AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But that wasn’t in the cards for me. It was real. Shit couldn’t get more real than this.
Leo made a sharp turn and one wheel dipped into one of New York’s famous potholes, causing a loud, abrupt noise and a dip in the car that made me jump.
Dane was quick to run his hand down my upper arm. While I was sweating, I couldn’t get warm.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” he spoke with his mouth pressed to my hair. “You’re safe now. We’ll be home soon.”
He was doing so much to protect me, to reassure me after those tense moments of mayhem. Nodding, I look up at him briefly, saw his dark eyes held a mixture of determination and tenderness.
“Thank you,” I whispered. I tried to smile, and it took an inordinate amount of effort because to be honest, I was numb. I didn’t have the same use of my muscles, couldn’t process or feel the way I normally did—except for paralyzing fear, a sense of suspended reality, and the chills. Why was I so flipping cold?
All those yoga lessons did nothing to help me catch my breath either. Every time I looked down my body, made sure there were no bullet holes, I worked hard to will myself to inhale. Exhale. Breathe. But every time my mind drifted back to a few minutes ago, the anxiety would rise and my light ineffective breaths would start up again.
No amount of yoga gave me comfort.
In a brief moment of clarity, I urged myself to toughen up, to pull myself together and be strong. This weak, frightened little thing being held up by this man I barely knew? She wasn’t me. But deep down, I couldn’t convince myself of being anything else. I’d just seen real bullets. I’d just been shot at and nearly died.
I wasn’t built for this criminal underground, run all night, hide all day, high speed chase sort of lifestyle, and as a result, seeing it firsthand brought on this scared little girl I’d turned into. Or maybe the dead body last night was the trigger. I swallowed hard at the sobering reality and held my stomach, which now felt like I’d been sucker punched hard in the gut.
Dead bodies. Dodging real bullets.
What the hell? Was this my life now?
Nothing I’d ever seen or done before could’ve prepared me for this. My parents were unassuming, straight-laced, salt of the earth, working class people. I tried to picture them and how they’d handle themselves if this were to happen to them.
I couldn’t.
Impossible.
It would never happen.
Not in a million years.
Yeah, I’d thought that about myself too, until now.
I wished they lived close enough to see them. I wished we were emotionally close. Again, a first. They’d been good parents, just…distant. And while I’d thought that had made me into the self-reliant, independent person I was today, it also made me realize how alone I was. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt I needed them, or anyone. Maybe as a teen. It was definitely before I started high school. But suddenly, as a result of this ambush at my kitchen—a scene from an action-adventure movie, I felt like a kid again. Weak, unstable, unsure of myself, thoroughly unable to protect myself from harm. Legitimately so, but it was still so foreign to realize I wasn’t enough, that I couldn’t rely solely on myself to find my way out of this incredibly dangerous situation.
Again, an image surfaced. I stood in my catering kitchen—my second home—happy and sated because of two men’s wild-sex-fantasies-come-to-life one moment, and crumpled on the floor with bullets flying overhead the next. All the food I’d prepared was bullet ridden, glasses and dishes had shattered and were now littered everywhere, and the shrimp I’d been cooking on the stovetop remained there. My place was trashed. No way did I have a backup for this scenario. My clients would surely raise hell tomorrow when no one showed up with the food they’d ordered.
Shut down due to unexpected shooting rampage.
Food unsafe due to unexpectedly high lead content.
Those excuses were sure to go over well with the clientele.
This was a disaster. My heart began to race again and my chest tightened, making the simple act of breathing air an effort. And there I was last night, living under the mistaken notion that seeing a dead body was the worst thing that could’ve happened to me. That was nothing compared to today.
I wiped my hand over my face, felt the tears that must’ve fallen without me even noticing.
More tears.
Brushing them away with the back of my hand, I took another breath. This one filled my lungs all the way down to my diaphragm. Tears wouldn’t get me out of this mess. Neither would weakness. Or feeling sorry for myself.
I took another deep breath, then another, and I felt Dane’s squeeze.
What I needed to feel was angry.
Mad as hell.
