch the disbursement of arms dealings, and it wasn’t hard to track the schedules for liquor deliveries. All of our activities perfectly concealed under their noses as my family tries to move their production from Germany to England, because of the war that is to come.
Though, the extra money obtained from these shifts was going toward my freedom.
I planned to leave the United Kingdom, my family, this bullshit.
But I didn’t plan to fall in love.
I didn’t planhim.
I peer up, searching for anything in his features, only to find the pain etched across his face wounds my soul. I start walking toward him, but he just shakes his head. He slowly raises a hand to his side to stop me, causing the German henchmen swarming me to become alert.
“Nein,” I order, then look back at Everett with pleading eyes. “Please. Listen to me.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, I watch as the man I love shakes his head repeatedly then exits my life.
The cold warehouse seems to amplify and echo the shame and betrayal that washes over my soul.
