Everyone I ever loved is dead.
My hand clenched on the ice. She was supposed to be living her happy, good life. She wasn’t supposed to be hurt and hunched in a chair looking beaten.
Still, my gaze drank her in like I was parched and she was pure, cool water. She wasn’t a girl anymore, or a young woman on the verge of adulthood.
She was all woman.
Her blonde hair—still the same starlight color I remembered—spilled around her slim shoulders. Her face was paler than it should be, but the freckles were there dotting her nose.
And those pretty hazel eyes.
They were watching me now, warily. She had sharp cheekbones and full lips.
I imagined kissing those lips.
I stomped on my thoughts.She’s hurt, asshole.
Lifting the ice pack, I motioned at her hoodie.
She huffed out a breath. “Like I said., the injuries are healing?—”
“And you got hit again today. Trust me, it will help.”
With a huff, she yanked the hoodie up.
I saw the bottom of a plain, black bra, and those ugly bruises mottling her ribs. My jaw clenched, but I noted the slim, almost delicate, torso, and more of that smooth skin.
I pressed the ice pack to her side, and she hissed. Next, I pulled out antiseptic wipes and knelt beside her. Carefully, I wiped at a small graze on her temple, and got a better look at the bruising, now that the makeup was wiped away.
Rage could be hot, but it could also be cold and cutting. It welled inside me, spreading like cracks in a frozen lake.
That fucker had beaten her. Systematically. She was tiny compared to him, but he clearly hadn’t hesitated. Not if her bruises were still this bad over a week later.
How bad had it been the day she’d been beaten?
Who had taken care of her? Who had helped her when she was in pain?
“Did you get treatment after this first happened?”
She nodded. “I woke up in the hospital.”
The cracks intensified. The guy was a dead man. He just didn’t know it yet.
“What happened to Viv?” I asked quietly.
Georgie was silent for a moment, then swallowed. “She was all I had left. Mom died, then Elliot, then Dad.”
Elliot. God, I still missed my friend. He’d been a good, decent guy. He’d always been up for an adventure or willing to lend a hand.
When he’d died, I’d thrown all my grief over his loss into my work. To becoming the best, most effective assassin I could be. A part of me wanted to honor his sacrifice.
My gaze stayed locked on Georgie’s face, and I saw her gaze turn inward.
“Viv loved to sing. She was good, too, and she wanted to be a star.” Her voice sounded hollow. “Then Dean Snyder happened.”
The name was vaguely familiar.
Her gaze flicked my way. “He’s a club owner here in Las Vegas.”
