Futile, really.
They always find a way out.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, catching the way he’s still watching me like a hawk.
He doesn’t believe a word of it, but he gives an accepting nod.
I try to pull myself together, but my fingers still tremble. The smallest weak point in my control, and I can’t seem to stop it.
I drag my focus back to tonight.
Tonight is not about the past.
It’s about removing another stain from the world and bleeding off the anger lodged deep in my chest.
I failed with Markev, but I intend to rectify that.
Every man I hunt ends up where he belongs, dead, erased from the earth without a trace, no longer taking the same air as his victims.
I make sure the disposal is pristine, the scene untouchable.
I leave nothing behind.
Nothing unaccounted for.
But that night, I left too much.
Too much evidence.
Too much vulnerability.
Too much of myself.
My blade stayed with him, my face was visible.
And worst of all, I let him get close.
And I didn’t kill him.
The drug should have dropped any normal man for hours. But not him, it seems.
I drag a hand through my hair, irritation skimming down my spine. I’ll get him, when he least expects it, because I have to.
That’s my purpose in this world.
Deliver justice.
Remove rapists who believe they can commit something so grotesque and still walk free.
The SUV turns off the main road, pulling me from my thoughts as it follows a quieter lane.
A large, abandoned industrial structure emerges from the darkness ahead.
I straighten, my shoulders settling and my pulse steadying as that familiar calm begins to move through me.
I cannot stop the smirk that tugs at my lips.
You may call me Octavia.
