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"I did." He smirked. "You realize you're not the only one who likes to use magic to live as a man for a certain extent of time."
"Marvelous," I replied. "Please tell me they do it on purpose."
"They do, though they're now in one of the top magic squads. Couldn't find much seeing as their system is a pain in the ass to hack, but if you need more information, I'm sure I could gather it."
"Intriguing," I muttered.
Why would another woman want to use magic to be a man anyway?
"I'll look into it some more when I’ve got time," he encouraged. "Don't fuck up your shoulder today. I'll check on it in the afternoon."
"Cool," I replied and began to button up my shirt before tightening my tie once again. "See you at lunch?"
"Yup," he replied but paused when his phone buzzed. He took it out and the annoyance in his eyes told me something had gone wrong and needed his attention.
"A deal gone wrong?"
"Sadly." He sighed as his head moved from side to side. "They never learn."
"Just sort it out by shaking them up a little. If they won't listen, threaten to pull out entirely."
"They like hearing that shit from Boss."
"Or me," I declared and watched his eyes meet mine.
"You'll be busy."
"I'm never too busy to mind-fuck people," I offered, the cynical smile on my lips actually making him shiver. "I'm not having a psychotic episode," I added.
"Mhm," he replied and moved to the door. "Have your phone nearby but I'll try to make it a last resort."
"Fine by me," I agreed. "Just don't tell Father because I'm not dealing with his shit today. It's Monday."
"Yes, Sir," he replied, knowing exactly what I was referring to. He opened and closed the door, allowing me to finally relax in my chair as I looked to the ceiling and pondered about these new packs in town.
What's being said that all these packs are coming here? More importantly, what does this new crew of money, power, and connections want with Papa Dearest?
I wondered about it as I lifted my hand and noticed it shaking slightly. That made me frown before I rose up and walked to the mirror to look at my reflection.
There I stood, 6'3" and with a model-worthy appearance. A man in the reflection even though I still felt like my feminine self. As I continued to stare at my reflection, a flicker of the image of who I once was way back then flashed before my eyes.
The boy lathered with open wounds, a silver collar around his slender neck that practically sank in due to his burned wounds that were raw and tender. The naked boy whose ribs stuck out against his dehydrated skin, scars from old wounds struggling to finish their healing process while the new wounds from the silver chain continued to burn into his flesh.
His wrists and ankles were no different, his skin practically sunburned from being stuck in the rays of blazing heat piercing through the tiny, rectangular window. His dull eyes stared back at himself, disgusted about his appearance and wishing to get rid of it entirely.
The urge to be rid of this persona and be who I was born to be flickered in my mind, but the same idea ignited fear of consequence that left me trembling while tears began to form.
Anger roared for release, my heart aching for freedom and my eyes glaring at this image in disgust, taking it all in as a reminder of what I'd fight to survive.
Survive the hands of Roberto De Luca.
Survive the pain, agony, and resentment.
Survive his desire to ruin me.
Survive. Survive. Survival of the worthy.
My hand moved before I could think, and the conjured gun that formed in my hand pressed against the temple of whoever was next to me.
