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A rage unlike anything she had ever felt before ignited inside her.
It started in her chest and it grew and grew. She could feel it moving throughout each part of her body. Consuming her. The agents and Fin were talking to her; she could see their mouths moving, but she couldn’t hear the words. She didn't care about the words.
There was only one thing she cared about right now.
One person was standing between her and happiness and peace.
Agent Luckman.
The woman was getting in between her and Fin, and she was responsible for the man who hurt her not being safely in prison.
Taylor wanted to kill her.
She had never been a violent person. She’d never felt this kind of rage before—but nineteen months as a captive of a crazy, violent psychopath who liked to break things had changed her.
With a near inhuman howl, she leaped at the older woman.
None of them had been expecting her to do something like that and she managed to connect with Agent Luckman, knocking her to the ground.
She had lost it.
She didn't really know what she was doing.
All she knew was that she had to get the fear and pain and anger out of her.
And the only way to do that was to kill the person responsible.
Since she couldn’t get her hands on her kidnapper, this woman would have to do.
She swung her fists; she scratched with her nails; she kicked with her feet. She did everything she could to inflict the maximum pain in the shortest amount of time.
Someone was yelling at her—she guessed to tell her to stop, but she was beyond listening. She was beyond the real world now. Existing only in a dark, empty, hollow place filled with desperation.
An arm hooked around her waist, and she was dragged backward.
She shrieked like she’d lost her mind, and maybe she had, but she wasn't finished with the woman, and now she was being pulled away from her.
“Taylor, stop. Stop.” The second stop was accompanied by a sharp shake that seemed to snap her back into reality.
Fin had ahold of her, and Agent Drake was kneeling beside his partner. Agent Luckman’s hair was a mess, her shirt was torn, and her face and arms were streaked with blood.
Had she really done all of that?
Her anger disappeared instantly, like a flame that had been doused with a bucket of water.
In its place was despair and shame and more fear than she could cope with.
The man was still out there; he could come back for her. She was never going to be safe as long as he was alive.
“What were you thinking?” Fin asked. He sounded angry. She had alienated the one person who kept her feeling marginally safe.
“It’s her fault!” she screeched. “Her fault that he got away.”
“No, it isn’t.”
He was looking at her like she had lost her mind.
She probably had.
