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I move to the back of the sofa and find her there, eyes looking up. She doesn’t blink. She doesn’t move. She just lays there. So still. A pool of blood has formed around her head and a thick shard of glass partially sticks out of her neck. The blood flows like a slow stream. Uninterrupted.
I’m paralyzed, but my body is shaking in place.She can’t be dead. Not her, no! Please, not her.My mind races with thoughts of what to do.
I can’t stop crying.Mommy. I run to her, ignoring the blood, and shake her. “Mom, Mom wake up, wake up now, please!” I continue to shout, but she doesn’t answer. I pull at my hair and scream, “help,” as loud as I can. But no one comes.
I get up, overlooking the blood dripping from my knees, and rush toward the phone on the end table, instantly dialing the police.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“My name is—Damian Prescott and my father just killed my mom.”
Chapter 1
Damian
20 Years Later
Isit in front of her gravestone with a bouquet of lilies in my hand. Their smell reminds me of her perfume, the one she always wore. I trace the rough outline of her name, MARY PRESCOTT, and clench my hand into a tight fist until a dull pain rushes into my palm. The wound may be faint now, but it’s still there, lying dormant like a sleeping beast. My mother was the best person I knew, and her loss still hurts even after all this time.
Once the police found my father, the case was easy to make. The judge gave him life in prison without the chance of parole and I hope he rots in there. I’ve never visited him, and I never will.
After Mom died, I lived with her mother. My grandmother and I did our best to heal each other. The first few years were the hardest. I blamed myself every day, but she wanted none of it. Grandma told me there was nothing I could’ve done. Had I tried, she said, he probably would’ve killed me too. I know she’s right, but that realization doesn't diminish the hurt I still feel.
Grandma died last year, and I still miss her. But if there’s a chance she’s with Mom, I know she’s happy.
I visit my mother every month to let her know I remember. Every hug, every kiss, and every lesson she taught me are all still there, etched into my heart like tattoos.
Closing my eyes, I try to hide the grief in my voice. “Hey Mama, I hope Heaven’s treating you well today. I’m sure if there’s a kitchen, you’re making those blueberry muffins I used to love.”
I rub at my chest and take a few deep breaths before I continue. “I’m doing well too. The business is still doing great. You would be proud of it. And no, there’s no wife or kids,” I chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, you’re giving me shit, I bet.”
I place my hands in my jeans pockets and look down onto the immaculately trimmed grass. “You know I can’t risk turning into him. It’s safer this way. Don’t hate me, Ma,” I whisper, looking up at her name. My throat closes painfully tight. I have to get out of herebefore I lose my tenuous grip on my emotions. “I love you. I’ll be back soon.” I lay the flowers down, look at her gravestone for one more second, and make my way back to the car.
As soon as I get inside, my cell phone vibrates with a text from Jax, my business partner and friend. Jax, Gabriel, and I started JDG Global Security four years ago when we retired from Delta Force. Our workdays are spent catering to high profile individuals and companies who need private security detail, or the ever so popular bomb sweep. Other times, wealthy people need us to travel with them to offer protection to and from their destination. The guys and I don’t do it ourselves though, we have over twenty male and female employees for that. So unless a client specifically asks for one of us and pays the big bucks, we assign our crew the task. They’re all ex-armed forces or law enforcement and very capable at what they do.
Jax: Hey D, you coming out tonight or what? The bar is laid back. Not like I’m taking you clubbing. C’mon man! Plus, you need to get laid. It’s been so long, I mean does your dick still work? Oh and don’t forget, you gotta go see that apartment tomorrow.
Jax wants me to come out with him and Gabe to some place called Whiskey, but I hate going out. Because they’re both single, they’re always out pretty much every weekend, unless they have work to do. I’m more of a loner I guess. The bar and club scene just aren’t for me, so I rarely join them. But I decide to throw them a bone this once. I could use the distraction from the painful memory of my mother’s death, which always hits me harder whenever I visit her grave.
Damian: Fine, jackass, I’ll come. Stop worrying so much about my dick. If you want some, just ask. And yeah, I remember.
Jax:Ha! You wish D. You’re not my type. See ya tonight.
* * *
We arrive at the bar around eight, and order Heinekens and some wings. Jax was right, this is more of a pub than a club. I don’t mind the vibe.
The guys are watching some game on one of the TVs sitting high around the bar area, while I look around. The door keeps opening and closing as more people pour inside. Music and loud conversations fill the room and I rotate in the swivel chair taking in the crowd.
My eyes drift away from the rest of the people to the two women sitting on the other end of the bar. The wide-eyed brunette looks at her blonde friend while tugging her full, red lip between her teeth and twisting the end of her ponytail around her finger. Wrinkling her brows, she nods her head and looks down at her drink.
I tighten my fingers around the cold bottle of beer and lift it to my mouth just as she looks up, her eyes burning into mine. I slowly turn back around and place the bottle down, all the while maintaining her unrelenting stare. Her lips part slightly, and she gazes intently as if searching for something she’d lost. Neither one of us looks away, our eyes fighting a battle for what feels like minutes but was probably mere seconds. I tell myself to turn around, but I can’t find the strength. I’m not sure what’s happening.
Her brows knit together, as if we’re both thinking the same thing. Then she blinks, and just like that, the connection is broken. Looking back at her friend, they continue their conversation.
I take a big gulp of my beer, needing the cool liquid to douse the fire burning inside me. I have no idea what the hell that was about, but I know she felt it too. I continue to observe her from the corner of my eye, curious about what’s making her so upset. Her gaze strays back to me, head tilting to the side as she looks at me with intense focus. I turn back to her, but she quickly turns away.
Thankfully, my two buddies are oblivious to what’s going on, too busy complaining about a bad call an umpire just made. Before I can stop myself, I motion for the bartender and tell him to send both ladies another of whatever they’re drinking. I grab a napkin and reach for a pen in my pocket. After writing something down, I fold the napkin and give it to the bartender, with instructions to hand it to the brunette.
