by Shelly Crane
"I love you."
"Promise me you'll do this for me." I hesitated and he asked again. Harder. "Promise."
"Okay," I answered, but I didn't really even know what I was promising.
A sob broke free of my chest just as clapping resounded in my ears. Milo stood, yanking me behind him as I peeked just barely around his shoulder to see two men in my living room. One was tall with a gun pointed at us, one shorter one was clapping and smiling as if something pleased him very much.
"Aw, Milo, don't look so surprised to see me."
"You said you'd wait until after her brother's funeral."
He looked at his watch and raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "It's after."
"Come on," Milo coaxed me forward. He handed me his cell. "Mason's number's in there. Get out of here."
My breath skidded painfully. "Milo."
"You promised," he begged me, his eyes on mine. "Go." He pushed me toward the kitchen, his hand on the small of my back, but I didn't get far.
"The girl doesn't want to go," the short one said with a high-pitched chuckle. "Sounds to me like someone's having a lover's spat."
"Let her go," Milo growled.
"I think it's better this way," he plopped down into the plush club chair and smiled, "seeing as how she's seen my face and all."
Milo tugged me back behind him and tried to soothe me, his thumb running over my pulse point. His voice, however, was anything but calm as he spat his words to the man sitting down. I could only assume that was Roz. "You bastard. You never had any intention of letting her go."
"I guess you'll never know."
Milo jumped right into it, just like he told me he was going to. "I don't care about your business, Roz. I never did. I was a stupid kid you used to do your bidding. I don't care what you do. I have no interest in you. I'm not going to the cops or anybody else with this. All I'd be doing was incriminating myself anyway. You can trust that—"
He laughed. "No loose ends, Milo. That was the number one rule when I hired you, remember?"
Milo's grip tightened. "You hired me, not her. I was the screw-up who ruined his life, not her. She didn't screw you over, I did. I stole from you and used your goods, not her. Don't punish her because of what I did." He was shaking. "You want me to beg, I will. Please don't do this to her. Take me, do whatever you want to me, but let her go.''
"No," Roz answered immediately. The gunman at the kitchen counter snickered at that. Milo glared at him, and I knew if he a gun hadn't been pointed at me, this whole situation would be very different. I tried not to cry, not to shake. I tried to be brave for Milo since he was being so brave for me.
"Sweetheart," Roz drawled and I knew he was mocking the way Milo said it to me. "Why don't you scoot to the kitchen and make us some tea?"
"Don't you—" Milo barked, but I gripped his arm to stop him. I shook my head, just barely. I leaned up and kissed his bottom lip, not knowing what I could do, but knowing that Roz obviously thought little ol' me wasn't a threat or he wouldn't have sent me into the knife-filled kitchen to get his tea. I glanced at Roz and didn't see a gun on him, but that didn't mean he didn't have one.
I turned up the shakes and tremors to give him an even bigger reason to doubt I was a threat as I made my way to the kitchen. I shook so badly that I dropped the spoon to the floor loudly and left it there, grabbing another one as I rattled it against the cup and started the kettle on the stove.
When I neared the knives, I heard a grunt. The gunman slung the knife block across the room, throwing knives and splinters of wood and wall chunks everywhere as I screamed and crouched down.
"Wouldn't want you to get any ideas," he drawled. I looked up to see his gun pointed right at Milo's chest. Milo's face was so red, his fist so tight. When I filled the kettle with water from the tap, it rattled against the metal from my exaggerated shaking, but I had to admit some of it was real.
Roz chuckled and went back to surveying Milo, which was exactly what I had wanted. Distraction. The gunman still had his back to me, leaning on the counter facing Milo. I quickly pulled out Milo's phone and searched for Mason's number, sending a quick text.
This is Maya. Roz is at my house with a guy w gun. I'm in kitchen. Will stall long as can. Frying pan to head of gunman. Bring what you can for Roz. Hurry. As soon as I see you, I start swinging.
