Page 76 of Bastard

“Take care.”

“Behave,” a third man warns with a chuckle.

I offer them all a weak smile.

One of the men hurries forward and opens the chopper door. I follow him, my pace slow, my heart racing.

Another man secures a brown box on top of the pile filling a back seat. The passenger seat up front is also stacked with boxes, leaving me to settle into one of two vacant seats.

You can do this.

You’re not eighteen anymore.

You’re wiser, more experienced.

You’ll get over him. Oh, no.

Dios mío. I think I’ve fallen back in love with the man.

The realization hits me like a donkey kick to the stomach. I don’t look around. I can’t bring myself to take one last glimpse of him.

I sit back in my seat and close my eyes.

I hear the seatbelt next to me click as one of his men—why did I think he’d let me go without an escort?—settles in beside me.

Tears coat my eyes as the chopper lifts. I squeeze them tightly closed in an attempt to stem the tide. Tears, I’ve learned the hard way, breed only more tears. My ears pop as the ground grows distant. My eagerly anticipated journey back to Nmimpi begins. Fear and determination guided me away from the village, but heartbreak, it seems, will escort me back.

I open my mouth, close it and open it again, desperate to relieve the pressure in my ears. Sucking in deep, ragged breaths as I do so, hoping to relieve the pain in my soul. I open my mouth and inhale, opening my eyes as well.

Only to find myself staring into a pair of familiar green ones.

26

“Luciana! Luciana!”

The villager’s excitement is tangible as my name echoes around the gathering crowd. I’m folded into their welcoming energy, my steps light, my heart bursting.

I’m thankful. Everyone seems no worse for wear.

The man escorting me stuck to his promise. Still, I’m unsettled by his presence.

What is he doing here?

We enter Nmimpi hand in hand. Like a normal couple out for a stroll, where the woman’s about to introduce her boyfriend to the neighbors.

I readjust the small box tucked beneath my free arm. Hayden carries one as well, and more are piled in a huge stack in the field where the helicopter set down.

The villagers encircle us. Familiar faces, wide grins.

I smile back at them.

Hayden keeps a straight face. Not unfriendly. Not inviting conversation either.

A collective murmur crosses over the small group. They’re curious about my locking hands with this handsome stranger.

“Luciana,” I hear Mustafa cry out, moments before she breaks through the crowd. She slowly ambles up to us, her steps assisted by a knotted cane. She seems frail, wearier than I remember. But when her razor-sharp attention shifts from me to the man holding my hand, my worries vanish.

I free my hand to shake hers, then instead go in for a long hug.