Chapter 7
TARA
He let me go.
He could’ve arrested me. He could’ve shot me. He was a fucking detective. Surely, he carried a weapon. But he didn’t use it.
Instead, he fought me. He fought like he was having fun.
What was up with that?
I clicked on the comms in my ear. “Crimson Tiger, you copy? Shadow Panther here.”
A crackle hit me in my ear, pulling me out of the hazy fog of confusion, adrenaline—and stupid arousal—snapping me to alertness. Samaira’s loud burst of emotions crashed through the headset. “Thank God, Panther. You okay? What’s the status of the cop?”
Knox Steele’s thunderous eyes flashed through my mind, his arrogant display of flipping me back with both of his hands playing in a loop behind my eyes.
The rush of fucking arousal still pounded through my veins at the way I left the fucker in the dust, the shock on his face making me smile.
“Fought him off to buy you guys enough time to get to the safe house without him tracking you. And then, I escaped. He chased me for a bit, but I’ve lost him.
Do you want me to reach the safe house?”
“Don’t do that. We don’t want to risk him catching your tail and discovering the safe house. You’ve done enough today. If you’re sure he isn’t chasing you, just go home. We’ll handle everything here. We can do a debrief tomorrow on how the hell that cop found out about the mission.”
“Trust me, I’ll be going over it tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Drive safe. Text me when you reach home.”
“Will do, Mommy.”
Her snort hit my ear before I cut our connection and raced home. After parking the motorcycle in our private parking, I took the elevator directly to the floor Sloane and I shared. There was a small lobby space between our apartments, and the difference between our front doors was stark.
For one, her main door was bright pink with a cheetah’s face for a doorknob, while mine was solid black with a panther’s face for the knob.
Her side of the area was littered with small and large plants, breathing life into our lobby space, while mine had one lone plant—thanks to Sloane—right by my door.
I quickly brushed a hand along the leaf and walked into the apartment, only to be greeted by a solid weight jumping at my chest. My baby. My beautiful, large, terrifying black Doberman, Shadow.
I locked the door behind me and dropped down on the floor in my tac gear as Shadow jumped in my lap. He was three years old but still thought he was three months old. He hated being left all alone in this giant apartment.
We had a large living room overlooking the entire city of Manhattan, a kitchen that would be every chef’s wet dream, and three huge bedrooms that could sleep no less than ten people.
Before Dominic gifted us the top ten floors of this building, Shadow and I used to live in a one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. Half of the days, we’d sleep in the basement of Thunder Claw, Lena’s bar and restaurant, and the Wildcats’ ex-headquarters.
Both of us were used to living in the shadows and hiding from the world.
While Shadow hated the world, the world hated me.
Well, not me. But the me that represents the cruel reality of the world.
Now, we were both living in this beautiful apartment on top of the world, away from the eyes of others, in a solitude we both embraced.
I hugged Shadow a little extra tight. Today was a stark reminder of the risks we took, the crimes we committed on a daily basis, and the sheer fragility of the life we lived.
Today, I fought a cop. I attacked a cop.
An action for which he could’ve arrested me—well, he tried—or very well could’ve shot me. Which he didn’t even try.
He never even attempted to reach for his gun. The gun that was literally at his hip.
The man fought with his bare hands and hard body.
The man whose feet had halted the moment our eyes had met. The man who had looked at half of my face with flared, heated eyes. The eyes that had burned me down to my core.
Lt. Knox Steele had made me feel attractive for the first time in five fucking years.
I got off the floor and walked to the kitchen, Shadow whining and trotting right behind me, complaining about how lonely he’d been without me.
I opened the shelf where we kept his food, and like always, he went batshit crazy.
He ran circles around the kitchen island and wiggled to a stop near his bowl.
The moment I poured his food in it, my sweet little—actually a giant—baby dove in.
While Shadow ate, I went to my room and got out of all my clothes, throwing them toward the laundry basket.
I walked into the attached washroom and soaked my bloody axe in a bucket that I used to clean my weapons.
I hate that I had to leave my favorite knife stuck in that abusive loser’s skull.
I’d have to remind Sami to bring it back tomorrow.
