Damn them. Damn everyone.
It’s been so long since I’ve had to do this that my hands shake as I pick up the bottle.Get a grip, Aurora.
I drop the bottle back onto the counter, putting my palms on the cool vanity, trying to ground myself. I won’t be Aurora anymore after this, will I? I’ll be Rayea again, and the thought of becoming her after trying to forget about her, it sits like a lead ball in my stomach.
Can I really do this? Can I slip back into that persona and still hold on to the pieces that are truly me? The ones that I finally allowed to develop when I was on my own, in college and trying to piece together a life I never dreamed I’d be able to have.
I lift my head, staring at myself in the mirror. I’ve scrubbed away my make-up, leaving my face bare, and my bleached blonde hair hangs limply over my shoulder. Maybe I’m committing them to memory, or maybe it’s just mourning and acceptance, but I can’t stand here and stare at them much longer or I’m going to break down.
I get to work, working like a madwoman to get them finished.
I lose track of time, but when I’m finished, my hair washed and cut, and my new clothes firmly in place, I force myself to look back in the mirror. I bite back the pained whimper as I stare at the familiar woman in front of me who even now still feels like a stranger.
It’s strange standing here like this, though. Worse, it’s not as unpleasant as I expected. Maybe that will frighten me, but right now, it’s another shield. Another way to remind everyone, especially Alonzo when he eventually gets a look at me, that he doesn’t know me. Aurora O’Brien is who I allowed myself to become to forget the darkness I escaped from for a short time.
Now, it’s time for me to step back, really remember who I am. My purpose. The skills I’ve let become complacent and rusty. The same ones I need to get back up to par in a very short time, or else none of this will matter.
I want to hate her. I want to be so angry and disgusted, but I can’t. Maybe that makes it fucked up, but the woman in front of me, she looks cold, determined, but also older and wiser. I haven’t thought about her in a long time.
When I was eighteen and left, my hair was long, black, and I often wore it up in a messy bun. Mishka often teased me about it when we first were married, but he also told me how much it suited me. A wave of grief hits me but I push it aside.
I have a job to do. The only thing I won’t allow to be changed is my name. Aurora was the name I chose for myself. It was the name my mother whispered to me on the rare nights that I wasallowed to be with her. A name she read in a book as a child that she had always wanted to call me, but my father refused, naming me himself.
I hate him for that alone. That he took something so small, so precious to the woman he had claimed to love, and crushed it, giving me the name of a woman he admired instead. A woman he used to hurt my mother and push her into compliance.
My fists clench, and my jaw tightens as I stare at myself. No, I will never be Rayea again.
Hades gives a whine of worry, coming over to lick at my clenched hands, nudging them with his nose. I crouch down, forcing a smile. “It’s okay, baby. I’m okay.” He whines again, pushing his nose against the side of my head, sniffing at the shortened strands above my ear. “I know, I probably look funny to you now, don’t I? Don’t worry, I’m still me.” I kiss the side of his head, my ear earning a lick of thanks, making me laugh softly, before I get back to my feet.
Pity party over. I need to get to work. Exhaustion is closing in, but I still have a lot to learn. Breaking back into Ilya’s office might be interesting, but I need to look at those plans again. There was something there. Something I’m missing. Everything looked the same, but my gut is telling me to look again. This time without interruption.
A loud crash sounds, and I grab the guns off the counter before Hades and I head for the door. I give him a low command to be on alert before I open it. I move fast but on silent feet, stopping only when I realize what I’m seeing.
Alonzo has Simeon pinned to the wall near the door, but I can’t hear what he’s saying, though I have to imagine it’s a threat of some kind. My heart speeds up, especially when I hear him hiss, “Get in my way, and I’ll kill you. She. Is. Mine.”
Damn it. I can’t allow myself to be sidetracked by this man. Simeon might try to say something back, but I’m not about todeal with some stupid macho fight. Especially one where Ilya is going to come after my ass if something happens to his cash cow. I don’t bother to listen to his reply, moving swiftly to get close to them both.
Neither of them notices me.
I press my gun against the middle of Alonzo’s back—damn his tall ass—and one against Simeon’s temple in case he gets any wise ideas. “Alonzo, you’re going to let him go, now.”
I try not to react to his stare, instead focusing on Simeon, who turns around, brushing himself and swiping his hand under his bleeding nose. When his gaze finally lands on me, he freezes, his eyes moving over me in a slow perusal. I arch a brow when his eyes finally connect with mine. “Holy shit,” he blurts out. “You look so…hot,solnyshko.”
I barely control my jolt at the nickname that Mishka used to call me. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it, and the stab of pain is acute. It’s odd to hear Simeon use that term, but I remember him using it a couple times when he was around Mishka. At the time it was taunting, but now, the tone just makes me uncomfortable.
Alonzo lets out a low sound that sounds suspiciously like a growl, but I ignore it. “What are you doing in my room, Simeon?”
He huffs, rubbing at his still bleeding nose. “Damn it, this suit is one of my favorites.” He shoots Alonzo a furious glare, before looking back at me. “What do you think? I came to talk to you. I know that Ilya and you have this hair-brained idea how to do this plan, but I know it’s insane. You’re going to end up dead. Mine is at least smart, and I think you know it.”
“The one where you expect me to marry you.” I shoot Alonzo a warning look when he growls again, but he ignores me, shooting daggers at Simeon.
“Well, yeah. I mean, come on, you can’t say that you won’t enjoy being married to me. We might not have gotten along in the past, but we’re older now, and once I take over for my father, we’ll be unstoppable. And, I mean, you’re hot, so it’s not like it’s going to be hard to fuck you…ughhhhhhhh.”
The groan of pain comes from Simeon as Alonzo sucker punches him in the jaw. He drops to the floor and curls in on himself.
“Damn it, Alonzo.” I give him an exasperated stare. He turns to me, unrepentant, bruises already forming on his jaw from where I have to assume Simeon got in a couple of lucky shots.
His eyes blaze as he stares at me. Desire burns, along with a healthy dose of jealousy and determination. My own need starts to burn, and I hate it. Why am I turned on by this machismo display? Why am I allowing myself to even stand here and not cut him down a few pegs?
