Chapter Twenty-Nine
MICHAEL
As I walked along the sidewalk toward the street where my car was parked, right next to the bar, I went over parts of that night in my mind — a night that, to me, was already one of the best of my life.
Not too long ago, I would’ve found it pathetic to hear someone say something like that about a child’s birthday party, followed by a few hours at a bar drinking soda and having a conversation without any sexual undertones with a woman. But that was the stage of adulthood I had reached.
Celebrating a child’s first birthday was something I had no idea could be so meaningful until I lived it myself.
Alice was growing up so fast. The first time I saw her, she was just a tiny bundle, barely able to wrap her whole hand around my index finger.
Now, she could stand on her own and take a few steps without help.
She babbled a few words and mimicked sounds (dog sounds were her favorite, which made me anxious for the day she could meet Apollo).
It was magical to witness all of that and, even from a distance, to be part of the growth of that little being who was a part of me.
But I’ll admit, that night had been even better because of Camila.
The care and tenderness she showed toward my daughter were something that undoubtedly touched my heart. At times, I caught myself thinking that if our engagement were real, Alice would be a lucky little girl to have a woman like Camila as her second mom.
Who was I kidding, anyway? It wasn’t just Alice who would be lucky. I’d be a damn lucky bastard to have that woman by my side every day. Not just helping me raise my daughter but sleeping next to me every night. Waking up with me.
Being mine every night.
My desire to explore her body with my hands, mouth, and tongue and to bury myself deep inside her while hearing her moan my name was growing stronger with each passing day.
But it wasn’t just about that. Camila was sin wrapped in a woman’s form, sure — but there were other beautiful women in the world, many of them willing to spend a night in my bed. There was something about Camila that went far beyond lust.
I loved her sense of humor. Her intelligence and wit. The way she was honest about her opinions. The way she worked hard to chase her dreams and took care of the grandmother she loved so much...
I loved talking to her — I could spend hours, entire days doing just that without getting bored for a single second. I loved her smile, her purity... both of body and soul.
There were too many things I loved about that woman. And it was the first time in my life I had ever felt that way.
And that was kind of terrifying.
I was ripped from my thoughts when I turned onto the side street next to the bar, passing through a stretch that was a bit dark due to a broken streetlight.
From there, I spotted my car — and was surprised to see it wasn’t blocking any other vehicle, simply because there were no cars in the surrounding spots.
That raised a red flag in my mind just as I looked down and saw — faintly, thanks to the poor lighting — the shadow of a man behind me making a sudden move, raising something in his hands.
I managed to turn quickly, using both hands to block the object coming at my head — which I now saw was a metal rod.
I saw on the guy’s face the kind of desperation someone feels when they weren’t expecting a fight. I had spent years of my life practicing Muay Thai, and even though I hadn’t trained seriously in two or three years, I still hit the gym regularly and kept myself in shape.
I always knew it would come in handy someday.
Gripping the rod with both hands, I braced one leg and used the other to deliver a sharp kick to the guy’s abdomen, knocking him back and nearly making him fall.
I walked toward him, now with a clear advantage. But I wasn’t a fucking coward like he was, so I tossed the rod away. I’d teach the bastard a lesson using only my fists.
At first, I figured he’d try to fight back — my first assumption was that he was trying to rob me or something. But he just turned around and, clearly spooked, bolted down the street like a rat.
"Get back here, you son of a bitch!" I shouted.
I even started to chase after him, but stopped a few steps in when another warning light went off in my head.
What if the target wasn’t me? What if the real plan was to get me away and leave Camila alone for someone else to go after her?
The sheer panic that thought brought on made me turn around and sprint back toward the bar. As soon as I stepped inside, my dread only multiplied — the table I had been sharing with Camila was now empty.
My eyes swept over the entire place until I finally spotted her. A few people were dancing near the stage to the music played by the band, and among them, I recognized Camila’s red hair. But she wasn’t dancing. She was walking toward the exit on the other side of the bar.
Looking more closely, I saw she wasn’t alone. There was a man next to her, his arm around her waist, seemingly guiding her somewhere.
The first red flag that flared up inside me was something I had never felt so intensely before — a deep, burning hatred for the man who dared touch Camila. Jealousy.
But that was quickly replaced by a second, even more urgent warning: Camila was in danger.
I practically flew at them. I grabbed the bastard by the back of his jacket, yanking him back and forcing him to let go of Camila.
As soon as he turned to face me, I landed a punch right in the middle of his face. He stumbled and crashed onto a table. The sound of glasses and plates shattering made the band on stage stop playing, and suddenly every eye in the place was on us.
If I were in my right mind, I would’ve known this was bad — very bad. That kind of behavior could seriously hurt me in the custody battle for my daughter.
But I was nowhere near my right mind. I was blinded by rage, so I grabbed the guy again and punched him once more.
Soon, people started trying to step in, and I may have hit one or two of them by accident. I was completely consumed by fury. All I wanted was to keep beating that son of a bitch until he stopped moving.
I lost track of how many times my fist collided with his face, until several hands managed to pull me back and hold me off. That’s when the wailing sound of a police siren finally reached my ears and seemed to snap me out of it.
I couldn’t be doing this...
But that bastard had dared to touch Camila, and—
"Camila?" I whispered, panic rising.
I looked around until I saw her. She was still standing in the same spot, her eyes blank, drifting through the chaos that had erupted in the bar.
I rushed over to her, gripping her shoulders. Even though I was right in front of her, it was like I was invisible — her eyes still distant.
"Camila?" I repeated. "Are you okay? Say something. Talk to me, Camila..."
"I..." Her voice came out much slower than usual. "What’s happening?"
She was completely drugged.
Someone had done this to her.
I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly.