Helmets are great for anonymity, but fucking shit for visibility.
“Fuck off.” I throw my hand back with a snarl and yank the bat out of the culprit's hands. The lady yelps from being thrown off balance. But then her screams turn into words. Only a single word, Help.
Fucker Two aims his gun at me. “Don’t you fucking touch her.”
They can’t see my grin as I say, “That’s my line.” I tilt my head to the side, eying the gun. “You weren’t planning on using that on me, were you?”
I swing the wooden bat before he manages to pull the trigger. Those things are great, but they’re shit for close combat, which is why I prefer my fists. Using a gun doesn’t give me the same satisfaction as pummeling someone’s head in until they’re an unrecognizable pile of flesh and bone.
He cries out as the weapon is ripped out of his hands and lands by their mother’s feet. Fucker One returns, hunched over, charging forward like a raging bull. I lift my leg before he makes contact, sending him careening backward just as Fucker Two swings his arm.
From the corner of my eye, I watch as the woman runs toward the gun on the ground.
And then red and blue lights flash.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
One of the twins lands a hit on my ribs, making me grunt. I grip the bat, raise it in the air and aim it at his head.
“Stop!” she screams.
Bang.
Another scream.
Yelling.
But my arm never moves. The bat doesn’t come crashing forward. I’m frozen. I just stare at Fucker Two as he gapes at me. Then slowly, questioningly, he drops his gaze to my chest.
And then I feel it. A prickle at first, like static along my skin.
Suddenly, it’s a burn, scorching hot, searing into my flesh as if I’ve been set on fire, though I never saw anyone light the match. The pain thunders through every molecule of my being, setting every hair and cell in my body ablaze. I feel so cold.
I look down to find my hand already on my chest. Trembling fingers pull away to a liquid sheen that catches the light on my leather gloves.
My body gives out beneath me, and my knees crash against the concrete. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Pure agony. The basement was better than this. The belt hurt less.
The burning worsens, swirling, until dots dance in my vision. As the world turns bright, something rough hits the back of my head. It’s not so dim anymore. The sounds are clearer. But I can’t make out any of them. Something presses against my chest. I want to scream, yell, yank this pain out of me.
I can’t breathe. It hurts too much. I can’t—oh, God. I’m going to die.
No.
No.
Bella.
Who’s going to watch over Bella?
Who’s going to take care of my princess?
I can’t die. I need to take her to school. I have to make sure she’s okay. I have to be there for her. What if she forgets to bring her inhaler again? What if she doesn’t have enough money for lunch, or has a nightmare?
No. I can’t leave Bella. We finally kissed, and in one year, it’ll be just us. We’ll be going around the country to camp by the beach and see New Orleans, just like she always dreamed of. I’m meant to take her back to Disneyland and give her everything she’s ever wanted.
We haven’t gotten our high energy dog that’s been trained to protect Bella. Or flown to Italy so she can have authentic pizza, and to Greece to relive our ancient history obsession. I’m meant to be putting three kids in her, and we’re supposed to have an unconventional wedding, where she’d wear a white dress and start crying as she walks down the aisle.
I can’t die. I won’t.
But I can’t fight it.
The last thing on my lips when the lights go out is her name. "Bella."
Chapter 13
ROMAN
Three Months Ago
Roman: 22 years old – Isabella: 19 years old.
“Inmate 25963, today’s your lucky day.”
It takes far too much physical effort to look away from the piece of paper in my hands to Rico’s stupid face. I’m not a portrait artist, but I’ve had nothing but time on my hands to try to draw her. This particular one is my favorite piece.
I managed to get the soft bow of her lips, the sweeping lashes framing big almond-shaped brown eyes, and the little dot on her left cheek. It’s the only way I can see her in this shithole, and I don’t want to forget what she looks like.
The drawing doesn’t come anywhere near the real thing. I could spend a lifetime perfecting my skill, but I will never do her justice.