He’s not a monster.An unfamiliar ache formed in her chest. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she longed to touch him or connect in some way.He’s not a monster, and neither am I.
She lifted her eyes to the rearview mirror and the hunters in the back seat. Mateo, still unconscious, was positioned directly behind Logan.Theywere the monsters, every single last one of them.
What she, Logan, and Asher did to them wasn’t great. She would never feel good about what happened. And it made her realize that the more malicious part of her, the one that helped her survive on the streets and that she’d mistakenly thought dead and gone, would always be present.
That knowledge frightened her a little, but that part also helped make her a survivor. It’s what made Asher and Logan survivors too. And every single one of them would die to save someone else, so maybe they weren’t the kindest people on Earth, but they also weren’t monsters.
“It was awful.” Elena had no idea why she was telling him any of this when she’dnevertold anyone else what she endured, but shewantedto talk to him about it. “I had no ID because I was a hunter who grew up locked away from the world. I fled Mexico for the United States because I was scared my father or one of the other hunters would track me down.
“But it wouldn’t have mattered if I had stayed in Mexico; it wouldn’t have made any difference. I had no idea about either country outside of what I learned in history and geography books. My culture was the hunter culture, so both places wereextremelyforeign to me.
“I couldn’t get work in the US because I was undocumented, and what work I did get wasn’t good. I lived on the streets, slept on the streets, on park benches, under bridges, under bushes, and at the homeless shelters that didn’t require ID. Once I was able to get my hands on a fake driver’s license, my world opened up a little bit more, but not by much.”
She stopped speaking for a while and continued to trace the same heart repeatedly on the window. “I still have nightmares about the drugs, prostitution, and death I witnessed out there.”
“Death?” Logan asked.
“Drug overdoses, murders, and a couple of people who froze to death during a surprise cold snap one winter. Somehow, I managed to shiver my way through the night with what blankets I had and with a little group of other women who were all simply trying to survive.
“I can still remember the smell and feel of them against me.” Elena often showered at the local Y when she could, but unless she had to be at work or had a job interview, she could go days at a time without showering. “I doubt I smelled much better than them, but I’d gotten used to my aroma, and it didn’t affect me. When you eat food out of a dumpster to avoid starving, you stop caring about bad odors.”
Logan inwardly cringed at the picture she painted. He couldn’t imagine having to endure what she had, and no one should ever have to go through it. That Elena, this beautiful, proud woman beside him, had suffered so only made things worse.
She deserved a lot better than the life she’d lived, and the fact she’d chosen this kind of suffering over remaining in the compound was telling.
“There was a time when I thought I was going to have to start selling my body too,” she whispered.
Logan’s hands clenched on the wheel when she uttered those words. He couldn’t stop his fangs from extending before retracting again. The idea of her enduring so much made him almost as murderous as when Mateo slapped her.
However, she didn’t need his temper. She needed someone to talk to and someone she could trust; he was determined to be those things for her.
“How did you get off the street?” he asked.
“Eventually, after working enough shady, not-so-legal jobs, I was able to save enough money to buy a fake driver’s license. Then, I attained increasingly better jobs, which led to me saving enough money for fake documents saying I was legally in the country.”
“How did you get those documents?”
She gave him a dubious look. “It’s not exactly difficult to find criminals who specialize in such things when you’re living amongst them.”
“I guess not,” he muttered.
“I started working better and better jobs, and I worked alot.There were some days I didn’t sleep, but work was far preferable to being out there. Once I started finding stable, better-paying jobs, Ifinallysaved up enough to get my own place. The day I moved in, I had no furniture, barely any clothes, and a single blanket, but I had a fridge full of food, a roof over my head, and I was so incrediblyhappy. I vowed I would never go hungry or be homeless again.”
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He’d never met anyone quite like her; she was strong, stubborn, and a fighter. She’d left everything she knew behind to start a life with absolutely nothing.
He’d always considered himself courageous, but she wasfarbraver than him, and he admired and liked her for it.
Without thinking, he rested his hand over hers as it sat on her thigh. When she glanced at him, he moved his hand away.
“There are many who wouldn’t have survived out there,” he said.
“Unfortunately, far too many don’t. I volunteer at one of the local shelters and mentor at-risk youth. We all do our best to make sure they stay safe and alive, but you have no idea how many slip through the cracks, or how many come to see us and never return. I remember every one of their faces and search for them when I’m in parks or walking around town. I’ve only ever seen a dozen or so of them again. I like to believe the others all returned home, but I know I’m only kidding myself. It’s heartbreaking.”
“Yet you still do it.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you do, and you know it.”
