Satan City, 1927
Over the months since she had acquired her new job as Vegeta Ouji’s girl Friday, Bulma had grown more and more fond of the notorious gangster, eventually admitting to herself that she had fallen in love with him. She couldn’t say when or how—a part of her somehow thought that she had loved him before she ever met him, not that she understood such an impulse—but she knew, deep in her heart, that her love for him would never wane.
She couldn’t, however, just come out and confess her true feelings to the man—she knew he would laugh at her. After all, he hardly seemed to have any feelings at all, especially towards her. He treated her like just another member of the family, more like a little sister than a woman in whom he held a romantic interest. And then there was the long line of fancy women parading in and out of his life—Bulma’s jealousy knew no bounds when she saw some cute young flapper traipsing about in next to nothing in Vegeta’s office. How could he associate with such obvious whores?
She hadn’t even been able to tell Chi Chi or Juuhachigou about her newfound love. How could she? They both knew the man, and knew his taste in women. He loved his women to be outrageous, courageous, and bold. Flappers who smoked and drank far more than he, and who would gladly sell the use of their bodies for jewelry or hooch.
Bulma, on the other hand, could hardly be considered a flapper; she didn’t drink, smoke, or go to petting parties. Her infatuation with her boss caused her to turn down more than one offer from handsome young men. Juu and Chi, neither of whom knew the secret cause of her rejections, thought she was crazy.
"Sure, you look like a flapper," Chi Chi commented as the two women walked down the street towards Vegeta’s building, "But you act like a Gibson girl! No self-respecting man these days wants a Gibson girl. He wants a flapper that he can show off to his buddies."
Bulma hugged herself. Even in the warm August weather that greatly beautified the urban terrain of Satan City, she felt a sudden chill running down her spine. She certainly wore little enough that she wouldn’t feel overheated—a short blue dress with a pleated skirt, a simple step-in underneath, rolled-down stockings and a matching blue cloche hat to complete the ensemble. However, something seemed strange to her. Not only did she feel as though there were eyes upon her, watching her—she felt that her chill had nothing to do with Chi Chi’s words and everything to do with a premonition. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew that something was wrong. Very wrong.
"We should hurry up, Chi. I don’t want to be late." Although Chi Chi merely accompanied her friend in order to visit with Goku, Bulma still had to worry about work. Although she made a tidy wage from her work as Mr. Ouji’s underling—far more than she would have gotten working for a legitimate enterprise—she always felt as though the man were looking for any possible excuse to fire her.
He sometimes made her perform the most menial of tasks, seemingly just to test her temper. More often than not she would explode at him—something about that man seemed to irk her to the end of her patience—yelling and cursing and acting just like the flapper she purported to be. He’d stand there, smirking at her in that arrogant way of his, and his mocking stance would push her over the limit into another tirade. Bulma couldn’t understand why he hadn’t fired her already for talking back to him the way she had.
He obviously knew, though, that if he lost her, another girl Friday might not be so easy to come by. The gang war between the Cold clan and the Ouji family had been escalating in recent months, ever since the deaths of Vegeta’s own cousin, Raditz, and Pan, daughter of wealthy heiress Videl Satan Son. Even Chi Chi’s father, Mayor Ox, had grown scared for his daughter’s safety and tried to force her out of her relationship with Goku. He had soon found out, however, that no one can make Chi Chi do anything she doesn’t want to do. She had blown up in her father’s face and then run straight to Vegeta, who, after an hour long talk with the Mayor, had made the older man see reason—or at least, Vegeta’s kind of reason, which usually amounted to either money or violence.
The threat of the Cold gang, however, kept everyone on edge. Vegeta and Goku had a close brush with death after disposing of three of Frieza’s favorite henchmen.
Bulma could distinctly remember the piercing sound of gunshots, followed by the rusty smell of blood, as she walked through the park beside Vegeta and his right-hand man.
She turned around, heart racing, but the shooter had already fled; beside her Vegeta had fallen to the ground, clutching his left arm, a look of terrible pain on his face.
"Vegeta!" she cried, kneeling beside him. "Vegeta, are you alright?"
"Kakkarot," her boss managed through gritted teeth, speaking to the concerned man kneeling on the other side of him, "Get … a doctor …" His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed in Bulma’s arms, unconscious.