I would have rolled my eyes at myself, but would save that for later. I turned off the ringer in case Mason texted me back.
I turned the kettle to medium so it wouldn’t boil too quickly and hoped that Roz was trying to drag this out for Milo's torture. I brought the sugar and teabags from the cabinet and then spilled sugar on the counter for good measure. I looked up at Milo to find him watching me with an agonized expression as Roz blabbered on about his operation's code of ethics. I didn't know if this would work or not. We may all be dead in a few minutes, but I hated that Milo thought I was this scared. I couldn't do anything about that, though.
Roz's creepy smile found me and I stared back. "What?" I asked.
"I take mine with lots of sugar, sweetheart."
I gritted my teeth.
Milo made a growly noise. "Will you just do something if you're going to do it and leave her the hell alone? Come on. I'm right here." He pounded his chest with his fist. "Get it over with."
Just wait it out, Milo… Just wait. Mason's coming. Mason's coming… Mason's coming…
Mason hadn't answered my text though, and it had been more than seven minutes. I turned so they wouldn't see the defeat washing over me. The kettle whistled and I took it from the hot stove. I stood there, gripping the handle, so mad I couldn't move even if I wanted to. I wasn't angry with Mason. It wasn't his fault.
I could hear Roz talking to Milo behind me. He was saying something about life not giving you anything and taking what you want is the only way that you survive.
I was just angry that I would never get to live out my happily ever after. I heard the smallest of taps. I lifted only my eyes and looked over to the window above the sink, and there he was. Mason was surveying the room, me, and the kettle in my hand. Mason was a handsome, kind, tall, and sweet man, but I hadn't seen this side of him yet. He was beyond livid and past the point of pissed.
He pointed to my back door and himself, letting me know that's where he was coming in. I barely nodded once before picking up a hand towel off the counter and wrapping it as discreetly as I could around my wrist. As soon as I turned and saw Mason, I wasn't using this metal pot for tea anymore. I was hoping it wouldn’t burn too bad, but as long as I got Milo out safe, I didn't care about anything else.
I turned, trying to keep my face straight and sad as it had been before. Roz was still speaking, but I wasn't even listening anymore, it was just sounds. I poured one cup on autopilot, spilling half of it on the counter.
My lips parted when I paid attention and started to hear the words.
No, we were too late. Mason wasn't going to make it. I lifted my face and looked at the back of the gunman to see his raised arm toward Milo. Milo's face as he looked at me was one of determination. He was trying to tell me something. I wasn't having it. I reared back, just as Milo yelled for me to run and started to plow toward the guy, I bashed the guy's head as hard as I could. The sound was unlike anything I'd ever heard—sickeningly thick and solid, crunching as he slammed to the counter and then the floor—but the pain in my hand was actually something I hadn't expected. I dropped the kettle and moaned, cradling my hand. As Milo reached me, I looked up just in time to see Roz lift a gun from the back of his pants and fire the handgun, his face a blaze of anger at things not going as he planned for a second time.
It wasn't in real-time. I couldn’t act fast enough. It was Milo who swung himself in front of me to catch the bullet with his body.
Almost as soon as Roz's gun fired, Mason had turned the corner and slammed the back of Roz's neck with something large, but I didn't see what it was. I didn't see anything but the growing puddle of red that was growi
ng on Milo's shirt as he panted and tried not to fall over as I gently placed him on the couch. "Oh, God, please," I begged.
He touched my chin. "Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"
"Me?" I said hysterically. "Did he hurt me?" The tears were pouring from me as I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a handful of kitchen towels and came back to look for the wound. "You don't worry about me. He shot you." I pulled out the cell, but my fingers were shaking so badly. "Mason!" I sniffed and panted. "Mason, call 911."
He was already right beside me. "Maya," he said soothingly. "It's okay."
"No, it's not okay. He's been shot."
"I already called them. They're coming."
