Damaged (Boys of Winter 2)

I bring my frozen daiquiri to my lips and take a long sip. This is the fucking life. While finding the answers I needed about my parents was a long and painful journey, it’s also opened me up to this amazing life. Though I have to admit, finding things like a machine that mixes daiquiris are the real hidden treasures, and it makes me wish that I could have met my mother. From her closet, her jewelry, her taste in art, and the surprising little knick-knacks I come across every day, she seems like the kind of woman I would have loved to live my life beside.

I have it all here, you know, considering I pretend that Dynasty doesn’t exist. How lucky does one kid have to be to not only discover that she has a home left to her, but one as incredible as this? I just hate that all of this is clouded by the reality of murder, sex trafficking, and corruption.

I’m not going to lie; I have four boys keeping me distracted from that reality. Some in a good way, and some in an infuriatingly disastrous way that makes me want to gouge out their eyeballs with plastic spoons and then feed it to them, but then not seeing those eyes everyday would be devastating.

Ember finishes her daiquiri and sits up with a pout, holding up her glass. “I’m out. Do you want a refill?” she asks, getting to her feet and scooping my glass right out of my hand, not bothering to wait for my response.

“Hey,” I argue. “I wasn’t finished with that.”

“Tough shit.”

She goes to walk away when a high-pitched squeal is torn out of her. My head whips around just in time to see a strange man barreling toward her at the speed of light. My eyes bug out of my head and before I even get to my feet, the man is on Ember, his fist flying toward her temple.

“EMBER!” I scream her name, my eyes wide with fear as I watch his big fist slam straight into the side of her head. The force spins her, and I watch in horror as she crumbles to the ground with a hard thud. But it’s not even close to being over.

The man runs at me and I bolt from the sunbed, sheer terror pulsing through my veins. He’s fast and his muscles bulge from his arms. This guy means fucking business. This isn’t just fending off some dipshit pervert outside of a whorehouse. This is a fucking hitman and he’s coming right for me.

Not today, motherfucker.

I dart around the pool, feeling more alone than ever. I know my fucking place, and I know my odds of getting out of this alive. They fucking suck.

I wasn’t prepared for this. My home was supposed to be safe. I foolishly thought that if I remained within the boundary of my parents’ home, that I was free from the hitmen and death threats. How fucking naive was that? I should have been better prepared, and now my best friend is lying on the ground beside my pool, and I have no idea if she’s alive or dead.

What was I thinking sitting out by the pool? I was a sitting duck, just asking for the big bad wolf to come and end me.

Fucking stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I’m not even going to get a chance to say goodbye to the boys. They’re going to come racing in here to find my dead body and be heartbroken. Poor Cruz. The other three will hide their emotions, but Cruz … he’ll be a fucking mess.

I didn’t even get a chance to make it right with Carver, or to feel Grayson’s lips pressing against mine. I’m only eighteen; I haven’t even had a chance to live yet.

My panic races through my veins, pushing me faster, but he’s quickly gaining on me, making it clear that this guy isn’t just some bullshit guy with a gun hiding in the woods. This is the kind of man that comes fully equipped with years of training.

I push my legs to the point of pain, stretching my strides and desperately wishing that I had something more than just a red bikini to defend myself with, but what’s the point of fighting back? All I’ll be doing is delaying the inevitable.

I’m a dead woman.

My feet thunder against the pavement and I get halfway around the pool before his thick arm curls around my waist and I’m hauled back. A loud, high-pitched squeal tears from my throat as I’m dragged back toward the edge of the pool.

I dig my nails into his arm, drawing blood as I fight to get out of his hold. “LET ME GO,” I yell, hot tears springing to my eyes as I kick my legs out, desperately trying to find purchase and get myself free.