"Vegeta!" she cried, holding him tenderly as tears began to flow down her face. "Vegeta …"
You can’t die, she thought desperately as she held him, you can’t! I love you!
In that moment, as she risked losing him forever, the truth etched itself upon her heart: She loved him.
She had fallen in love with Vegeta Ouji, one of the most notorious gangsters in Satan City.
Everything after that realization seemed a blur. Goku had taken Vegeta from her arms and carried him to his home, where a physician had come and taken out the bullet. He had been lucky; the bullet had gone through his left shoulder, perilously close to his heart, but had pierced nothing vital. He would make, the doctor declared, a full recovery within just a few weeks.
Vegeta had fumed and spat a great deal at being forced to stay in bed. It wasn’t precisely necessary; but Bulma, who had appointed herself as his unofficial nurse, wanted to spend as much time alone with him as she could, now that she had grown aware of her deep feelings towards him. Everything he did that had once upset her now made her heart tingle with warmth. It obviously confused him that all his tried and true tactics of getting a rise out of her no longer worked. It made Bulma giggle to think of how lost and confused he looked sometimes.
His disposition, however, remained grumpy and obtuse during his entire recovery period. Although she enjoyed the ability to spend long periods of time alone with him, getting to know him as a person, Bulma had to admit that she was relieved when the day finally came that he declared himself fit to go back to work and get revenge on Frieza for pulling a cowardly stunt like this.
After the incident in the park, he demanded that every member of his gang, including Bulma—he still hadn’t stopped blaming himself for Pan’s death, or grieving for his former girl Friday—be extra careful, especially when out in public. Frieza had men everywhere. Rumor had it that he even had several police officers on his payroll—most specifically, the Ginyu Squad, an elite band of ruthless police officers that thought themselves above the law.
"I’m late, Chi," Bulma said suddenly, her spine now frozen with dread. "Let’s take a shortcut." She darted into an alley, a confused Chi Chi running after her.
"Bulma?" Chi Chi asked, "Bulma, what’s eating you?"
"I …" Bulma shuddered, the feeling of coldness turning into a heaviness resting itself upon her spine, slowing her down to a sedate walk, forcing her mind into sluggishness. "I … Something doesn’t feel right."
Chi Chi didn’t answer.
Bulma turned around slowly, knowing that her premonition had come to pass.
In front of a terrified, slack-jawed Chi Chi stood three men.
The man in the center, although far shorter than the others, obviously held the position of power. His head appeared bald beneath his felt hat, and he wore a crisp business suit over his stout form. His black, beady eyes portrayed the pure evil of his soul, darting from one girl to the other as he licked his lips.
"Freeza," Bulma whispered. Although she had never seen the man before, she knew him by reputation and from Vegeta’s descriptions. He looked just as evil and as ugly as she had thought.
Freeza smirked. "I see that I am not unknown to you." The hissing, effeminate voice surprised Bulma, although she did her best not to show it.
The leader of the Cold gang walked forward purposefully, the nondescript lackeys flanking his either side following in his footsteps like loyal puppies. Bulma glanced at Chi Chi from the corner of her eye and realized that if the women needed to escape from these goons—which they almost definitely would—her friend would be of no help. Chi Chi’s entire body trembled as she stared at the three men advancing on Bulma, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
If Bulma wanted to escape, she would have to act alone.
But how could one single, defenseless woman take on three grown gangsters?
Frieza took his time as he slowly walked around her, examining her body. She shuddered as she felt his gaze roaming up and down her slim form. He came to a halt in front of her, mere inches away. She could smell his putrid breath each time he exhaled; Bulma forced herself not to scrunch up her nose and turn away. Doing so could lead to her immediate execution.
"So you’re Vegeta’s new whore," the little man hissed, his eyes shining with vindictive pleasure.
Bulma, keeping her spine firm through sheer force of will, didn’t even blink. "I’m not a whore," she replied in an even, neutral tone. "I’m his girl Friday."
Frieza smirked. "To Vegeta, that’s just another word for whore." He lifted a pale, thin eyebrow. "Or weren’t you aware of his intimate relationship with the last one?" He laughed, the high-pitched giggle of a schoolgirl. Bulma squirmed, forcing herself to stay calm and not free the rage bubbling up from within.
Frieza’s laughter ended abruptly. "I don’t like you," he snarled. "Dirty whores must be exterminated." He motioned to the men beside him. "Kill her."
