Page 82 of Trigger Happy Ending

“I pulled on the restraints so hard I sliced my wrists open.” She turns her hands over, showing me the scars. “When it was over, I couldn’t hear properly, had no voice from screaming in pure fear, and I felt like my skin was alive. I remember thinking I had electric fleas on my body … my skin was crawling with electricity. It was a horrible feeling that lasted for days.”

Rage boils inside me.

I try to imagine Raine at sixteen, rain-soaked and tied up in a severe storm, lightning striking the ground around her. This girl, this woman, has endured more than most.

“Tough lesson, but I never did try to run again,” she admits sadly. “O said it was the best thing to happen to me. Says it burned away any weakness I had.”

I still at the mention of who was responsible. “O did this to you?”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Why do you think I fucking hate him so much?”

The storm outside suddenly feels smaller compared to what’s sitting in front of me.

“Soren?” Raine asks. “Say something.”

I can’t formulate the dozens of thoughts I’m having. They attack my mind all at once. The trauma this woman has faced is multilayered and so savage. Lightning as a torture tactic is beyond terrifying, but to be made to serve the organization that broke you? It’s sadistic.

“That’s what your nightmares are about, aren’t they?”

“Sometimes,” Raine says, palming her necklace. “It’s like my subconscious places all of my horrific memories into a blender, mixing them together. And then I dream about it all. Small microbursts of each traumatic memory replayed over and over again.”

Her wine glass dangles from her fingers, eyes half-lidded.

She should leave the Agency. She deserves to sample life not as a weapon or a prisoner, but as a human. Fuck knows she’s been to hell and back.

“Have you ever had a relationship? Friendship? With anyone?”

Truth is, I don’t know why I asked. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or maybe I’m a selfish asshole, fishing to hear more of her past.

Her gaze slides to the rain-streaked window, refusing to answer me. “I see the worst of people, Soren. Men, especially. And I’m an assassin. No one can ever know who I am.”

“Maybe,” I offer, though I’m not even sure what I mean. It doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. She is an assassin. Her identity must remain top secret. Forever.

“Not maybe. It’s the truth. Even if I did …” She runs her hand down her face. “People like us? We’re unlovable. We’re just too dark.”

I understand more than I admit. My insides are so fucking dark, any light that tries to shine through is strangled and snuffed out.

But I don’t see that in Raine. All I see is light.

“You think you’ve got a blackened heart, and you probably do. But you wanna know what I think?”

She tilts her head and waits for my response.

“You’ve never had a chance to find out who you really are.”

A breath catches somewhere deep in her chest. Our eyes linger too long, the flickering candlelight making this more intimate than it should be. Who is the girl underneath all this violence? What does she like? What does she love? I’d sell my fucking soul to find out.

“Pass me the bottle,” Raine beckons.

I pass it to her and watch as she fills her glass to the brim.

“Enough about me. What about you? Any relationships in between your murder sprees?”

“No,” I admit. “Not really.”

There’s a moment of silence between us. Like we’ve both realized how empty our lives are. It’s jarring, a pathetic thought. Two people, consumed by darkness and completely loveless.

“None at all?”