Page 11 of A New Days Don

Her stiff fight against my arms ends abruptly as the leader in charge approaches the door. Her body, as light and small as it is, slumps like dead weight.

The answer is yes, this could get worse.

I throw the limp woman over my shoulder before pulling my gun out of my waistband and turning to the two men in the doorway, the other and his companion, knocked out from whatever drugs they took, on top of each other.

I really needed these two alive.

The leader doesn’t waste time looking for us in the dark. He starts blindly shooting his SMG, spraying the entire area. Wood from the stairs splinters off around us. I hiss as one of the splinters penetrates and lodges itself in my thigh.

The red wanting to creep into my vision earlier, soaks the whole room as I open fire. Shooting both men between their brows, and the other two knocked out for good measure.

Blood and brain matter coat the walls and floors. The smell of iron and decay seeps through the air quickly, saturating it in its bitter metallic scent.

I turn on my heel. My foot kicks the now pale and cold hand of Carter Lopez before I ascend the basement stairs. Each step has been shredded by the rain of bullets, each one moaning under my weight. The female sways against my back as I exit the house into the fresh night air, reminding me of the failed recon.

I stare down at my little prize for the evening. Lying peacefully in my bed. After I brought her back to my condo, I found her calf had been cut by some of the flying shrapnel when buddy opened fired his SMG. Between cleaning and putting a bandage over her wound and doing the same with mine, I haven’t had any time to take in who I brought home. Who I am currently allowing to lie in my bed. The thought of having someone in my personal domain should drive an unpleasant shiver down my spine, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the low from the adrenaline, or maybe my mind is still stuck on how I am going to get a new lead, but whatever it is, I don’t mind her here.

I rest back in the chair sitting in the corner of my room. Her milky skin contrasts so beautifully against my dark grey sheets. She looks so small lying in the centre of my bed, dressed only in her sweater and cotton panties. She may be out cold, but her face is still strained, as if even in rest she is fighting.

Something possessive stirs deep within my chest. I run a hand through my hair as I look up and down her body, checking for any other obvious wounds. Saving her may have been a mistake. But where was her team, and why did they leave her for dead in that basement?

Her eyes shift restlessly, making her lashes dance across her soft cheeks. She’s innocent. Young. And she should definitely not be in my bed. So why does she look like she belongs there?

I clench my fists and stand from my chair.

Whoever the fuck she is, she needs to wake up and get out of here.

I can’t have her distracting me.

I can’t feel this need seeping through me like poison.

I should fight against it, but something tells me that it may be no use.

Chapter 4

Mila

For the first time in years, I don’t dream. Pure, blissful darkness.

I think I whimper and whine as consciousness comes for me, but I can’t be certain.

The smell of leather and cedar is the first thing to infiltrate my senses. I inhale slowly, dragging the masculine scent into my lungs, enjoying how it caresses against me.

Soft, almost silky, sheets press against my cheek. Did I fall asleep on a cloud?

I shove my face into the exquisite delicacy beneath me, burying myself in its comfort.

Please don’t wake up.

I silently beg my mind, but like always, it doesn’t cooperate with what I want. My eyes flutter open, and my room is a little blurry, that foreign leather and cedar still wrapped around me.

Wait.

I rub my eyes, forcing moisture to clear my vision. Sleek black furniture. Dark grey walls. High ceilings. Massive bed. Large windows overlook the Las Vegas skyline.

This isn’t my room.

This isn’t my home.