Bulma’s mind sped up in that single moment as adrenaline rushed through her system. She couldn’t die, not now—and she knew, also, that if they killed her, Chi Chi’s life would be next. She refused to let this madman kill either her or her friend.
Thinking quickly, Bulma pulled up her arm and viciously plunged her elbow into Frieza’s stomach. The short man gasped and clutched his belly, falling to his knees on the ground as Bulma turned her attention to the two goons coming towards her.
She turned to one and swiftly kicked him in the privates, causing him to collapse to the ground as had Frieza. Before she could turn to the third man, however, he grabbed her from behind, his arms swallowing her in a vice-like grip.
He was a big man, and much stronger than her. She couldn’t possibly free herself from his death-tight grip.
"Chi Chi!" she cried out, hoping her shouts could rouse her friend from inaction. "Chi Chi!"
All at once Chi Chi’s body snapped out of its tense, trembling state and into action. She charged, screaming like an Amazon, towards a man who measured at least twice as large as she, and began beating him from behind with her purse.
This startled him enough that Bulma managed to free herself from his grasp and run around him. She grabbed the arm of her friend—who continued to bash her purse against the man’s head even after Bulma escaped—and pulled her along as she ran out of the alley and into the street.
The two flappers continued to run all the way to Vegeta’s building, and once inside, they ran straight to his office.
"Vegeta!" Bulma cried as the door slammed open. She fell to her knees on the carpet, panting due to lack of breath. Chi Chi collapsed beside her, in a similar breathless state.
Vegeta scowled as he stood from his chair and walked around the large desk. "Where were you?" he barked. "You’re late!"
Bulma’s breath continued to come in short gulps, but she managed to tell him, "Frie … za … attacked … us," before succumbing to even more shallow breaths.
Vegeta stared down at the two women, a horrified look on his face.
"Frieza?" he snared. His eyes quickly examined both women. After assuring himself that they were alright, he turned his gaze on Chi Chi. "How did you get away?" he asked, leaning down to pull both women up and lead them to the two chairs in front of his desk.
"Bulma … Bulma took down two of them!" Chi Chi grinned. "And I clobbered the third!"
Vegeta frowned down at her, causing Bulma to almost giggle. He couldn’t believe that Bulma, the shy, timid creature that rarely showed her hidden claws, had managed to outwit Frieza!
Vegeta sat down in his leather chair, examining the two women sitting before him.
After several long moments, during which the flappers finally regained their breath, he spoke.
"I promise you this," his eyes rested on Bulma as he spoke, his voice soft and menacing, as lethal as a well-handled Tommy gun, "Frieza will pay for his actions—with his own blood."
A feeling of dread washed over Bulma as she heard his words. Vegeta Ouji never made a promise that he couldn’t keep.
Keeping this promise, however, would cost him his life.
Ouji Island Resort, Present
Bulma felt uncomfortable as she stood in the doorway of the fancy resort restaurant.
The light smattering of low conversation and the clinks of silverware suddenly came to a halt as soon as she appeared in the entryway. All eyes fell upon her, and the curiosity in those gazes made her want to squirm.
Instead, however, she reminded herself that she hadn’t come to be the object of anyone’s attention, but to have a nice, quiet, and most importantly free dinner, at the expense of one of the world’s richest bachelors.
Bulma soon discovered that even in spite of all the stares—and some of the soft, barely heard whispers—she somehow felt a sense of self-confidence rising from within. Although, she admitted wryly to herself, wearing an appallingly expensive couture dress—which just happened to be in her exact size—and at least half a million dollars in jewelry would do wonders for just about anyone’s self-esteem.
Bulma had never been one to believe in love at first sight—it was such a silly concept, with no logical basis in reality—but, upon seeing the lovely dress that Chi Chi had finally picked out for her, she had been forced to change her lifelong assumptions.
It was simply gorgeous. The very sight of the beautiful silk gown had forced the breath right out of her body in a startled gasp of pleasurable surprise. It had looked even more stunning as she had gazed at in the mirror, observing the wonders it did for her already lovely form. The sapphire blue gown brought out the vivid blue color of her eyes, and accented her azure hair with equal grace. The thin straps draped over her shoulders made her arms look thinner and more sculpted than they had in years, while the plunging neckline showed just enough cleavage without being tacky. The long, smooth skirt fit her womanly curves like a glove, as though the dress had been made just for her. A long, sexy slit halfway up her left thigh allowed her to walk without worry, while showing off her gorgeous legs.
