Jemma Simmons Shield Novels & Stories

He hurriedly kissed her on the forehead, got into another car, and drove off. On her way home, Jenna received an unfamiliar text message as soon as she turned on her phone. It was a screenshot of a chat that included a photo. In the photo, Luna was wearing a spaghetti-strap slit dress and leaning against a huge floor-to-ceiling window behind her. Her left leg was slightly bent as she looked hazily into the camera. Luna: [Mr. Simmons, you just recovered from a serious illness. Now, it's time to make your choice.] Luna: [Are you going to teach me a lesson or are you going home with your wife?]

It was too bright for my liking. Jemima lay in my arms, her body lifeless and limp, her breathing shallow. At least she was still breathing. The rising run focused its light on her skin, and it shined like she wasn’t dying in my arms. For a brief moment there, she looked like a goddess, too perfect to be real. “Come on, Jemima,” I murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You don’t get to quit on me now. You hear me? You’re tougher than this.”