PortiaCallahan stands and helps me up."Don't look at him. He doesn't deserve your gaze."Antonio reads something on his phone, and I see the Glock he's holding at his side."Our men are on the grounds, not in the house yet though."I hear gunfire outside the house then, and a moment later, a small explosion.Callahan goes to the window, one arm wrapped around me, as he looks out over the front yard. I see the men out there, the gunfight. I notice the fire at the far end of the house.“We need to move," he tells Antonio, then turns his attention to me. "Is Felix on site?"“I don't know," I say.He nods. "If he is, I'll find him. But I need to get you out first." He holds my hand, and we walk around the bed to where the dead man is lying face down in his own blood. He bends to tug his knife out of the man's side.I notice the new injury on his side then. The bandage over the new set of stitches long gone. I touch it tentatively.“You're hurt."He takes my wrist, shifting his grip to m
PortiaI carry two cups of coffee into Antonio's room. Callahan is sitting across from his bed watching him. Maybe willing him to open his eyes. To wake up.Callahan is alive. Battered and bruised, his hearing comes and goes but he's alive. The blast had knocked him out. For a minute, I thought he was gone, really gone this time, but he's back.He looks over at me, stands. I take in the bandages I can see on his arms, his neck, the side of his head and I'm sure he does the same with mine.But it could be worse.I glance at Antonio.“You need to let the doctor look at you again,” I tell him."After." Smears of blood and dirt still stain his clothes and skin. I know most of it isn't his at least.He takes one of the cups of coffee and leads me to a chair. He sits down beside me, and we watch Antonio together.It's been twenty-seven hours since the house blew up.Twenty hours since Antonio came out of surgery.I don't know how many hours or days since David kidnapped me.I look at Callah
PortiaHe also told me about Antonio, about him possibly being a product of rape. He's already sent DNA to a lab for a paternity test. We're waiting on the results."Petrov has disappeared. Diamente thinks he'd arranged the explosives to detonate after he left." I'd assumed the explosions were from Callahan's men, a distraction, but this makes much more sense."Why would he have done that?"Callahan shrugs a shoulder."Maybe he knew Felix and his fondness for cameras? Maybe he just hated the assholes present? Who knows? Who cares?""Who is he?""Russian businessman. That's all I've been able to get so far. But I'll find him.""We will find him," says a low, raspy voice from the bed.I gasp, turn my head. Callahan is beside the bed in an instant."Brother!"A doctor and two nurses rush in. They must have been alerted by the machines to Antonio's waking."Well, it's good to see you're awake, Mr. Scarfoni," the doctor says, smiling."I'd have opened my eyes earlier but these two were dec
PortiaWe're lying in bed, Callahan's big arms around me. I'm curled into him, our heads resting on the same pillow.He's playing with a strand of my hair. I touch his unshaved face, liking the stubble."I would be dead if it wasn't for you," he says.I study him, thinking about what I need to tell him.“I didn't want to live afterward. I wanted to die. Even though I knew it would kill Antonio, I just couldn't. But then there you were, and you made me remember things. Made me feel things. Made me care again. Maybe you make me less selfish, Portia."“You've never been selfish, Callahan.”He shrugs a shoulder."I need to tell you something," I start. I take a breath in and lay on my back to stare up at the ceiling. He puts a hand on my belly. Slides it up to cup a breast.“I like this," he says. “I like a little more meat on you.""Well, I'm glad you think so." I sit up, put my pillow on my lap."What is it?" he asks, all serious when he sees my expression. He sits up too and takes the
Portia.I sigh as soft, feathery lace falls across my face. It's black and heavily stained from being tucked away for so many years, and the smell that clings to it makes my stomach churn. It's musty. Dry, and reeks with dust. I suppress the urge to fling it away because it belonged to my mother. It's the same one she wore on her wedding day. The same one my grandmother wore on her big day as well.Clove pink and discarded daisies are scattered, littering the stone floor. The huge, black woman who's been brought to help me prepare grumbles behind me. It's the fifth time she's wondering aloud why she has to work with an old, musty, smelly veil when a new one stays tucked in its box a few meters away. I move my foot, tossing the delicate clove pink about, before crushing it, impaling it's bright pink petal with my heel.It's my wedding day, but it feels like a funeral. No, a funeral would have been better. My funeral.Wish I had it a while ago.The strong, heady smell of the pink carnat
PortiaI don't know for how long I lay passed out. I don't feel anything but dryness. I don't smell anything but musty dampness. I swallow hard to keep from retching. Cold is seeping into my body, stiffening my muscles, making them hurt.I hear the sound of cars moving in the distance.“Get the fuck up, you animal!”I cough as a familiar pain hits my right side. I curl away from it, turn my face the other way, but it comes again. Stronger. Harder. More cruel.I groan.“What are you? Sleeping beauty? If you don't get the hell up from there, I swear I'm going to kill you!”The rough baritone registers into my subconscious mind. Vincent. My brother. No surprise there. You'd think after years of getting whipped, slapped and battered by him, I would've gotten used to the feel of his boot by now. What can I say? I'm equally a disappointment in that regard.“Stop attacking her. She's not the one who put us here,” another voice says.Gregory. My other brother. The slightly, less insane one.“
Portia“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” Vincent is the first to speak up, taking a step toward the man like the stupid loser he is.The boss's lips curls upward as though in amusement, and I watch him with bated breath as it takes the most minute tilt of his head to have a soldier charging at my brother, shoving him back to the floor.The man's eyes flit to me now as though he's curious, and my heart beat faster at how deeply those blue eyes twisted the knots in my belly. It feels like forever, the both of us, holding each other's gazes, neither wanting to look away first until he gives up, scanning Gregory and Nathan, who is still passed out. What the hell did they do to him?“And him? The boy.” he says suddenly. I don't blink. They're the first words I hear from him, and his voice, fuck, his voice is deep — almost like a rough growl but a low one. I start wondering how a growl can sound so quiet. It's without a doubt firm, and assets the control he possesses. I get the feel
PortiaGregory is looking at Vincent motionless on the floor, half of Vincent's head missing. He's next. Heknows it. I know it. And he begins to whimper as Callahan takes hold of his hair and forces him to look him in the eyes, while my uncle prepares the next shot."Where is he?" Callahan asks. Same question.Gregory drags his gaze from Vincent. He's shaking. My two brothers, both cowards when they're outgunned and outsmarted.I only wish it lasted longer. They deserve to suffer. Doesn't he know that? Doesn't he want that?"Where. Is. Fernando?" Callahan asks again. It'll be the last time he asks. I know it.Gregory glances sideways to Vincent momentarily before shifting his gaze back to Callahan, then to my uncle. He's trembling now. He used to laugh at me when I trembled."Please," he begs.Callahan releases him with a disgusted expression on his face and steps back. I guess he doesn't want to get his nice suit dirty. That alone is the signal my uncle needs to pull the trigger aga