THIRTY-TWO
Ozzie
I amon my knees on the front lawn when Mila exits the tan Toyota, followed by the driver, an older man I don’t know.
My throat is scratchy, and my words come out hoarse. “Mila.”
When she sees me, everything feels different with her. Whatever is usually guarding her expression seems to fall away. My Mila crumples into me, falling to her knees in front of me.
“Oz—” is all she gets out because I’m squeezing her so hard she can no longer talk. The scent of her herbal shampoo floods me with relief. Her softness in my arms makes everything feel right again.
“I was so fucking worried, babe,” I choke out. Tears sting my eyes, and I don’t care.
“I’m okay. I’m fine. I have good news. Khaz is here, he’s alive…he’s—”
I don’t piece it all together right away. I know there’s a brutal-looking old man with her who could be straight out of a hitman movie. Burly, dark clothes, a face that looks like it’s been in more than one knife fight in his life. I know he’s the reason my Mila never came out of her poetry class over an hour ago.
Breathing like an angry bull, I let go of Mila and stalk toward the old man.
To his credit, he doesn’t look like he wants to fight, which is good because although I’m bigger, his hands look like they could choke me out without much effort. He puts up his hands.
“Son, you don’t want to try that,” the old man says in a gravelly, calm voice.
I swing anyway. I have to. I’ve never been in a fistfight, but I give it everything I’ve got and a lot of pounds behind it.
Even with my size, the impact with this dude feels like slamming my fist into a brick. One of those ancient-looking hands grips my wrist, stopping my fist mid-air, inches from that scarred jawline.
“I told you. You don’t want to fight me, and I don’t want to fight you. I appreciate your fervor, though, kid.”
Through gritted teeth, I curse at him. “You can’t take her away from me; I don’t care who you are; nobody’s taking Mila.”
Oddly, a smile passes across the man’s face, and he lets go of my wrist. I notice the pain and how firm his grip is. It’s true, we would be no match in a fight, but still, I’d fight him if he laid a finger on my girl.
“It seems nobody takes Mila anywhere she doesn’t want to go, and she doesn’t want to go anywhere without you. So you’re coming with us,” he announces.
Mila smiles and tucks herself under my arm. “I’m done running, Khaz.”
That name. It finally clicks.
I look down at her. “Your grandpa-person?”
She looks up at me and blinks, and nods.
My gaze goes back to Khaz. I study his severe and stoic expression, the scars slashed across his brow, his chin, those eyes that feel like they’ve seen more terror in this world than I can comprehend.
“In a way, yeah. The closest one she’s got,” he says.
“Khaz, I love you, but we can’t leave.”
“We can’t?” I ask, relief flooding through me. I’d thought she’d played me the whole time she was gone. I thought she’d ditched me when I’d least suspected it.
“No. We can’t. I’m done running,” she replies to both of us. “I finally admitted to myself that I’m happy. For the first time in my life. I love you like family, Khaz, but I don’t want to run anymore.”
The old man grinds out, “I saw the comment on Facebook. We don’t know what Crypto’s up to. They could be bringing an army to get their revenge. If you don’t want to run, let me broker a meeting between you and Crypto, at least. Don’t bring bloodshed to your home or your friends.”
The growl that comes out of me surprises even me. “Absolutely not.”
Mila pats me on the chest. “Come on.” She takes me by the hand and slips one arm through Khaz’s. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make us some coffee, and you can tell us where you’ve been for the past year.”