"Oh." I finally looked up at Milo's face, unable to avoid it any longer. He was watching me with this smug little pained smile. I felt my mouth pop open. "What the hell are you smiling about?"
He licked his lip. "Come here, sweetheart."
"No, I'll hurt you. I'll—"
"Come. Here. Sweetheart."
I broke down like a flooded dam. I climbed into his lap sideways gently where he beckoned me and held on to him like I never wanted him to let go again. Because I didn't.
"It's just my arm," he explained into my hair. "I'm okay."
"There's so much blood."
"There are arteries in your arms. Hold on, Milo," Mason said as he yanked tight one of the towels I'd brought on Milo's arm. Milo groaned and panted for a few seconds until it passed. I hissed in sympathy for him.
He put his good arm around my waist and pulled me tightly against him. He sighed into my hair. "I could spank you for what you did." He glared over at Mason. "And you. What are you doing here?"
"I texted him," I confessed.
His face changed. "You what?" I told him everything about my plan. To say he was pissed was an understatement. "I told you I didn't want you to get hurt because of the stupid mistakes I made. If you had taken that bullet instead of me just now…" He shook his head. "You promised me you would stay safe. You—"
"I promised I would go with Mason and let you handle it, but things didn't work out that way." He closed his eyes. "I had to do something. The world losing every person who's ever been good to me just didn't seem right," I explained.
"If I had lost you, I would never have forgiven myself."
"Good thing you don't have to worry about that then, huh?" I ignored his glare and moved in slowly so as not to hurt his arm. I kissed his lips and his chin, his cheeks, his neck. Finally, I gripped his neck and held on because he was there, he was alive, and that was all that mattered, even if he was angry with me. The tears came again, but I didn't want him to see them. He could be mad all he wanted as long as he was here.
"Don't ever, ever do something like that again," he growled in my ear. "Ever. Do you hear me?" I lifted my head and he sighed. His mouth opened a few seconds before his words came. "Ah, baby. I'm sorry. I've just never been so scared in my entire life as I was when I saw Roz's gun pointed at you and there was nothing between you two. I didn't think I was going to make it in time."
I smiled sadly and whispered, "I would have taken a bullet for you, too, you know."
"I know," he whispered gruffly and lifted my chin, "and that pisses me off and turns me on at the same time."
He pulled my mouth up to his roughly. When I felt his warm tongue flick out to lick at the seam of my lips, I gripped his neck to turn his head, sort of loving the control this gave me, and sucked his lip into my mouth. He groaned, and I didn't know if it was pain or something else so I pulled back to question it. He shook his head. "Come here."
Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck so he could go in deeper, I could tell he was hurting, but he didn't let me go. His panting against my lips was harsh and I pushed back again. "Does it hurt bad?" I touched his face.
"Nothing hurt worse than thinking you were going to take that bullet," he told me, his eyes lidded with pain as he stared, but his mouth smiled. "Kissing you makes it better though."
He brushed his mouth against mine, but Mason chuckled, reminding me this whole situation was pretty ridiculous. "All right, hero. Can we try to remember you just got shot?"
But Milo wasn't listening. I was drowning. Drowning in Milo before sirens brought us back to ourselves. He huffed a frustrated breath against my lips when the paramedics came through the door.
They fussed over him and it was then I realized how pale he was. I opened my mouth to say the words when they said something about him needing a transfusion waiting for them at the hospital. "What's your blood type?" they asked him.
Mason butted in. "We have the same blood type. I'll give him whatever he needs when we get there." Mason gripped Milo's hand, their thumbs overlaying as they stared at each other.
"Thanks, man," Milo whispered. It frightened me that it was all he could do.
I had scooted back to give them room when they came in, and now I hugged myself and watched as the room was filled with people. The cops came in and began to ask questions left and right. All the while my eyes kept searching Milo as they patched him up, and his eyes were always on me. When the cops moved on to Mason, since I told them he was the one who had snuck in the back door and saved the day, Milo beckoned me to him. They were about to take him away as soon as they got his IV in, they said, so he took my hand and pulled me down into his lap on the gurney.
