Page 26 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

“Look at me, Laya.” Our gazes collide, and love seeps from him, making my breath stutter. “Never doubt how I felt about you, never.” He pulls something from his pocket, and I don’t have a chance to see it before he’s tying it around my neck. But when the familiar pendant falls onto my chest, a pang of guilt and regret fills my bloodstream at how much I missed it. How much I misshim. Then I shake my head to rid the thoughts. “I need you to promise me that you will be happy, Laya. That you move on and give our son the life he deserves.” I stare back at him with wide eyes. What he’s saying sounds so final. He isn’t saying he will see us later; he’s saying goodbye.

My legs give way, and he catches me, anchoring me to the floor while my mind becomes hazy.

Holy shit. What the hell is happening?

“I will always love you, mi amor.”

His phone beeps and his eyes close. He swallows slowly, and when his eyes open, they fix on Romero. He bends his head and places a soft kiss on Romero’s hair. “Be good, my son.” Then he lifts his eyes to meet mine.

I shake my head again, refusing to accept whatever it is he’s planning.

He nods. “I have to pay for my sins, mi amor. I’m sorry. This was never how it was meant to happen. But I’ll make sure you’re happy. I promise you that.” His hand trails down my cheek, cupping my chin between his fingers. “You were the best thingto ever happen to me. I knew I’d never get to keep you.” He places a kiss on my lips and takes a deep breath, breathing me in. Then he steps back, detaching himself from me, and I feel the loss instantly. My mind doesn’t have time to digest his words and seek the answers I so desperately need. They’re riddled with confusion that only he can clarify.

“Everything you need is in the bag. Only use the contact on the phone.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a memory card. “Give this to Owen.” He places it into the chest pocket of his dress shirt I’m wearing. “It’s important, mi amor. Only Owen.”

I can only nod like a dumb-struck idiot.

He clears his throat and raises his chin. Then, before I can say another word to him, he spins on his heel and strides toward the door.

Panic bubbles inside me. “Ca-Carlos. Carlos, where are you going?”

He slams the door behind him and a whirring noise that sounds like locks slipping into place has me pushing on the door frantically.

Romero cries, and I rush over to the cot, securing him in the sheets before rushing back over to the door, pounding on it with my fists. “Carlos. Carlos, open this fucking door!” Romero wails, and I glance over my shoulder, torn between comforting my son or trying to get out of here and find answers. “Carlos, please!”

Movement catches my eye, and I turn around to face the mirrored window. Two men in balaclavas have entered the room, and I reel back against the wall as I watch in horror when they drag Carlos to the floor. One punches him in the face, sending a flurry of blood splashing into the air while he kneels at their feet. Terror ceases my lungs, and I struggle to breathe through the trauma of witnessing my husband being assaulted.

One man stands behind him and yanks his head back, and I step forward when Carlos’s mouth moves. Trying my hardest to read his lips, I swear he’s repeating, “Don’t look.” Without realizing I had stepped so close, my hands touch the glass as desperation floods me. I hang on to the glass to keep me upright when my entire body feels like it will crumble.

The other man steps to the side and then, out of nowhere, he pulls out a thick blade.

Oh Jesus, no.

My fingers curl into fists, and without thinking, I slam them against the glass. “No!” My voice ricochets off the wall, and Romero’s screams become like white noise as I watch on terror stricken as time slows. He brings the blade to Carlos’s throat, and I will myself to close my eyes, but I can’t.

I can’t.

Nothing works.

I’m frozen.

Blood spews from my husband’s neck, and a choked gasp catches in my throat at the sight while my stomach rolls, churning with bile, fear, and dread.

The wound isn’t a small one, and when they release his hair, his head falls forward, but not before his eyes, normally so full of love and life, fall on me with emptiness.

He’s gone.

They drop him on the floor as if he means nothing, as if he isn’t a husband and father. As if he isn’t cared for.

Suddenly, like I’ve been electrocuted, I jolt, then something spurs me into action. I race over to Romero, pick him up, and hold him tightly against my chest. Then I stroke over his hair, my eyes not leaving the masked men as they tear up the room, searching for something.

The memory card tucked into Carlos’s shirt pocket has me scrambling to retrieve it, and I stare down at it. An overwhelming awareness prickles my skin.

Is whatever is on this card what my husband was killed for?

I snap my gaze up toward the glass, and when one of the men stalks toward the mirror, my heart stills. I plead with Carlos that he was telling the truth, that they can’t see us. His crazed eyes dart around the room, and I wonder if they can sense our presence, my pulse skittering with the thought.

Without realizing it, I’m backed up against the wall, as far from their eyes as possible, and yet somehow, as if knowing I’m here, one of the men focuses on the mirror. He licks his lips and I swallow hard, desperately shushing Romero as he continues to fuss, and when he snaps his eyes away, I blow out the breath I had been holding and sag in relief.

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