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I shake my head, repulsed. “You see the world through your eyes only. And that’s one fucked-up perspective.”
She smiles. “Even Saint Quinn was damaged. Forced to go against the law he upheld so virtuously. Who’s left in your little bubble that your brokenness hasn’t effected?”
She walks away, her limp more prominent, leaving me to reel in my shame. And I feel it profoundly. When forced to look right at the truth of ourselves, we’re left with acceptance or denial. I accept I’m broken. I felt every brake when Wells caned me. Every rupture when he slashed my face. When he violated me…I fractured.
And yet, broken is a poor comparison.
Mangled. Riven. Defective. All better descriptors of how I’ve seen myself since my personal world plummeted to hell. To that abyss.
I accept as much, but there is one attribute I refuse to acknowledge any longer.
Victim.
As Lena leans her hip against the couch, confident. Poised. In control—I tilt my head. “Why did you send your men away?”
My question draws her eyebrows together. “For us to be alone, of course. This isn’t my typical routine—” she flips her blade open, runs it along the backs of her fingers “—but then you’re not my typical girl. You still need an induction, though. And I like my privacy for this purpose.”
She really does love to hear herself talk. “Then we have plenty of time,” I say.
Pushing off the couch, she stalks toward me with measured steps. She grasps the back of my head, nails digging into my scalp, as she presses the blade to my bottom lip. I stop breathing.
“I oversee the branding of all my girls,” she says, dragging the tip of the knife across my lip. “That impotent bastard branded you first. I hate that. I’m going to destroy his mark and carve my own in your flesh.”
My whole being rebels. Flight courses my veins with what’s left of my adrenaline, but I suck in a fortifying breath. Steady my shaking hands. Hear Quinn’s voice tell me to fight.
“I guess I should thank you,” I manage to say.
This gets a confused laugh from her. She presses the blade into my lip, drawing blood. “You should. At least you will when you’re finally putting your talents to real use.”
“No. I should thank you for giving me a choice.” I catalogue her stance. Her clothes, weapon, hair, jewelry—she’s a fucking FBI agent with training that rivals my short experience, but I don’t plan to fight fair. “Without you, I may’ve never known.”
I jam my knee in her crotch and follow through with an elbow to her ribs. She buckles just enough so I can break her hold and knock the blade aside. I regroup, braced for her attack.
She devours a breath, gasping, still feeling her injuries from the wreck. “I don’t mind a challenge,” she says, and licks her lips. “If you like to struggle, struggle. Whatever gets you off. I bet Wells shot a load when you got feisty.” She inches closer, blade held down.
God, she’s going to flay me. I step back as she pushes forward.
“So tell me. What do you know?” she asks, baiting me. Then she pounces.
Too slow to react, I feel the force of her fist in my teeth. That’s all she needs—one hit. How many times did Quinn drill into me to run. Evade. My back hits the floor hard. A jarring pain splinters my head.
Her weight climbs on top of my body. The hand that just issued a brutal punishment strokes my face. “Are we done playing?” She brings the knife to my throat.
I draw in a breath. Every movement sends excruciating vibrations to my brain. “You know why we’re alone?” I force out. “Why you took me this morning without even searching me? Why you didn’t have your thugs search me?” The twist of her lips conveys her annoyance. “You saw me as a victim.”
A bang reverberates through the room. Shouts. Muffled gunfire.
The commotion is from a distance, but I use the distraction. I grab her earring and yank, coming away with the silver hoop. Then I reach down and pull the strapped syringe from above my ankle.
Her shrill curses ring in my head as I bite the cap off and then jam the needle in her neck. “Don’t move,” I warn.
My thumb hovers over the plunger. I feel her quivering body through the syringe. Her eyes, stark and revealing all her vicious thoughts, never leave mine. Time stretches, and it speeds. All at once.
A crack bounces around us as the door is kicked in, but I don’t look. I don’t take my eyes off of the enemy.
I feel Quinn’s presence before he speaks. “Avery—” Then he’s beside me, kneeling at my side, his gun aimed at Lena. “Are you all right?”
I release a shaky breath. “I’m fine,” I rush out.
