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Something soft flashed in the woman’s eyes, but only for a moment. Then humor took over once more, but it was fake. Anna could see that it was fake.
She, too, had once faked humor to get by.
“I won’t fight you,” she decided out loud, pushing the woman forward and disengaging. She saw the humanity, saw the aching hope, the desperation, the fear, the wanting. Or perhaps, she was just seeing what she wanted to see… seeing what she now realized was in herself for all those years.
She simply smiled. “Wonderful.” She whipped out her baton, tossing it at Anna’s lower legs and causing her to fall to the ground. “That makes this much easier for me.” She grabbed the knife in Anna’s shoulder and twisted it.
Anna let out a scream she didn’t even know was in her, pain searing through her and traveling down her body. Then she yanked out her gun, holding it up, and pulling the trigger.
She… tried. Hadn’t she?
As Anna watched the life leave the woman before her, the blood spill from her body, Anna saw herself there. Then she shot back to the moment she’d run right into Hayden, holding his gun to her. Hayden, who’d let her live, despite the fact that she was an enemy soldier. Despite the fact that he had every reason to take her out.
He’d taken a chance on her, given her the opportunity to be different, be better, be more…
And she’d just taken that chance from someone else.
No, she scolded herself. She’d taken from herself. Anna tried to help her, tried to offer her a way out. Now was not the time for her humanity to creep in and stop her from getting things done. Hayden was still in here somewhere. He had to be.
She stood, brushing herself off and pulling the knife from her shoulder, bleeding be damned. She couldn’t risk someone else using that weapon against her. It was foolish to leave it in to begin with, but… she wanted to help her. But she hadn’t wanted to help herself.
A loud crash came from further down the hallway, and Anna shook herself out of her thoughts, pushing forward with everything she had and running toward the noise.
Please be there, Hayden, she silently begged. We deserve a second chance, too…
? ♥ ?
Hayden was glad to be left-handed. It gave him an advantage, considering his right arm had been dislocated. Had that been on purpose, meant to immobilize him? Probably not, but the thought had crossed his mind…
He threw a punch with his left hand, watching blood drip from his father’s nose. He’d wanted to do this for years, decades. Since he was six years old, the first time his father had taken a knife to his body. Even more now that he knew what the man before him had done to Anna. To the woman he loved.
Hayden growled, punching again, the fury overpowering him. He let it. Control be damned. He let all the years of anger, of rage, of betrayal, of distrust, of neglect and abuse out on the man before him. The man who’d disfigured him, tormented him, planned to tear him to pieces.
Ah, but he’d failed. Hayden could not be broken. Would not be broken.
But he would. Oh, he would.
His father grabbed a candle, shoving the fire to Hayden’s face.
Hayden punched again, hearing a satisfying crack as Greene fell backwards into the wall. Hayden moved to him, pressing his forearm into his father’s throat, watching the fear bleed into his eyes.
“How does that feel?” Hayden bit out. “To be helpless? To be afraid?” He pressed harder against his throat, causing him to make a gurgling sound. “Doesn’t feel all that good, does it?”
“You… wouldn’t… kill… own father.”
Hayden heard a door open behind him, a soft gasp filling the space. He didn’t turn. Didn’t need to. He simply smiled, staring into the eyes of the man who’d tried so very hard to destroy him… and failed.
He rolled his—good—shoulder back. “No,” he answered slowly. Relief filled the man’s gaze. Hayden gestured over his shoulder, toward the door. “She will.”
The fear came back tenfold, and then Hayden gripped his neck, turning them both and pushing Greene into the center of the room.
Anna took her shot, her bullet landing right in the center of his face. His body fell to the ground. Dead. Instantly. A little too painlessly, for his liking, if he was being honest. He stared at the limp body of the man who’d raised him, scarred him, tortured him, a hundred emotions playing through his mind.
“Y’know,” he murmured, “you could’ve killed me with that shot.”
Anna laughed, but it sounded more like a sigh. “That sounds like something I’d say.”
He looked up, his eyes finally meeting her eyes. Those beautiful damn eyes. “I guess you’re rubbing off on me.”
