I’m so focused on the name called that whatever he said after that was eaten by the atmosphere.
Fredrick? As in Rick, my brother Mikah’s Rick?
Disbelief—utter shock and disbelief punches through my chest, ripping me open.
My brother and his friends? I try to hold out hope that this isn’t something my kind, attentive, and caring older brother would do to any of us.
“Fine,” Fredrick whines, and I know there’s a teenage boy pouting under that mask.
“Big baby.”
I must have said it aloud because he releases my throat and yanks me up by the collar of my PJ top. “Listen, you little shit. I may not be able to have you the way I want to, but it doesn’t mean I don’t get to play with you.”
Gasping for air, I suck in deep breaths, running fast and free from the memories of what Fredrick and Jackson did to me that night. A phantom pain shoots up the back of my left leg. A wound that physically healed after over one hundred stitches pieced me back together.
I played dead for what felt like years before I snuck out my bedroom window, leg spilt open and all. The doctors told me they still don’t know how I have no residual nerve damage.
A miracle, they called it—I call it a thirst for blood. It was and still is the perfect motivator for getting my body to one hundred percent. And that was before I was invited to join Keres. An acceptance I made only if they allowed me to get my revenge.
I smirk at the memory, the look on her face when Ishowed up at the gate to headquarters. I had the invitation and a mission all in hand before I sat down for negotiations.
We don’t invite anyone who doesn’t have a wrong that needs to be righted.”She said that day.“Vengeance is what fuels this place. The quest for justice is what pumps through the heart of every member of myteam,” she exclaims. “And Talia, your wrath can lead you down two paths. Don’t let one blind you from your true purpose.”
The tightness in my chest loosens at the reminder, and I head to the room with all the answers.My adoptive parents.
Warding off the memory of the description and photos of their deaths, I walk down the long hallway that leads to their room. Without pausing, I enter their bedroom, which is also exactly as I remember it to be, not a hair out of place. All the pictures on the wall remain.
My gaze lands on one of Mikah’s.It’s his pinning ceremony. He painted the picture of the perfect rich boy—sharp suit with platinum cufflinks and some expensive ass shoes. It wasn’t until now that I see what I missed when I was young. He hid his pain and anger masterfully. Something happened to him that morphed him into someone I never truly knew.
I found out firsthand on my first surveillance of them. This was long before I joined Keres. I was only eighteen. Finally old enough to begin my plan for vengeance.
Sighing, I crack my neck and then adjust my telescope. I watch as Mikah and his friends sit around a bonfire, laughing and drinking. Griff stands, strolling his six-foot-three ass to the trailer hooked to his pickup truck. He yanks on the metal leash, and I see a naked girl attached to what appears to be a leather collar. Her makeup is a mess—mascara runs down her face as she visibly cries.
Frustration that I can only watch as she’s repeatedly brutally raped until her body stops moving. That’s when Fredrick comes to life, shoving his poor excuse for a dick down her throat before sliding inside her dead body. I’ve called the police on them many times, but nothing ever happened. That’s when I decided to take matters into my own hands.
Two more girls are dragged out, also without any clothes on. Jackson throws one of them on the table and orders the other to kneel between her legs. “Suck her pussy and putthat ass in the air if you want to live,” he commands. Visibly shaken, she does exactly what’s demanded of her.
I can’t stomach watching, so I scope out the area under construction at our Vermont estate.
A scream returns my focus to the telescope. Mikah is violently pumping into her, and I've had about all I can stomach of tonight's stakeout.
Pulling out my notebook, I jot down every new detail. Then I toss it back into my rucksack before running the two miles to where I’ve stashed my bike.
The shattering of glass rips me from the memory, and I pivot to the origin of the sound. Before I can pinpoint the source, more glass breaks consecutively.
Fuck! Something was missed in our intel.
Brax
“Fuck.” I shout as I flip out of the tree. My feet barely hit the ground before I’m charging into the action.
Tati has already taken out two people, their necks snapped, as I draw my katanas from their Sayas. She’s slicing the throat of another when she takes me in, and I know instantly there’s no recognition—I am the enemy too. Then she disappears in the sea of men.
They don’t seem to want her dead. All their movements are to immobilize and not kill. Which is both reassuring and stressful, because it means Mikah has finally decided to make his move.
Slashing through what feels like an endless stream of fuckheads, I work to get to my beacon—Tati.
I’m not pretending my obsession with her is rational or reasonable, but who gives three fucks about R-squared? This isn’t fucking statistical analysis, and I’m not running any regression models. Unless it’s perfectly predicting that Tati Al-Adil ismine.
