And it wasn’t because I’d lived.
It was because he knew what I would have to live with for the rest of my life, and the fact that he knew only made it feel worse, like swallowing fire and staring at water but not being able to reach it.
Since then, I couldn’t even look at him, my hero. Something had shifted, like I’d suddenly been altered, turned into this unsure villain despite my dad’s encouragement to defend myself, kill, whatever was necessary.
And that’s when I realized it.
Something I hadn’t seen.
The one thing that was broken inside me.
My confidence.
Because all my life, my confidence had been in my Family, in my father, in our name, in what we did.
And in one moment, one horrible person had shattered that.
And no matter what I did…
How many times I changed my hair…
Took shots of whiskey…
Got high like I actually enjoyed it when it only ever made me feel numb to the darkness that always tried to close in on me when I was by myself…
I was sick.
Broken.
And I felt stupid that it was over something so…ridiculously dumb when you compared it to everyone else in our Family.
I mean, my cousins Junior and Serena were willing to die for each other.
Valerian had an entirely different identity and then seduced Violet out of pure love and need to keep her safe, only after seducing her as, um… well, not a nice guy.
And don’t even get me started on Ash and Annie. The hate and the love were almost equal and yet it worked, you know, after he got over blaming her for his fianceé’s death.
I groaned.
See?
I had no reason for the baggage.
No reason for comparing my story to my cousins’—comparing my suffering.
And yet, there the baggage sat, unchecked, dangling from my arms and legs.
Izzy was quiet for way too long.
Had I been in my head—yup, I had been because her crystal-blue eyes stared at me in comfort and support, through my reflection in the mirror.
“What do you see?” I asked, crossing my arms across my black Nike crop top. It left a few inches of skin visible before meeting my white, high-waisted leggings and blue Jordan high-tops.
“Welllll…” Izzy winked. “I think you look hot. But what’s more than that…” Her face sobered briefly. “I think…no matter what you look like, you’ll always feel lost.”
Her eyes flickered away while mine turned down to my feet, to my brand-new expensive shoes, something that anyone nearly nineteen would kill for. And they were just shoes, footwear that hid something that was dying inside me.
Something that needed to be set free.
Something I couldn’t identify.
Couldn’t save.
“Look…” Izzy was suddenly behind me, her chin resting on my shoulder. “I love you, no matter what, Tiny. But I know something happened. I wish you’d trust me enough to tell me. The point in all of this is to find something that truly makes you happy. That makes…” Her eyes darted away and then back. “That makes you want to live. Do you think…you have that something?”
“You’re just a little girl!”
“Am not!” I stomped on Tank’s foot and then stormed off.
With a grin I hadn’t felt in a year, I looked up into the mirror and smirked. “I think I know what would make me happy.”
“Me?”
“No.”
“Good, because that smile was starting to make me feel like I needed a security detail and an AK-47.”
I laughed even harder. “He’ll be fine.”
“He?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, wait, we’re torturing someone?”
Now, she gets excited? Poor Maksim.
I rolled my eyes. “Not really. I’ll just torture him for one lame day and get back to my life. But the fact that I can even get a rise out of him brings me joy, and you did say…what makes me happy?”
Her gorgeous, wide smile beamed as her jet-black hair bounced down to her ass like a friggin’ Kardashian. “Absolutely.”
“Good talk, Iz.”
She blew a kiss toward me. “Good talk, Tiny.”
I turned back to the mirror with an evil grin. If I couldn’t be happy. Content. If I couldn’t sleep. Why let him? After all, he was the one who’d gotten away, who didn’t save me. Not that he’d heard me screaming, but I’d always imagined him coming in on a white horse.
Instead…
He’d done nothing.
Which was worse than rejecting me.
So, I’d make him pay, just a little. For his flirting and his constant attention before the incident—before the change.
I would make his life a living Hell.
Twenty-four hours.
Ha, strap up, princess, because Tiny is hella coming for Tank!
Chapter Three
Tank
I knocked on Director Thompsons’ door.
“Come in.” He didn’t look up from his desk.
He was in his late fifties with salt and pepper hair and a constant scowl on his face as if the world couldn’t help but disappoint him on a daily basis. Then again, if people saw what we did…
Lived how we did at the bureau, well…it was hard to find the light in things—the happy when everything seemed so dark and tragic.