Page 20 of Ghost
Ghost’s stomach curdled and anger bubbled beneath his skin.
“Brick said if you hurt her, he’s coming after you.”
That made him roll his eyes.“He’s gotten soft.”
“Well, look what he’s been through with Bray and Natalie.’Course he’s soft.Anyway, don’t worry, I’ve got your back.I know beneath all that asshole and people-loathing you’ve got a heart of gold.I bet she’ll have you eating her pie like—”
“All right, shove it up your ass, you idiot,” Ghost said, a warning in his tone.“The woman’s in my shop with a head wound—not caused by me—possibly had some hypothermia, and all her fingernails are intact.I want more intel from Rami before I decide what to do with her.”
“That’s reasonable,” Taschen said evenly.“If anyone can find out who she is, it’s Backcountry.But you know she ain’t no innocent civilian.Unless she’s somehow a victim in all this, I don’t see how that changes much.”
Ghost propped his elbow on the table.“You’re not helping.”
“Didn’t know I was supposed to.Look, if it were me, I’d let her stew.Don’t decide anything yet.”
“How can I not kill her?She came at me with a needle for Christ’s sake.”
“Yeah, but she didn’t kill you.”
“Because I stopped her,” he shot back.
“Exactly.And why do you think that is?Because you’re probably at least double her size.I don’t think you need to kill her.Just make sure she’s too scared to come back for your ass.”With that, Taschen hung up.
And damn if he wasn’t more pissed than when he answered.
***
Mila shivered beneaththe quilt, curled in a ball on her side.Her mouth was so dry that every swallow felt like a hundred knives stabbing her throat.
He’d been gone a long time.Hours.
She hated being alone.Solitude brought back the voices and memories.Recollections she couldn’t handle—that she had to push away, otherwise she’d break.She wanted his hostile presence back.When she was pissing him off, she wasn’t alone with her thoughts.
While in and out of sleep, she’d thought she’d heard footsteps or seen his shadow.Then she’d open her eyes only to find herself alone.She was so weak and dehydrated that just regaining consciousness was painful.
At least he hadn’t turned the fans back on.
Her temples pounded, and the headache was so intense she never wanted to open her eyes again.If she died right here and now, she wouldn’t even care.
I love you, Mila, my tiny dancer.
Her mother’s voice filled Mila’s head and tears rushed to her eyes.She shook as a sob broke through her lips.
Mama, it’s been so long since I’ve heard your voice.Since I’ve even remembered it...
Thick, heavy grief weighed on her chest.She struggled to inhale but the breath stopped at her nose, the tension so tight she couldn’t get air in.
She thought of her mom’s soft, pretty hair.Her smell...like sunshine and love.She dissolved into choked gasps.“M-M-M...”Her mouth worked to say the word, to call for her mother, but it’d been decades since she had.Since she was even allowed to utter the word mama.
“Anna,” the man barked.Rough hands grabbed her shoulders, turning her onto her back.
She blinked, confused and startled.What would it sound like if he called her Mila?
His gaze raked over her face and his mouth tensed.“You’re crying.”He sounded accusatory and...shocked?
She sniffled and shook her head, trying to wiggle from his grasp, but she didn’t have the strength.He pulled her upright, his grip firm on her biceps.His arms were also tensed, revealing every hard mound of muscle.Three buttons at his collar were open, revealing ink that snaked over his chest below his neck.Her gaze followed his possessive grip and landed on his hands.Even those were tattooed, but only one piece of art jumped out at her: a paw print.
“Are you hurt?”