She had also discovered, from the loose lipped Chi Chi, that this particular dress had been custom made at Vegeta’s order—and no other woman had ever worn it.
Strange, Bulma thought, that he would have the foresight to order an evening gown custom fit to her exact measurements.
The most amazing part of her new look, however, had to be the jewelry. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of diamonds and sapphires dripped from her body. Chi Chi had handed to her a jeweler’s box containing a set of matching earrings, necklace and bracelet—once again, like her gown, made to order specifically for Mr. Ouji, yet never before worn upon a woman’s body.
"Curiouser and curiouser," she had murmured to herself as she fastened the clasp of the necklace, which alone would surely sell for at least half a million dollars.
She completed the ensemble with a pair of sapphire blue stiletto sandals and a blue satin clutch. She had then taken a look at the clock and discovered that it was almost seven thirty, the time at which she had promised to meet her date this evening. She had quickly excused herself, leaving Chi Chi to clean up the scattered dresses which had somehow ended up strewn across both the bed and the floor.
And minutes later, here she was. Standing in front of dozens of strangers, all of whom had turned to gawk at the beautiful woman with the blue curls piled atop her head—Chi Chi’s quick handiwork, of course.
Just as the silence began to grow stifling, and Bulma started entertaining the thought of turning around and leaving, the Maitre d’ hurriedly approached her and gave a slight bow.
"Ah, Ms. Briefs," he exclaimed—loudly enough that her entire ‘audience’ could here. "We’ve been expecting you. Please come this way, Mr. Ouji has arranged a private table for you this evening." He turned the way and began leading Bulma away from the crowded main dining room through an elegant silk curtain into a small, dimly lit private area in the back, sheltered from both the sights and sounds of the main hall.
As he seated her at the lone booth in the private room, Bulma felt a sense of uneasiness come over her. Vegeta should be here by now, but he was no where in sight. As she settled onto the velvet squabs, Bulma couldn’t help but look around nervously, making sure that there were multiple exits in case she felt an urgent need to escape or visit the ladies’ room.
The Maitre d’ bowed again and scurried from the room, leaving Bulma alone.
She took a nervous sip from the goblet of champagne already sitting on the table and set her evening bag down on the seat beside her. Her fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the table as she downed the entire glass in one anxious gulp.
Upon looking around the small room—with pictures of famous old-time movie-star mobsters such as Edward G Robinson adorning the soft beige walls, a décor taken straight from The Sopranos—her eyes fell upon a small table in the corner, covered by a checkered cloth, upon which set a bucket containing ice and a chilled bottle of champagne.
Clutching her goblet, Bulma trooped over to the table and poured herself some more champagne, again drinking the entire serving in one swig. This evening would be easier to get through if she were drunk, if her suspicions about Vegeta Ouji turned out to be true …
She closed her eyes again, a moment of dizziness and déjà vu washing over her.
Why did that name seem so familiar? As though she’d heard it a thousand times, from her own lips …
She shook her head, ridding herself of these foolish thoughts. Mr. Ouji was a wealthy man, and thus had a fair amount of fame, especially in his home town, Satan City. Of course she would have heard his name before—everyone back home knew who he was!
But the question remained: Why was he so interested in her?
She wasn’t a glamorous movie star, or a sexy supermodel. She was just Dr. Bulma Briefs, tenured professor and research scientists at Satan City University. Her biggest dream was to discover the mathematical laws governing the universe, and prove their existence. She had no time for men or romance, or other trivial things—one failed marriage had been quite enough for her.
Although, she had to admit, her life could be very lonely sometimes. Why, she hadn’t had sex for almost five years, since her divorce.
She smirked as the champagne suddenly hit her with a bang. Maybe seeking comfort in a man’s warm arms wouldn’t be so bad. After all, many theorized that having sex relaxed a person, thus decreasing one’s level of stress. Vegeta certainly seemed interested enough in her. Perhaps if she seduced him, her dreams would finally end for good. It wouldn’t be as though she were starting an actual relationship with him—just a sexual liaison, for the length of her stay at his resort. Once she returned to Satan City, de-stressed and well-satisfied by his amorous actions, she would be completely cured.
