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They never judged, not if you discount Sal’s and Zane’s bitching for me to return. Even they knew damn well who I was working for, and possibly why. I would show them the same respect they showed me, loyalty, and maybe I felt something more, but refused to accept it. How the fuck do you know what love is if you’ve never received it?
My own mother left me to the wolves, for Christ’s sake. If she can’t love me, then how or why would anyone else?
Before I know what I’m doing, I turn the handle on Benito’s private wing and step inside. There’s no CCTV in here; Azrael hasn’t hidden the fact that his and his father’s quarters are the only ones with complete privacy.
It’s as lavish in here as I’d expect from the Don of the underworld, with red walls offering a sordid, medieval feel, and dark furnishings. An old Bing Crosby song plays in the background, adding to the eerie atmosphere. A memory of the song being in a movie I once watched as a kid hits me. It’s about a small girl who passed away at the hands of evil, and it causes my chest to tighten, and I retrieve my gun from my holster with the recollection.
The song becomes louder with each step I take, almost haunting me, yet pulling me in at the same time, drawing me closer with each step.
I round the corner and find myself inside Benito’s office, or is it a bedroom? There’s a huge bed in the corner of the room, and as I scan my surroundings, I keep my gun aimed at the empty chair behind his desk.
The area is lit by candles, and when the sound of a small voice whispers the familiar words to the song, I almost crumble. “Did you ever see a dream walking? Well, I did.”
In the corner of the room, on what I can only describe as a dog bed, lies the shell of a broken, naked girl. My breath hitches as I attempt to formulate her age, and I hate myself for daring to look at her naked form at a lame attempt to help calculate it.
Her matted, wavy hair appears wet, and I grimace at what the substance could be, given it’s dry in here.
My heart pounds so loudly, I hear the flow of my blood in my ears, and my free hand balls into a fist as anger takes over me.
Her small body shudders, but it’s her stare that holds me captive. Not in the way you’d expect. No, the girl isn’t even looking up at me; her eyes are not trained on me at all. They’re focused on her finger drawing on the wooden floor as if in a trance.
It’s as if I’m not here at all.
What the fuck do I do?
My gun is now aimed in her direction, and for a split second, I contemplate putting her out of her misery. “Are you a dream too?” she whispers, raising her gaze to meet mine.
Her blue eyes are empty, and my stomach twists with the agony behind them.
A young girl covered in dirt. I assess her, but immediately snap my gaze back up, unable to look at her nakedness, however innocent it may be.
I kneel in front of her, and when I touch her cheek, the chill of her skin stuns me silent.
My words refuse to form, my mouth becomes dry, and this brutal, evil world I’m living in becomes more wrong than ever before. Innocence shines back at me, but I’m not fool enough to believe she’s been kept as such. I only have to glance around the room to see the tussled sheets on the four-poster bed as confirmation of it.
She tilts her head, surveying me. “Are you a dream too?” she repeats, through cracked lips and pleading eyes.
A chuckle leaves me. “If I’m a dream, kid, then you’re a fucking nightmare.” I shrug off my jacket and place it over her boney shoulders, and it covers her small form like a veil. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
I stand, then bend and scoop her into my arms. I don’t miss the blood on her thighs as she tucks her legs up, curling into a small ball, and I’m grateful for her tiny frame. It allows me to shield her body from the outside world, protect her from the evil surrounding us.
As I step out of the room and into the corridor, I know I’ll have to convince Azrael to become compliant in my quest to protect her, but I’ll do whatever I can to care for my little nightmare.
I just hope I never let her down.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
IMMIE
I’m breathless and gasping as I reach the end of the pool, but I needed this. Here is where I feel free, where I can push myself to my limits, yet remain in control. The only other place I feel the same comfort is in Jensen’s presence.
The pool is empty, but I can see Clint’s car from where I rest on the edge of the pool. Being one of the team’s all-star swimmers means I have the keys to this place, and having them has come in handy on more than one occasion. The pool at home is great, but the temperature, the size of the pool, and the detachment from home are what draw me back here time and time again.
“Hey, Immie!” a familiar voice filters through the air.
I lift on the edge of the pool to find Brett staring down at me with a towel in his hand. He holds it out, offering it to me, and I smile back at him in thanks and take the towel. First, I wring my hair out, then I towel dry it before getting to my feet and wrapping it around me. “What are you doing here?” I scan him up and down, surprised to see him in his jeans and a T-shirt, looking more like he’s going out somewhere than about to go swimming.
“I forgot my phone.” He holds his phone up in his hand and chuckles. Then he glances around the pool. “I could do with a lift home, though, if that’s okay with you?” He points toward my driver, and I furrow my brow.
