Page 23 of Broken Mafia Prince
“I’m sorry I left you in here,” I tell him with a smile. I rifle through my pocket and hold up a little baggy of treats. “I hope this is enough to say sorry.”
Laika goes crazy at the sight of my peace offering, tail wagging with renewed gusto.
Laughing, I open the door, and we run out of the building, the dog weaving through my legs excitedly. The air at the retreat is clean and fresh, and ahead of us, the trees in the orchard wave in the breeze.
Laika sniffs at the apples on the ground, turns his nose up in distaste, and jogs off. I shake my head at his aversion to fruitsand pluck an apple from the tree, biting into it. The orchard is large and beautiful, with plump apples shining on the trees.
I’m thinking of the amazing apple pie our cook back home could make with it when I hear the sound of girlish laughter. I freeze in my tracks, my head cocking in the direction of the sound. I’m beginning to think it’s a figment of my imagination when the sound comes again.
My mouth unconsciously begins to curve into a smile.
“Silly dog.” The girly voice giggles, causing my smile to wither and die immediately.
Eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, I inch toward the direction of the sound, keeping my steps light so as not to alert the girl. And then finally, I break through the line of trees and catch sight of the girl.
She’s dancing around the cleared section of land, spinning and leaping into the air with her hands over her head. Laika jumps around excitedly, barking and trying to catch her dress in his mouth as it floats around her. As I listen to her trickling laughter, something inside of me loosens as I stare at the angelic creature.
I’m about to step out and join her when I remember that my scar will probably wipe the laughter off her face. I grit my teeth and take a step back.
Suddenly, she drops to the ground and wraps her arms around Laika. The traitor dog licks at her face, staring at her with big, adoring eyes.
“Where did you come from?” she asks, pushing her brown hair away from her face. “Who would leave such a pretty boy like you out here?”
“I didn’t leave him,” I blurt out.
The girl jumps to her feet in surprise, eyes swinging in my direction. I have no choice but to step into the light now that I’veexposed myself. I wait for the girl to stagger away in horror so I can take my dog and leave, but instead, she just blinks at me.
“Laika, let’s go,” I order.
His head moves back and forth between me and the hazel-eyed girl, and to my shock, he moves closer to her.
“His name is Marty,” the girl declares, chin thrust in the air.
My face twists in annoyance. “No, it’s not. He’s my dog, and his name is Laika.”
She scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. “What kind of stupid name is Laika? Anyway, if he’s really your dog, why isn’t he at your side right now?”
It’s a good question, and I stare down at the traitor dog. “Laika, come here now.” He turns his head up to the girl and whines, like I’m interrupting them.
“Good boy, Marty. He knows not to go off with strangers.”
I take a threatening step forward. “I’m not a stranger. You’re the stranger. Just give me my damn dog and run back to your mommy, kid.”
She flinches. Instead of feeling triumphant, I just feel like a piece of shit. I have to remind myself that I don’t know the girl, and I don’t care if my words hurt her. I just need her to run off and give me my friend back.
“No wonder the dog doesn’t want anything to do with you,” she snaps. “You’re rude, mean, and horrible.”
I roll my eyes, trying to hide how my chest tightens at her words. I’m not surprised that she thinks I’m horrible; the scar on my face isn’t pretty or subtle. “Beast, Scar, the phantom of the opera—trust me, I’ve heard them all, and I don’t care, just give me my dog.”
Confusion twists her face. “What do they have to do with anything?”
My fingers curl into fists at my side. It’s true that I hate people’s reaction to my face, but what I probably hate more iswhen people pretend like it’s not there. “Don’t act like you can’t see this.” I jerk a thumb at my face.
She huffs. “Well, I’m not surprised that you have a face to match your horrible behavior.”
“You have that backward.”
“I do not,” she insists. “The dog can’t tell that you have a scar, but I’m sure he can tell that you’re a surly boy, and that’s why he wants nothing to do with you. It’s probably why you aren’t playing with the other boys out there, so stop blaming your face and take responsibility for your own actions.”