Yes, she thought to herself with a giggle as she poured herself more champagne, it’s the perfect plan!
She returned to her seat and set down her goblet—she’d had enough alcohol for now, she didn’t want him to go all chivalrous on her and refuse to ‘take advantage’ of her because she was drunk!
She lounged back against the velvet cushions, a far cry from her usual erect posture. She angled her left leg so that the slit made most of her thigh clearly visible. Surely he wouldn’t miss these signs that she was ready and willing to enter into a sexual relationship with him.
She didn’t have long to wait for the man she wished to devour. As he entered the room, looking magnificently handsome in a three-piece business suit that she, in her present drunken state, longed to rip off of his sculpted body, his eyes immediately darted to the booth in which she sat. She could see the tension fly out of his stiff shoulders as they relaxed, and a smirk replaced the worried scowl on his face.
"I didn’t think you’d come," he began, "and I didn’t think you’d wait. Sorry I’m late," he portrayed his good manners through his cordial speech and polite tone of voice, "I had a meeting—" He stopped short, both in speech and in body, as his eyes came to rest upon the length of creamy thigh exposed to his vision. Bulma felt a little thrill as she watched him swallow hard, the entire focus of his hot, burning gaze resting upon her thigh. With a false show of modesty, she slowly leaned over—thus exposing her ample yet tasteful cleavage to his view—and straightened her dress, once more covering up her thigh. She covered up a giggle as she saw him stiffen his spine and approach the booth, sitting on the side opposite her.
Now the real fun can begin, Bulma thought, slipping off one of her sandals in the hidden darkness beneath the table.
His gaze darted from her flushed face to the glass of champagne sitting at her elbow to the bucket of chilled champagne across the room. He let out a growl of annoyance.
"Damn them," he muttered, "What were those idiots thinking—" his voice stopped suddenly as she slipped her naked foot up his leg, caressing his thigh with her bare toes. He stared at her, his eyes wide and disbelieving as she sent him a smoldering gaze.
He regained his composure quickly—more quickly than she liked—and gently pushed her foot off of his lap. "Dammit, woman," he growled, "What are you up to?"
Bulma stared into his eyes. This was the first chance she’d had to get a good look at them, since when she’d met him on the beach she hadn’t had much time to see them before he put on his sunglasses. What she saw there slapped the drunkenness out of her, forcing her into abrupt soberness.
She’d recognize those eyes anywhere.
He stared at her for a moment, and their eyes locked. Bulma forgot to breathe as his black onyx eyes burned into hers with such intensity that she nearly melted right then and there
He had the same effect on her now, as his eyes held her in their powerful black grip.
Her playful, drunken mood gone, she stared at him now not as a woman prepared to conquer, but a woman in search of the truth. A woman whose life had altered the day she had first met this man so many years ago.
"Why did you break into my house?" she asked.
A light broke out in his eyes, something akin to joy—or as close as this dark, brooding man could get to feeling joy—but it soon dissolved, darkening until his eyes were mere guarded slits. "So you remember?"
"Of course I remember," she bit out, unable to hide the bitterness she felt, although barely able to keep from accusing him of her parents murder. She knew he was the one who had killed her parents that day; who else could it have been?
As though he’d read her mind, he responded, "I didn’t kill them." She glared at him. He continued, with a strange calmness in his demeanor, "My father’s murder occurred the same day. Besides, what reason would I have to kill your parents?"
Bulma shifted uncomfortably in her comfortable seat. "I don’t know. What reason did you have to break into my house?" she shot back.
The guarded look remained in his eyes even as they searched hers for—something. She knew he wanted to hear something, but she didn’t know what.
"Just how much do you remember?" he queried. She could tell from his tone of voice that he wasn’t referring to that day twenty years ago.
"Everything," she replied casually. There was something else he wanted to remember—quite possibly the reason he had seemed so familiar to her all those years ago. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but perhaps if she pretended to know he might let something slip, and then she really would remember.
His body jerked with a start. "Everything?" he queried, his voice filled with surprise.
"Yes," she replied, "Everything."
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. He gave a snort and stood up from the table as though ready to leave. "I know you’re lying," he snarled.
Bulma’s eyes widened. How could he tell?
"I’m not." She grabbed her evening bag and stood up next to him, her face mere inches from his.
There seemed to be a look of longing in his eyes as he gazed down on her, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine just what it was that he longed for.
