Don Theron's Police Wife

“Hands above your head!” I spit, my fingers tightening around the pistol.

The rays of sunlight makes me want to jump out of my skin but I stand rooted to the dusty, empty road.

Instead of obeying my orders, he turns around, his hands fixed in his pocket.

The moment our eyes meet, I notice his face brightens in a way that has me wondering if he's surprised or amused.

Christ. This man looks scarier than the pictures I have seen! And he looks more mature than I thought–a little too mature.

Evil green eyes, neatly shaved jaw with some grey patches on his cheeks, black hair slicked back into a tight bun, and an insanely tall, muscular build. He is draped in all black, like the devil that he is.

His presence intimidates me, because how the fuck is he lighting a cigarette despite being held at gunpoint?

“I said, hands above your head!” I repeat, my insides gathering as much courage as I need.

He doesn't stop smoking the cigarette, instead, he steps closer to the gun.

“I dare you to shoot.” His husky baritone comes, dripping with authority as he exhales thick smoke that makes my eyes redden.

My brows pull together, my fingers turning sweaty on the trigger.

This is my chance to get vengeance. I have waited so long for this, so why can't I do it?

Why do I tremble from just five words that he uttered?

I shake my head, ‘You have to be brave, he's just a mere human!’ the voice in my head encourages.

But is he really human? Every human I know would tremble at gunpoint, but he is unmoved. And that bothers me more than anything else.

“Before I kill you, I want to know why you killed my mother.” I declare, my jaws hardening.

My hands struggle to keep the gun on the target but giving up isn't an option. He murdered my mother mercilessly, for no reason too–at least none that I knew of.

So it is only right to know why, so it'll fuel my resolve to eliminate him.

“Little kids and unnecessary curiosity.” He says, dragging the words longer than he should.

“Cut the crap and answer me!” I thunder, even though I am trembling inside.

“Even my silence is an answer yet I gave words, and you raise your voice at me.” His lips turning up into a tight smirk as he finishes.

Okay, I see why it is hard to arrest him.

My father have tried for years to catch him red-handed but he always escapes one way or the other. One of the ways which I assume is his vague way of speaking.

“Tell me why you killed my mother or I'll pull the trigger!” I threaten, widening my eyes as I step back.

“You say you want to kill me but it looks like you're giving me choices. Didn't your father teach you how to threaten criminals?” He asks, flicking his cigarette away.

Wait. He was right.

I shake my head, what's going on with me? That definitely came out wrong but I'll hate to admit that.

My temple begins to throb softly, I am racking my head for my next move.

Because it's so hard to feel confident when the criminal isn't afraid of you in the slightest.

“Enough talk, say your last prayers.” I say, trying to sound fearful as I joined my free hand to the pistol.

As I curl my hands around the trigger, I swallowed hard on the lump forming in my throat.

Just then, he drags my hand forward and before I realize what's happening, he's twisting my hand painfully behind my back.

Everything happens so fast and now I wish I wasn't preparing myself mentally before shooting.

“Now, you say your last prayers princess,” He growls, tightening his grip on my hand and that makes the pistol fall.

“Let me go, you monster!” I curse, wishing he'll really let me go because if I die here, my father would never forgive me.

He warned me to kill the idea of confrontation but being the neglected one in the family, I wanted to show him I was just as tough. I wanted to finally earn my father's respect, by getting vengeance for my mother.

But maybe I'm just a weak girl like he says, because this monster has me in a chokehold.

I didn't realize his free hand wrapped around my neck until I start gasping for air. I'm struggling to break free but it feels like the more I twist in his grip, the harder it became to breath.

My heart pounds heavily in my chest, my face burning with the heat from the sun, tears course from the side of my eyes as I fight for air.

At this point, I'm wishing I never snooped through the Don's file in my father’s room. I’m also wishing I didn't find my way to him.

I'm wishing I had persuaded my brothers to join me but they were just like my father–justice fighters who didn't believe in their little sister.

Suddenly he lets go of my throat and this makes me cough so hard. So this is what it feels like to have your life flash before your eyes? Wow.

“Nico,” he calls out and I hear the slamming of a car's door as a man approached him.

“Legatela subito e buttatela nella mia Escalade. Ora!”

Tie her up and throw her into my Escalade. Now!

Despite growing up in Italy, this language sounds like gibberish in my ears, and I'm struggling to understand it.

Until I'm thrown into this strange man's arms. I'm still gasping from air, rubbing my throat to ease the pain.

So before I know it, I'm bound by thick red ropes and thrown in the trunk of a black escalade.

“Don, why don't we waste her here? So it serves as a lesson to other upholders of justice?” I hear Nico say before he shuts the trunk and I badly want to punch him in the face for that.

But my heart stops for a second when I hear the next words of the criminal I tried to capture.

“Don't touch her, she's my new bride.”