Mobster's Angel (Mobster Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

myself for my stupidity. I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did. I should have saved myself for a non-asshole.
    My eyes hurt from straining in the darkness. The only time the dreams got better was when Vito slept beside me in South Bend. He calmed me just by being next to me. I could actually sleep for hours without waking up. Or actually get rest when I slept, instead of feeling like I went ten rounds in a boxing ring by the time I woke up.
    I shut my eyes and try one of my ridiculous tricks for falling back to sleep. I imagine a fence, an old style rail one. I start counting.
    One. Vito hurtles the fence.
    Two. Vito hurtles the fence.
    Three. Vito hurtles the fence.
    Four. Vito hurtles the fence.
    S eeing him fly over the fence reminds me that I’ll always have someone looking out for me, lifting me out of the debris. Someone to save me from the explosion, or whatever new danger I may face in the future. My eyes get heavy, my heart rate slows, and I’m off into sleep.
    *****
    I hate this part. It always makes my heart race and my fingers tingle. The anticipation of being hurt is awful. I know Joey would never hurt me on purpose, but my body reacts the same way regardless. It's the anticipation.
    He finally throws his punch and I swing to the side, avoiding it. He nods in approval and returns to his original position, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
    I asked Joey to teach me how to protect myself, thinking that it would help me to overcome the trauma of the past year. I hated myself for my weaknesses. But I knew I had wallowed in my self-pity for long enough. It was high time that I empowered myself.
    I'm doing much better than I did before. Now, at least my head automatically goes down when I know I have to duck. The reaction has become commonplace and normal for me; I now can react as opposed to simply shrinking back in fear.
    Joey’s arm swings out and I duck again. I evade his attacks. My thick red hair is up in a ponytail that sweeps against my neck as I move.
    “Good!” Joey praises.
    Joey throws another punch my way, and I slip to the right. Being small has its advantages when you know what you’re doing.
    “Awesome!” he says. “Why don’t you hit the bag , then we’ll take off. I’m going to run on the treadmill.”
    We ’re at a gym near the dorms. It’s not a fancy one. It’s probably been around since the seventies: I can tell by the paneling and floor tiles.
    I walk to the bags hanging in a row by the windows. I stand on the mat beneath one of them and start punching. I practice all of the different punches Joey has taught me. I concentrate on the position of my fingers and slam my fists repeatedly against my imaginary enemies, getting a good rhythm going.
    I ’m so focused on the bag that I don’t realize that a black limousine has pulled up in front of the window. I shrug it off because there are a million limousines cruising around in this area, especially with all the private security. Some of the students even have their own drivers. But a person standing in the window soon captures my attention. I have to look twice. Brice!
    Ugh! What does he want?
    I pretend I don’t see him and keep punching. My punches become faster and harder, probably out of the aggravation of seeing Brice. I steal a glance and he is gone, but the car is still there. A niggling at the back of my neck starts up. I feel someone standing behind me.
    “Looking good,” Brice says. Ugh. So slimy.
    I plas ter on my practiced phony smile and turn towards him.
    “Hi,” I say.
    He waits a minute. We just kind of look at each other.
    “I thought I could take you to get something to eat. You must be starving after that work out.”
    This is the first time he has asked me out. What sparked this?
    “Thanks, but I need a shower, and I’m kind of tired.”
    “But you need to eat something. It’s dinner time.” I shudder at the thought of having to sit through a meal with him.
    “Um... like I said... I’m