“He knows I want to, not when it’s happening.”
“Then let’s give that son of a bitch the shock of his life.”
Sunday’s laughter replaces her sadness, and I am glad about that. Yes, Aspen Costello is who I was born, and it was Delilah Grimes who was destined to die on that stone altar. But most of all, I can’t wait to see my parent’s faces when I rock up from the dead.
* * *
Blade is busy.I never realized how many jobs the Reapers get, but most days are spent out in the field, either intelligence gathering or dealing with problems for the government.
I’ve also discovered they work as a military unit. There is discipline here. Everyone knows their place and enjoys the role they play—even the self-proclaimed whores.
I enjoy the company of the women, and the kids and I don’t mind volunteering for babysitting duty. It’s a welcome break.
More than anything, I want to fit in here—earn my place by Blade’s side, and that day of reckoning will soon be upon me.
“I can’t believe it.”
Sunday steps back, her eyes wide.
“Well, hello, Aspen Costello.”
She spins me around and I do a double take because there I am. As I peer at my reflection, I struggle to breathe. Memories crash back at record speed as if my life is flashing before my eyes.
Happy memories, laughter, vacations, friends, even. Then, as if a record is dragged from the deck, those memories are erased by one man. Gideon Fox.
Fear, anger, hatred, domination. I almost can’t breathe as they play on repeat in my mind.
“Are you okay, honey?”
Sunday sounds concerned.
“I think so.”
My eyes sparkle with tears for the wretched memories that have resurfaced and revealed how they broke me.
“Blade will blow his stack when he sees you.”
Sunday giggles and at the mention of his name, the fear is instantly replaced with an inner glow.
“I hope so.”
I’m a little nervous about that because Blade is used to seeing me as Delilah. He likes her and can’t keep his hands off her, butAspen, she is different. More aloof, the rich heiress. It’s all there at the change of the color of my hair, and I resist the urge to ask Sunday to change me back.
I can do this.
I am Aspen Costello and, dragging in a deep breath, I turn and smile.
“Thank you, Sunday. You have worked a miracle.”
“I merely applied the bleach. Tell me, though, I’m curious.”
“What about?”
“Is it strange being yourself again?”
“It…”
I peer at my reflection and dig deep for my real thoughts on this matter. The woman gazing back at me deserves better. I let her down. I was weak. I didn’t fight for her, and I owe it to her to fight for the woman she should be, not what she became.