"If you remember everything," he began in a low, husky voice, "then you’ll remember this." He closed the distance between them and took her in his arms, placing his lips on hers.
Instinctively, Bulma parted her lips, allowing his tongue inside. This was it; the feelings she remembered from her very first kiss, the tingling that filled her bones and her body. All the sensations that had been absent from her relationships with other men were present here, with him. Her arms folded around his neck, her hands weaving themselves in his silky hair, pulling his head even closer as he angled his mouth so that his tongue could plunge deeper.
Her entire body heated up with molten desire, and her core grew wet with need. She wanted to feel him inside her body, molding him to her heart as they became one being, more than she’d ever wanted anything.
All too soon, the kiss was over. Vegeta pulled back and pushed her away, roughly. They both stood, disheveled, panting with desire as their eyes locked. In that moment, both their souls spoke the same words: I want you.
Vegeta turned away first, clenching his fists with a growl. "Dammit," she heard him curse under his breath, "This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen."
Bulma stared at him in disbelief. "What do you mean, ‘supposed to happen?’" she asked, anger taking the place of her unfulfilled passion as she glared at him.
He glared back. "You’re drunk," he spat with a feral snarl, "I don’t want it to be like that again."
"Again?" Bulma caught onto his slip. "What do you mean, ‘again?’"
Vegeta growled, angry at himself for nearly giving everything away. He couldn’t let her remember the truth, not yet. It was far too early for that. He needed to gain her trust first, and that had already grown much harder now that she remembered the events of that distant day twenty years ago. The day when both of their lives had been turned upside-down.
Again, he thought to himself. I don’t want it to be that way again. Like the first time, when you were drunk and I—I couldn’t resist you …
"You’re beginning to sound like a broken record," he snarled instead before turning around to leave the room—and the ultimate temptation—behind.
"Hey!" she called, running after him, "Don’t leave me here!" If he weren’t so angry, he would have found it humorous that she trailed him wearing a single high heeled shoe, more limping instead of running. "You still haven’t answered my questions!"
He ignored her and kept walking, towards the bar area of the restaurant. He needed two things at the moment: A stiff drink, and to send her away. He’d thought that he could be around her without wanting her, without wanting to toss her on to the ground and tear her clothes off, without wanting to make love to her the way he once had, a lifetime ago. But he couldn’t; just the sight of her made his heart beat faster and his soul sing. If he spent any more time with her, his control would slip. She’d always been his weakness; and it had been his weakness that had cost her life in the first place. No, he couldn’t let his guard down around her. He had to make her trust him first, had to make her fall in love with him again before he revealed the truth.
And even then, once he told her the truth and made her remember everything that had happened between them, he had no idea if she would forgive him—or hate him.
But it was a risk he had to take, for the sake of both their souls.
But he couldn’t risk it now. It would be too much, too early. If she learned the truth so soon after meeting him, she’d surely end up hating him and leaving him to spend an eternity alone.
And eternity without her.
His spine froze at the thought—it had been hard enough living a mere fraction of one lifetime with only memories of her. But an entire eternity alone …
He couldn’t let that happen.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
"Go back to your room," he said gruffly as he quickened his pace.
Bulma, even half-limping, managed to keep up with him. "Not until you tell me what all this is about!"
Vegeta growled as he strode quickly through the glittering main dining hall through the glass doors to the bar at the other end. As he headed straight for the bar, Bulma stopped behind him.
Sensing the lack of her presence, Vegeta turned, his spine crawling with a premonition of dread.
Seeing her looking around, puzzled, he frowned. "What’s wrong now, woman?"
Bulma turned her distant, clouded gaze upon him.
"There must be at least half a million people in here," she whispered.
Bulma’s eyes rolled back into her head and she collapsed, falling into Vegeta’s arms as he rushed to her side, feeling a horrible sense of déjà vu gripping him.
Maybe it’s true, he thought to himself, recalling words spoken to him by the one who would know as he cradled her limp body in his arms as he had done so many years ago. Maybe it is inevitable that the past will repeat itself.
He felt helpless as he stared down at her gorgeous face, which had grown ghostly pale.
No matter what, he swore, as a crowd of concerned patrons gathered around Vegeta and his fallen lady, I won’t let her die again. Not this time.
Not even if it costs my own life in exchange.
* * * * *