I huffed. "Are you insane?" I hissed through a laugh.
"Apparently."
"Sir," the paramedic complained and went to grab my arm, "she can't sit—"
"I wouldn’t do that," Milo told him, and even in his state I felt awfully sorry for that guy. I pressed my lips together to stop from laughing. The guy quirked an amused brow and put up his hands in surrender. Milo pulled me down to lay sideways on his chest and sighed as if that one action made him feel better as he stroked my hair.
I didn't know what was going to happen. I didn't know what any of this meant or what would become of this day. But Milo was here, he was safe, and so was our family. We were together and no matter what this life threw at us, I planned to stay that way.
With my face pressed into his neck, I knew my life would be filled with happiness—wherever we were. We would find a way to be together, someway, somehow. All of these things didn't add up to this one day for nothing. They meant something.
And we would chase each other to the end of every day and fall with arms wide open, knowing that we were safe. My heart was safe with him because not only would he—and did he—take a bullet for me, but he saw me for my possibilities and my future, not for all the things I used to be. And he trusted me with his future, too.
Even now as I listened to the rumble in his chest as Milo barked orders for the paramedic to check the miniscule scratch on my chin, I was falling further and harder for him.
But I was no longer afraid.
EPILOGUE
Milo
Her fingers always ran over the scar absentmindedly, as if she couldn't help but think about it. And then she would swallow, as if it was all too painful to remember. Her eyes would lift to mine and she'd know she was caught. She'd would smile coyly, roll her eyes sometimes, but always reach over and press her lips to the mark before whispering, "Thank you."
"You can stop thanking me," I whispered back and kissed her forehead.
She smiled up at me and handed me a glass of juice. "How was your run?"
I chugged it down before answering and placing it in the sink. "Good. I think the neighbors are finally warming up to me."
She laughed. "Well, now I know you're lying."
She scooped the bacon she fried while I was gone and put it on my plate along with some eggs, and then got some for herself, setting them at the bar stools for us. I pulled some silverware from the drawer and poured coffee for her.
She leaned her head on my shoulder and told me about the neighbor lady coming over and saying how I get her dogs too worked up when I run in the mornings. They think I'm a criminal because I look like on
e with no shirt on, and they'd appreciate if I'd run elsewhere. She giggled as she took her bites of eggs and told me how she had to keep a straight face.
My arm had been in a sling for a few weeks. No pain meds were given, but I wouldn't have taken them anyway. Addicts didn't get pain medication. Maya had hurt her hand whacking that guy in the head with that kettle, but it hadn't been too bad. Just a sprain and she wore a wrap for a few days. But me? She was the best nurse to me. All I could take was over the counter Ibuprofen and I kept bumping into things. Sleeping was a disaster, running wasn't fun at all, working was near impossible, but Maya fussing over me? Her always square in my lap when we made out because I couldn't hold myself over her? Her playing my little nurse when she re-bandaged me? It almost made it worth it to go through it all over again.
The federal bureau had come to the hospital that day after everything happened and said they'd been trying to catch Roz for years—yada, yada. I'd known all that already. That's why I ran from the hospital the first time. I knew they'd want me to talk, and I knew I couldn’t do that because he'd kill me.
Even though he was no longer an issue, all the people in his pocket were still out there. The feds didn't think we'd have any problems with anyone. If anything, people would probably be grateful to be rid of Roz, but they thought getting out of town, out of state, would be a good idea, however I couldn't leave Mamma again. If I honestly thought there was a threat I would have been on the first train out of there, but I was a small fish in that pond. I was a nobody. The only reason Roz ever cared about me at all was because I had dirt on him. He was gone. None of his cronies and buyers would give two craps about me now. I'd been silent for two years already. Why would I start talking now?
