Fighting for Flight
Fighting for
Flight
Fighting for
Flight
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2013 J.B. Salsbury
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Cover art by
Amanda Simpson
at
Pixel Mischief
.
Prologue
I have a brief
moment to catch my breath before it’s time to push again. My head
lolls to the side, eyes fixing on the shape of a man. It’s hard to
tell through the blur of tears and sweat clouding my vision. The
bright light illuminating my body is no help. Everything outside of
its glow is darkness. But, even in the dark, I know who it is.
How long has he been here? In my labor-induced
dementia I didn’t see him come in. My skin crawls, each tiny hair
standing on end. I squirm under the weight of his foreboding
presence.
The vise grip on my midsection begins its violent
compression. I lock eyes with the doctor between my legs.
“One more push, Milena. Take a deep breath.” He
wipes his brow with the dirty sleeve of his shirt. The smell of
cigar smoke and liquor wafts from his body in nauseating waves. My
stomach roils as my body tightens with a contraction.
“Good. Now, push!” I barely hear the doctor count to
ten over my groaning.
My torso folds in half as the force of the
contraction racks my body. I bite my lip and taste blood, refusing
to give voice to my agony. Sweat beads on my skin. I grip the
sheets against the unbearable pain. I want to give up, just lie
back and sleep, but my womb is intent on purging this baby. A
guttural sound rumbles in my throat. Searing pain. Intense
pressure. I’m being ripped into two.
“Baby’s out.” The doctor announces to the room.
It’s over.
I fall back onto the bed.
The room is quiet except for my heaving breath and
the clicking of the doctor’s tools. I study the ceiling, not ready
to face what I know is coming.
Exhaustion sets in and my eyelids slide shut, only
to fly back open with the shrill cry of new life. Its stuttered
vibrato pulls at something deep in my chest. My heart races.
The infant’s scream calls to me on a primal level,
begging for comfort only its mother can provide. My arms ache to
cradle the baby to my breast.
It’s okay, mommy’s here.
The
words coo in my head, but freeze at my lips. I can’t get attached,
not when his plan is to take it away to use it for his own
purposes, like a bred work mule.
What kind of work will await this baby when it
becomes an adult all depends on one thing. The nagging question
picks at my mind.
Sitting up, I rub my eyes to clear my vision. He
stands at the foot of the bed, no longer shrouded in the dark.
Holding the baby in one arm, he hands the doctor a large wad of
cash then flicks his fingers for the man to leave. The doctor
scurries out the door like a mouse that just stole from the dinner
table, and slams it behind him.
A devious glare catches my eye. “Well done, darling.
She’s perfect.” His voice is a the smooth purr that haunts my
dreams.
She.
Oh, God. No!
“Dominick, please, I beg you.” I try to put
authority behind my voice, but only manage a whisper. “Just give
her up for adoption. She’s an innocent—”
“Quiet!” His booming command echoes in the tiny
room, making me flinch then cower. “She’s mine. I’ll do with her
whatever I please.” The fierce words cut through the newborn’s
cries and straight to my heart.
He runs his palm over the baby’s head with the
gentle grace of a jellyfish. Serene and lethal. “She has your dark
hair, darling. I’ll name her Raven.” He steps to my bedside. “Would
you like to hold her?”
My whimpered reply has him smiling. He knows what
I’ve just done. Like laying out my cards in a high stakes game of
poker, I’ve just shown him my weakness.
No, I can’t hold her. If I do, I’ll never let her
go.
“I see.” He keeps her in his arms and strolls to the
single window. “You may raise her.” His gaze slides back to mine.
“But make no mistake, Milena, if you do anything to interfere with
my plan, I will kill her. Then, you and I will start from scratch,
and I’ll not make it pleasant for you. Do you understand?” As if he
can see into my soul and feel my fear, he smirks.
Revulsion courses through my veins like venom,
making it impossible to speak. I close my eyes and nod, trying to
force dry the tears that stream down my face.
If I could only take it back. The day everything had
spun out of control. The moment Dominick Morretti ruined my life.
Leaning against his car with his blond hair and those beautiful
blue-green eyes, he looked like an angel. He spoke tenderly with
sincere reverence and offered me a life I could only dream about.
My heart wanted so badly to believe he was my savior: a heavenly
messenger sent to wrap me in his embrace and whisk me off to my
happily ever after. But he was no savior. He was my undertaker.
Realization hits: a heavy flood, drowning me in
regret. Painful guilt eats away at my heart, slowly consuming
what’s left of my humanity. Dominick is nothing if not a man of his
word. He’s going to get his way, and there is not a thing I can do
about it.
