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PROLOGUE
Ineed to survive, that’s all I have to do.
Survive and protect my family. Nothing else matters. And that's all I can remember.
There was a crash. Two crashes. Two crashes in two different vehicles. Now I don't remember anything before that.
Nothing except those two things. Survive, and protect the family. I don't even know what it means.
Well, I know what it means to survive. It means do whatever you have to do. Whatever it takes.
So who are the family?
CHAPTER ONE
Through the darkness, I hear his rich, deep, firm voice. “Everything’s going to be alright, Angel.” I want to believe him. I want to trust him.
His confident, reassuring voice. A voice I should feel safe with. Maybe trust is not in my nature. Now I feel sad.
The Warrior. That’s how I imagine him from the strength of his voice and the deep, low chuckle that’s always near the surface. I think of him as my warrior. He will protect me. Go into battle for me. Fight and kill if he has to. He will risk everything for me.
Why not? If I’m condemned to live in my imagination, I may as well imagine something wonderful. So. He is wonderful. Magnificent.
His speech is cultured, but with rough edges blended in. A killer who is as much at home in the midday glare as he is in the cold, brooding dark. A warrior who’s been to Hell and has no fear of going back.
When he speaks to me from close by, he’s gentle. Caring. He makes me want to trust him.
I’ve been taken. I don’t remember anything else. Not clearly.
I remember a crash, and I remember being taken. Kidnapped. Hauled out, bound and bundled into a vehicle
One crash, or two? I can’t even be sure. But I don’t remember anything before that and I don’t know anything after.
All that I can recall is a lot of noise and shock.
Sensations of falling. Tumbling, being thrown around. I slammed into a wall or something and dropped into a black numbness. The cold, hollow emptiness soon flooded and filled with pain.
Now I don’t really feel anything.
Worse, I don’t remember anything. Where I was, where I was going, where I am now. Who I am, even. If somebody asked my name right now, I wouldn’t be able to tell them.
Now I know nothing, nothing at all except his voice.
Good thing it is such a beautiful voice.
His words are direct and gentle and he puts a big warm hand on mine. Whenever he does, I become aware of the tubes in the back of my hand.
“We’ll bring you back. We’re going to pull you through this.” He squeezes my hand. “Whatever it takes.”
The soft strength in the man’s voice, the care in his words, I can feel that he feels something, too. Something for me. And it has to be something deep.
I can’t see anything but, flat out in a bed with the smell of disinfectant and with tubes in my arm, it’s a safe bet that I’m not looking my best.
What do I even look like? Now, or normally? Any time.
“You’re going to be okay.” The smooth, strong, dark voice holds me, like he’s cradling me. Wrapping me in a soft blanket. “You will be fine. I know you will,” he says. “You have to be.”
The tender warmth and strength of his touch sends ripples of sensation through me. His kindness makes me feel I’m going to weep.
