Page 2 of Cruelest Contract
But now that I’m this close to Julian Tempesta, I have no trouble believing her story. I bet Julian does whatever he wants and always gets his way. I wonder how that feels.
The music is still playing. The buzz of laughter and voices drifts across the gentle slopes of the vineyard.
There’s also the beat of a new and inexplicable sound, kind of like galloping horses. My stomach tightens automatically.
I’ll never ride a horse again. I still think they are beautiful but I feel sick if I get too close to one.
Instinctively, I bend down to touch the damaged leg that’s lucky to still be attached to my body. When my mother tried to gently talk me out of wearing black winter tights beneath my dress today, I refused.
People see my scars and they stare. I will not give them anything to stare at. With a shaky breath, I take my hand off my leg and lift my eyes to search for the source of the noise.
Shades of soft orange streak the sky and dusk will soon fall but there’s still plenty of light. More than enough for me to see the two spidery shapes rapidly advancing in this direction.
Even after I realize the shapes are helicopters I’m not afraid. Helicopters aren’t rare and they aren’t scary.
It’s not until panicked shouts begin to ring out and I spot some of my grandfather’s men running through the vineyard with their guns raised that I know something is very wrong.
It all happens fast. So very fast.
A deep voice roars, “GET DOWN!”
I know I should listen. But I can’t move. I’m frozen in place on open ground. A sitting duck. A band of terror tightens in my chest.
Both helicopters hover above the formation of tables set up for the wedding reception. The wind from the propellers knocks over chairs and topples the five tier wedding cake. Some people understand what’s coming and dive under tables in desperation. But anyone who just finished dancing on the huge wide open patio has nowhere to go.
The bullets fire at an impossibly rapid speed, hundreds of them. The guns pointing from the open doors of both helicopters are being controlled by unseen men. And they are merciless.
It’s a shock when I’m knocked off my feet. My cheek hits the dirt. For one wild second I’m positive I’ve just been shot.
But I haven’t been shot and I’m not alone.
A very hard, heavy body has tackled me from behind and now pins me to the earth. Even if I wasn’t too petrified to move, I wouldn’t be able to.
Noises blend together. The deafening chop of the helicopter propellers. The endless rapid crack of fired bullets. Screams echo from all directions.
“Stay down,” growls my protector. Big hands cover my ears, a useless attempt to spare me from hearing what’s happening nearby.
All I can see of him are muscled forearms and white sleeves rolled above the elbows.
We’ve never spoken, but I know him.
Just a moment ago he was leaning against a tree and watching his brothers get drunk on stolen whiskey.
Now Julian Tempesta has come between me and death, shielding my body with his.
Bullets hit the earth not far away. Each impact vibrates the ground.
I don’t know how this is happening but it is. Every nightmare rolls into one. Time is an uncertain thing. I might have been here for a minute or an hour. Grass tickles my nose and my chest heaves with sobs.
As horrible as it is to be flat on the ground while bullets fly everywhere, I know things will get much worse.
The faces of all the people I love fly through my mind.
My brothers. My parents. My aunts and uncles and cousins. Even my strict grandfather.
I should be able to remember at least one prayer to save them but there’s nothing. Only intense, paralyzing terror.
The gunfire stops and the roar of the helicopters fades. Men are shouting. Women are wailing.