Hatred boils in my stomach. I want to lash out,
attack the man who has taken my future from me. But I know better
than to face off with him. I’ve seen what he does to girls who
don’t obey. They spend the rest of their days shaking, walking the
thin line of their addiction, solely dependent on him, so desperate
for their next fix that they beg for the gift of a quick death.
Right where he wants them.
“Milena.” His firm tone gets my attention.
Back at my bedside, he holds the bundle of blankets
and baby for me to take. Raven. My daughter.
No. Not
mine.
Don’t show him my weakness.
Suffering in
silence is torture. But he can’t touch what I don’t give him.
I wrap my arms tightly around my body, locking them
in place. With the last pieces of my resolve, I shove the mother in
me to the back corner of my soul and lock her there.
“Take her, darling.” His words carry a heavy
warning.
I shake my head.
He stands straight and studies me with narrowed
eyes. “Very well.” He turns and heads to the door. “I’ll give you a
few hours to come to terms with this. In the meantime,” he looks at
the rumpled bed and the floor, both riddled with the gore of
childbirth, “clean this mess up.”
Then he’s gone, taking Raven with him.
I scan my surroundings, taking in the carnage: The
product of the last twenty-four hours of labor; the bloodied result
of an unsanitary home birth. Something deep down registers that
mine are not the only horrors that haunt this room. I can almost
hear the screams of the women who have been here before me.
My hand absently rubs my now soft belly. Once full
of life and promise, and now, completely void. And through all
this, I feel . . . nothing.
20 years
later…
Jonah
Well, shit. I didn’t think the headache to fuck all
headaches could possibly get worse. Between the strobe lights and
the crappy music, my brain feels like it’s twenty-four hours off a
three-day bender. The stench of stale beer, sweat, and perfume
swirl in the air, topping off my list of cranial irritants.
And add to that the gang of silverback gorillas at
the table behind me. They grunt and holler at the stage, likely
beating their chests for attention.
Amateurs.
I turn and
give the frat-boy pussies a look that has them all sitting with
their mouths sealed shut.
My head is going to explode, and it’s putting me in
a fucked-up mood. The only reason I agreed to come to the strip
club was the hope that pounding a few beers might take the edge off
the pile-driver in my head. So far, not so good.
With one long pull from the bottle, I check out the
half-naked girl on stage in front of me. She’s a typical Vegas
stripper: bleach blond hair, dark tanned skin, and huge fake tits.
There’s an identical one for every slot machine on the strip.
“That chick’s been eyeball-fucking you all night.”
Blake yells to be heard over the music. “You gonna hit that?”
I glare at my training partner. After all, it’s his
dumb ass that talked me into coming here tonight.
“May as well.” Getting rid of this headache is my
first priority. Since the booze isn’t helping, maybe some female
intervention will. “But only if she’s off soon. I’ve got to get out
of here. This place is killing my head.” I attempt to rub the pain
away with my fingertips.
Blake raises an eyebrow along with one side of his
mouth. “I better get going too. I need my beauty sleep if I’m going
to keep kicking your ass.”
I give him the backside of my middle finger.
His knee connecting to my temple in training today
is what got me in this brain-thumping predicament. I make a mental
note to pay him back with a solid ball shot next time we’re in the
octagon.
“Right. You kicked
my
ass.” I tilt my head,
indicating his fresh black eye and bloodied lip.
Maybe I should feel worse about flipping the switch
on him as I did. But he of all people should know better. He’s seen
what happens when I let the monster out. If I get hit hard enough,
my brain goes into protection mode. I go feral. I can’t help
it.
I’ve learned to control it during training, for the
most part. But Blake’s knee hit hard out of nowhere and set me off.
Luckily, I was able to rein it in before I really hurt the
bastard.
“Hey, sexy,” a seductive voice purrs in my ear.
Feminine hands run from my biceps, down my chest,
and still on my abdomen. I turn to see the blond stripper from the
stage resting her chin on my shoulder, biting on her cherry-red
bottom lip. She slides her hands back up, skirting around to my
front. Her long, naked legs straddle my thighs and she leans in
close, placing her assets at eye level.
“I think I know you.” Her hips undulate in front of
me to the beat of the music.
I yawn. “Is that right? And where is it you think
you know me from?”
I study her face, trying to pull up something
familiar from my memory and coming up empty. There’s no way I’ve
had sex with her before. I would have remembered. And if I had,
that would have a direct effect on how this night will end. I do
not hit the same honey pot twice.
She allows her weight to drop so that she’s sitting
straddled on my lap. I feel the familiar stir of arousal as my body
responds to the heat and friction, but nothing else. I know her
type. They’re all the same: fake—from their practiced, ditzy voices
to their ass implants. These women are good for one thing, and she
seems more than ready to go.
Perfect.