I quickly took a hot shower, cleaning up the blood and sweat from the mission and trying to put Knox Steele out of my mind for a few minutes. I needed a clear head to think about how he discovered the location of our mission.
But rather than thinking about the severity of the threat that man posed to us, all my mind could think about was his stormy-blue eyes on my face, his large hands on my body, and the ruthless violence exuding from his skin as he slammed me on the ground and tried to climb on top of me.
Anger and arousal spread like wildfire through my veins. My heart raced as unfamiliar emotions flooded my body. Sure, I felt arousal and took care of it every once in a while, and anger was my best fucking friend. But this wasn’t the arousal I’d been feeling for the past five years.
This was the arousal I used to feel before.
This was the arousal that used to shoot through my system when a man would stare at me too long, when his eyes would get glued to my face because he couldn’t look away even if he tried, when I used to look in the mirror and love the way my lips puckered in a perfect pout, and my eyes shone golden when the sun hit the hazel color.
Yes, I used to be a vain bitch who loved it when men found me pretty. I used to find me pretty.
The arousal currently threatening to buckle my knees under the hot stream of water was that arousal. And I hadn’t felt this in a long, long time.
I hated it.
Hated it because it was still there.
Hated it because, for the first time after the incident, it reminded me that the incident hadn’t changed me after all.
Hated it that I still loved a man’s eyes on my face.
Of course it was my shitty luck that the only man to have looked at me like that was a fucking cop, and the only reason he had looked at me with those dangerous, heated eyes was because he had only looked at half my face.
I knew what would happen when he got a look at the other half of my face. The half that had paid the price for the conceited, attention-loving part of me that I thought had died that day.
That swirling arousal that had started to throb against my skin fizzled away at the vicious reminder of that day, the phantom burn against my skin leaving me breathless for an entirely different reason.
Before the haunting moments of those days started to burn and itch my scars, I turned the shower to ice cold and tipped my face up.
I welcomed the icy cool reprieve on my scarred side, shivering on my feet until my face turned numb and every bone in my body rattled against my skin.
Until every emotion froze in its wake, leaving me in the present.
Clearheaded. Ready to take on Lt. Knox Steele.
As I dried myself, I took a deep breath and turned to the mirror.
For a second, I flinched. I hated it.
So I stood there. Taking myself in.
I looked at the woman that I am. Partly perfect, partly scarred.
“I love you,” I whispered. Sloane said that I needed to love myself.
That I needed to remind myself that I loved me.
That even if I didn’t, I needed to tell myself that I did, until I started believing my words.
That I’d only ever heal if I fell back in love with myself.
The scars on my face never let me forget my trauma. Every time I looked in the mirror, all I saw was the way I looked after the incident. The extensive scarring, the angry red burns, the burned nose, the half-remaining ear. Not the reconstructed face staring at me in the mirror right now.
Some days, I pitied myself more than loved myself. And I hated those days.
Especially on a day like today, when I felt beautiful. But I knew the truth.
“You’re so fucking strong, so badass.” My voice broke as I met the teary eyes in the mirror.
My fingers shook as I grazed the scarred side of the mirror. “You are beautiful. I am beautiful.”
“I love you. I love you.” A tear slid down my cheek, but I didn’t look away from my face. Didn’t look away from the sagging skin under my eyes, the slightly drooping eye, the half-torn ear, and the burned, slightly discolored skin on my cheek. “I love me.”
I dunked my head under the cold water from the sink and let it wash away the hot remnants of the tears.
I kept trying to remind myself of how I looked five years ago.
Before the countless facial reconstructive surgeries I’d had done.
I was a better version of myself today, and I’d spent years under the knife to reach here.
I couldn’t discount the past Tara’s trauma by not being grateful for every bit of progress I’d made in the course of these five years.
With a quick puff of exhale, I got out of the washroom, only to be jumped by Shadow, his dinner already demolished.
After reheating and eating the large chicken burrito that Dominic’s chef stacked in all our refrigerators, I got into the elevator with Shadow and went three floors down to the Wildcats HQ. I refused to sleep my night off when the rest of the Wildcats were busy carrying out the mission.
The mission I was a part of.
The mission the lieutenant stole from me.
Why?