Author: P Hana

Page 2


“I’m fine,” I mumble, trying to breathe through the pain and the feelings that are swimming around in my stomach.

“You’re going to the doctor.”

“I’m not,” I say, lifting my head and meeting his eyes.

“Myla.” His eyes go soft as my name leaves his mouth, and his hand comes up, causing me to flinch and his jaw to go hard.

“Sorry,” I whisper while standing.

“We need to talk about what happened,” he commands as his hand drops to his lap.

“How long do I have to get ready?” I ask, walking towards the bathroom.

“Thirty minutes,” he replies as I turn to face him.

When our eyes connect again, his flash with annoyance as he stands.

“We will talk,” he declares, walking out of the room, shutting the door behind him without saying another word.

I stare at the door for a moment before turning around and walking into the bathroom, where I turn the faucet on, place my hands on the counter, and look at myself in the mirror, watching as tears begin to fill my eyes.

“You’re strong, Myla. You can do this,” I whisper to myself, taking a deep, shaky breath and then letting it out as I splash cold water on my face.

When I look at myself again, the tears have been washed away with the water, no trace left behind. I grab a towel out of a built-in shelf and bury my face in it, muffling the sound of the sob that climbs up my throat.

My soul feels like it has been blackened by not only what I witnessed, but what I did. I have no idea how I’m supposed to get over seeing people die right in front of me or knowing I’m the reason they are dead.

I wipe my face on the towel and go to the glass shower door, sliding it open before turning the water on. Once I feel that the water is warm enough, I carefully remove my clothes and step into the shower, letting the water from the showerhead pour over me. I really want to sit on the shower floor and cry, but right now, that is not an option.

I wet my hair then look around the shower stall, finding a shelf full of bottles of different body washes. I quickly sort through them, find one for women, and then pour a big glob onto my hand and lather up. I don’t know for sure if this is Kai’s bathroom, but if by chance it is, I don’t want to use something of his and smell like him for the rest of the day. As it is, it’s difficult to be around him.

I rinse off and get out of the shower before drying off and picking my clothes up off the floor. When I step back into the room, I take it in for the first time since arriving here last night. The room is huge, with large, glass doors that look out over the ocean. I walk toward the doors and look out at the water.

In Seattle, I live in a beautiful two-bedroom condo. I chose my condo because of the ocean view I have, but the view I have back home is nothing like this. Other bodies of land block my view, and the water is so dark that it’s almost black. Here, the water is a blue I have never seen before. So blue that it almost looks like the sky on a crystal clear day.

My eyes travel from the view outside to the giant bed that is covered with a set of pure-white sheets. It’s even bigger than the California king a friend of mine has, and it would be a perfect fit for a man Kai’s size. On each side of the bed, there’s a table with a lamp that looks like a piece of driftwood on it. The lamps match the dresser in the room, which is long with a few odds and ends on it. There’s another tall one, but it’s completely clean.

The room has no paintings or anything else to give it life or say whose room it is. I shake my head at my own thought and look at the clothes I had on earlier, scrunching up my nose. Even though I was exhausted enough to fall asleep in them last night, I do not feel like having them on again today. I walk to the long dresser, pull the top drawer open, and find men’s boxers. I pull a pair out and slip them on under my towel. When I open the next drawer, I find socks and slip them on as well before searching through the rest of the dresser and finally finding a shirt, being careful of the bruises on my side.

Once I’m dressed, I take towel into the bathroom and hang them up. I find some toothpaste and use my finger to brush my teeth before taking a breath, preparing myself to face Kai and his lawyer. Yesterday, when we got married, I didn’t sign a prenup even though the men with Kai had insisted. I really didn’t understand why they were so adamant until after we were married and at the airport.

I’d expected us to just get on a flight. I was shocked when we were escorted to a private plane. I was more surprised when the name on the plane happened to be my new husband’s. I had somewhat gotten myself under control by the time we arrived in Hawaii, but I was shocked again when a Bentley picked us up at the airport and took us to a mansion. I have been around people who have money, but I have never been around anyone with the kind of money Kai obviously has.

I go to the door and run my fingers through my wet hair before turning the knob and opening it an inch to peek out. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the hall, but when they do, they connect with a set of hazel eyes surrounded by dark lashes.

“Myla,” the man says.

I double-blink and take in his features. His hair is dark brown, his nose is wide, and his skin color is similar to Kai’s. My eyes drop to his mouth, and he smiles, making my eyes narrow before they lift to meet his again.

“Who are you?” I ask, opening the door the rest of the way and crossing my arms over my chest.

His eyes move to my arms and then back up, and his smile gets wider. “Aye.”

“What?” I frown when he chuckles.

“Name’s Aye.”

“Like when a pirate says yes?” I inquire. Then I growl, “What’s so funny?” when he bends over, holding his stomach and laughing.

It takes a moment, but eventually, he pulls himself together and stands back up to his full height.

“My name’s Aye, but my friends call me Daddy. How about you just stick with that?” he asks, sticking out his hand.

“I’m not calling you Daddy,” I frown, watching his lips twitch.

“You don’t have to call me Daddy.” He smiles, reminding me of a little boy. “You can call me Aye.”

My frown grows deeper. “Do people really call you Daddy?” I narrow my eyes, daring him to lie.

“Sure do,” he smirks, wrapping the hand he had out for me to shake around my upper arm. Then he moves me from the door and closes it before putting his arm around my shoulders and leading me down the hall.