Page 4 of Elf

His heart would be protected against love from now on. But he wouldn’t be telling Sammy that. It would break her own.

He did what he could for her pain, then sat with her for hours, relishing every moment they had left. He stayed until her eyes drooped closed. Tucking her in, he studied her wrinkled face before glancing around at all the images of them over the years. There were even pictures of his family members peppering the walls because despite their warning, they’d taken her in and couldn’t help loving her, too. He needed to text their family chat and let them all know they needed to come see her soon. He could sense her life-force, and it was nearly gone.

It was still bright. Still beautiful. But now only a thin, shimmering thread, as delicate as spider silk, connected her to this world. And soon…it would break.

Chapter Three

Ezra

Ezra Forsberg pushed open the door to exit the club and nearly stumbled through it when he caught his bad foot on the threshold.

“Thanks, Father,” he mumbled, using the term his parent had preferred over the more familiar Dad.

Always so fucking formal.

One must never show lack of control.

Something Ezra was so not doing that night. He’d enjoyed maybe a little too much wine.

He braced one hand against the outside brick wall and took a moment to try and orient himself toward his car. Luckily, he’d kept his driver working tonight because there was no way he could drive himself anywhere.

Ezra couldn’t repress a chuckle. He was going nowhere, just like his father had always predicted. Elijah Forsberg would be laughing, if it weren’t for the wholebeing deadthing. Hard to laugh with a bullet hole through the face.

He still didn’t know if tonight’s over-indulgence was in grief…or celebration. Ezra had felt numb all throughout thefuneral yesterday. He sure didn’t feel numb now. Nope, he was wonderfully tingly and almost carefree. Almost. No amount of alcohol could take away the reminder that his crime lord father was no longer around to make his life miserable.

“That him?”

Hard fingers gripped Ezra’s biceps and yanked him around the corner of the club and into an alley.

“What? Who?” he slurred as he took in the pitch blackness in front of him. He turned toward his assailant but only got a glimpse of a black ski mask in the faint light from the outside streetlights. The guy pulled him toward that dark back of the alley.

Drunk or not, Ezra knew he didnotwant to go there. He threw out a punch with his free arm, only to have it caught by another guy he hadn’t noticed.

“What do you want?” he demanded, using his haughtiest voice so they’d realize he wasn’t going to just go along with whatever they had planned. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a good time. Not for him anyway. “If it’s money, I got plenty of that. But not on me. Where’s the closest ATM?”

“Shut up, rich boy,” the guy to his right growled, digging his fingers in even harder as he forced Ezra farther away from the loud music. “Nobody’s gonna hear you, no matter how loud you scream.”

“Scream? What the hell?” Fear made him freeze for an instant before he started to really struggle, kicking out his feet and yanking on his arms. Both men were bigger than him. Stronger than him. “What do you want?” he repeated.

“I told you to shut up. You must have pissed off the wrong person, rich boy, because we’re getting a lot of money to snuff you out.” He slammed his meaty fist into Ezra’s stomach on the last word.

Ezra’s vision went white. He doubled over and puked up the wine he’d consumed, harsh and acidic on his throat.

“Nasty fucker.”

He didn’t know which one had said that, but another punch hit, this time to Ezra’s kidney, and he yelled for help, though he knew the man had been right—nobody would hear him over the thumping beat streaming out of the club. A fist slammed into his face, blood instantly flooding his mouth. This time, he saw stars, and dizziness spun his already inebriated brain. His legs gave out under him. He hit the pavement hard and could only curl up as the two men began kicking him.

There was so much pain, it all became a blur. The only constant in his mind was that he was going to die. In a puddle of wine vomit. Just like his old man, except for the vomit and the alley and the lack of bullets ripping his skull open. Elijah Forsberg had died like a rich man, wearing a three-piece suit, and Ezra was going to die like a dog in a stinking alley.

His drunken brain zeroed in on one other thing.

He’d never even gotten the chance to feel love, something he’d yearned for despite telling himself that emotion was for fools. But that thought was fleeting as the blackness of the alley seemed to seep into his mind, turning the edges into yawning abysses.

“Hey, hey!”

“Holy shit, someone’s getting beaten up!”

Different voices penetrated his fog of pain, but he couldn’t completely make them out. The punches and kicks stopped abruptly, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps running away.

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