“Come on! Take her with us!” his father ordered as he waved his gun in her direction. A’shai wanted to protest, but held his tongue knowing that disobedience would not be tolerated. A camouflaged jeep full of rebels was waiting outside of the tent and A’shai reluctantly did as his father said. He ran over to the girl and picked her up and then forced her into the back of the Jeep. That single event would change both of their lives forever.

A’shai awoke suddenly in alarm and instinctively reached for the pistol that lay concealed in his waistband. With sweat glistening on his brow, his heart raced, and his tense body was on full alert. It wasn’t until he heard the steady beep of the heart monitor and saw the silhouette of Liberty’s body that he realized where he was. He had experienced another nightmare… another reminder of the world he had left behind so long ago. Peace was foreign to him. In his twenty-five years he had never known serenity. His childhood had been filled with mass murders and brutality. Make money, not friends: it was the mentality that had been drilled into his head. He had learned how to shoot a pistol long before he had learned to shoot a jump shot. Growing up in Sierra Leone he had no childhood; all he knew was money and destruction. It was that same thought pattern that had allowed him to survive and make a name for himself in the States. He was the epitome of the American dream. If he was white, he would have been a businessman, but with skin as dark as mahogany he felt that his rightful place was on the throne as the king of the streets. As he rubbed his goatee he leaned forward in the uncomfortable wooden chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at the love of his life. Liberty was beautiful-even with her chapped lips, sunken eyes, and unruly hair he had never seen a woman as exquisite as she.