Page 12 of My Mafia Daddy

I’m intrigued by the tattoos covering him as well, and the scars that run all over him in different places. Where has all of this come from? What does it all mean? Whoishe?

Owen catches me looking, and cocks a knowing eyebrow at me, which instantly heats up my cheeks in flushed embarrassment.

It’s bad enough that my body is betraying me, I don’t want him to know about it.

With an irritated huff, I storm off, back into the bedroom I woke up in not so long ago. All I wanted to do was escape this room, but now it’s the safest place in this cabin. At least here, I can throw myself onto the bed without him watching me.

How God damn dumb is fate? Howunfairis fate?

Earlier on today, I was trying to make a plan to escape one prison, the marriage to Rickie Flynn Junior and all that would entail, and now here I am in another one.

One with the very mysterious Owen Jackland.

How the hell am I going to get out of this?

FOUR

OWEN

The early afternoon sun dips low, creating a strange orangey glow over the view from my cabin. A view that stretches far and wide, with no one and nothing in the way.

It’s a view I would normally love to bask in, but today I’m on edge. Everything has me all nervous, which might be why my brain sinks back into the past—to a memory I normally try and shove to the back of my brain, but I don’t have the strength for it today. It overcomes me, no matter what.

The day my world erupted into chaos, shifting everything forever more.

The air was thick with tension, the gunfire relentless, the cries of scared men overwhelmed me in the midst of the merciless jaws of an ambush. An ambush we were never supposed to face. We planned this mission well. We worked tirelessly to make it work.

But we failed.

Going back to that moment, I can still almost feel the weight of my gear pressing down on me, the oppressive heat, the acrid smell of smoke flooding my nostrils.

It was the end.

In that moment, I was absolutely convinced that my life was over. There was no way out.

But then my Commanding Officer, Seth Moore, sprung into action in front of me, knocking me off my feet completely. I was annoyed for a moment because I thought it might crush me and be the final nail in my coffin, all because of a mistake.

But Seth didn’t bump into me by accident, he wasn’t trying to hurt me. He saved me.

That man threw himself on me just as the world around us exploded into violence.

I felt the impact, the searing pain, and the desperate gasps for breath as the dust settled around us, and that’s a feeling I can still draw on today, even if I don’t want to.

For a fleeting second, I believed in miracles. I believed that sacrifice meant something, that Seth had saved the both of us and given at least some of our unit another chance. I couldn’t feel more grateful if I tried.

But that gratitude didn’t last long.

Seth really did give up his life for me.

Dead on arrival, they said.

All of them died that day. I was the only man left in my unit alive.

The military discharged me with honors, a label that felt empty, mocking. What honor was there in surviving when the man who saved you was lost to the cruel whims of war? What honor is there in being alive when no one else is?

I can’t ever forget. Not that I would anyway, but my body is covered in scars from that day, which means every time I look at myself, I seehim. I see the man who died for me.

This is why sitting still in one place doesn’t work well for me. Because there is way too much time for me to think about these things. To live in the past. I’mnogood at living in the past.

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