by Sam Mariano
Liam drops into the seat beside me, offering me a paper cup of warm apple cider. He’s watching the television instead of me as I accept it with a murmured, “thank you,” and bring the cup to my lips. It’ll be hot, but he was in line for a while and we’ll have to board the plane in just a few minutes.
“Should we get in line?” I ask, nodding toward the assembled lines of people lingering near
“Not yet,” he says, eyes on the TV. With a nod toward it, he asks, “What’s that?”
I take a casual glance around, even though it’s unlikely anyone would be eavesdropping on us. There is a woman in a blue shirt who keeps staring at Liam, but by the look of things, it’s because she’s attracted to him. Liam picked us seats against the wall so we didn’t have to sit back-to-back with strange people and chance them listening in on our conversation, anyway.
Satisfied that no one is paying attention, I’m still vague. “That mafia story we saw earlier.”
“Anything new?”
I shake my head wordlessly, looking back to the television. They’ve moved on from the story, so I glance down at my cup and take a scalding sip.
A little lower, Liam asks, “You okay?”
Flashing him a brave smile, I say, “All good.”
It does stir things up a little, seeing it on the television screen like that. Seeing footage of the house I grew up in blown to shit, hearing my life talked about as a news item.
Not my life anymore, I remind myself. That life is over, and I’m glad. I won’t miss it. I won’t miss any of them—I refuse.
On that note, I ask, “What happens when we get there? Are there people meeting us, or…? Will we get to see the house today?”
Nodding, he assures me, “There’s a Kia Rio waiting for us at the airport.”
“So we’ll spend our first night in our new home tonight?” I ask, grinning.
My smile must be contagious, as he smiles, too. “We will.”
The woman standing at the podium gets on her little microphone and announces that our flight will begin boarding. All the eager people already standing around begin to shuffle, but she begins to call up passengers with special circumstances first.
It’s here. It’s really here. None of the horrifying scenarios that played out in my head once I finally fell asleep came to pass. We made it through the airport, through security; no omniscient police force awaited us at the gates… Liam got away with it and we’re making a clean getaway.
Elation moves through me, like we really are going on a vacation. This was all so impossible, too wild even to dream up, and somehow it’s happening. Somehow the sexy marksman who was supposed to kill me is instead sweeping me off my feet and we’re riding off into the sunset. Or, to the sunset house, at least.
Looking over at Liam, seeing a glint of a twinkle in his eye, I’m so consumed with happiness I could burst.
My life has been far from a fairy tale and I had no expectation of ever escaping it, but here it is—my happily ever after.
Liam catches me looking at him and leans in for an impulsive kiss. It’s just a peck, but I grab his hand with my free one and twine our fingers together when he goes to pull back.
Sighing, gazing into my eyes, Liam tells me, “It’s just gonna be you and me from now on. When we get there… it’s all on us. You okay with that?”
Giving his hand a squeeze, I tell him, “I can’t think of anything better.”
He nods once, looking hopeful. We stand together, hands still entwined, and he grabs the suitcase with his free one. I go to grab my thrifty new purse but realize I’m still holding the apple cider. Taking one more long sip, despite the damage to my taste buds, I drop his hand just long enough to drop my cup into the nearby garbage. Once I return to Liam’s side, I take his hand, and together we board the plane to paradise.
THE END
About the Author
Sam Mariano has been writing stories since before she could actually write. In college, she studied psychology and English, because apparently she never wanted to make any money!
Sam Mariano lives in Ohio and has a fantastic little daughter who loves to keep her from writing. Sam appreciates the opportunity to share her characters with you; they were tired of living and dying in her hard drive.
Check out Sam’s earlier books, and feel free to find her on Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter, or her blog—she loves hearing from readers! She’s also available on Instagram now @sammarianobooks, and you can sign up for her infrequent, totally not spammy newsletter HERE
If you have the time and inclination to leave a review, however short or long, she would greatly appreciate it! :)
If you enjoyed The Last Boss’ Daughter, you might also enjoy Sam Mariano’s Irreparable duet. Here’s a sneak peek at the first chapter of Irreparable Damage!
Chapter One
Once her parents and younger brother went to bed, Willow Kensington was psyched to finally have the house to herself.
Her 18th birthday had just passed, and between the cake, cupcakes, and the “birthday ice cream” her boyfriend had taken her out for, she desperately needed to burn some calories before indulging in some late night television.
After changing into her work-out clothes, she briefly considered putting in an exercise video. Since it was unseasonably cool out for June, she opted to go for a run instead.
Putting on some upbeat music, she did a few basic warm-up exercises, rotated her ankles several times each way, and set off along her usual path in their little suburban neighborhood.
By the time she made it back home, Willow was beat. The front porch only had four steps, but her muscles burned as she took the last two. Tugging her ear buds out, she shoved them in the front pocket of her sweater, attempting to turn the doorknob, but found it locked. Weird. Her mom or Ashlynn must’ve gotten up for some reason and locked it, assuming she was upstairs in bed.
Reaching into the hanging planter, she felt around the soil until she retrieved the spare key, thankful that she didn’t have to wake anyone up.
A half hour later, clean and wearing comfy clothes, Willow felt like a new person. She was still thirsty though, so she ran back downstairs to get a bottle of water.
As she stood bent over, peering into the refrigerator, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end; her body tensed and she had the oddest sensation that someone was staring at her.
Straightening slowly, she glanced to the left—half expecting to see her brother creeping up on her—but nothing was there.
Shoulders slumping in relief, she reached into the refrigerator, grabbed her water, and closed the door.
Two strong arms closed around her from behind. The water slipped out of her hands as the man anchored her arms against her body. She opened her mouth to scream and a third gloved hand came from off to the side, roughly covering her mouth.
“Hold her still,” a male voice barked quietly.
“I’m trying, she’s fucking squirming,” the other one muttered, pulling her more roughly up against his body. “Christ, stop moving!”
Willow thrashed even more, her protests muffled as she continued to kick and yank her arms wildly, trying to break free, trying to call for help. Her heart slammed against her rib cage and she could scarcely draw a breath—either because she was panicking, or because the man’s hand had most of her nose covered. A bit frantically, she wondered if she was going to suffocate—if they were planning to kill her? Would they leave her body in the kitchen floor for her family to find the next morning?
The one barking the orders yanked her arm straight, holding her forearm firmly enough to bruise it, and warned the other man again to hold her still.
Then she saw the needle poised above the veins in her arm.
She attempted to scream again, just as uselessly as before since her mouth was still covered. Her horror grew as the other man got the needle ready.
“No,” she cried, incoherently. She tried to beg, to plead, to bargain, but they couldn’t make
out anything she was trying to say. Tears welled up in her eyes as she kicked backward, managing to strike her captor in the shin several times, but it only resulted in him cussing at her and squeezing her until she was afraid her ribs might crack.
The needle slid into her vein and she could only watch as he pushed the contents into her body.
A sob tore from her throat as the one holding her shifted her weight, and she nearly got an arm free.
Willow tried once more to plead with them, but they had already injected her, so if it wasn’t just to knock her out, it was too late anyway.
There was no time to think about it—no time to even consider that these terrifying moments might be her last. Suddenly every part of her body felt leaden, and everything went black.
