Chapter 13 #2
“This isn’t entertaining.” I storm toward him. “Unlike you, I have to work my ass off to be taken seriously. If you think this is a joke, don’t bother showing up to any assignment.”
“And here I thought you were boring.” Crew laughs. “You are quite amusing.”
Fury rises around me. “Do you take anything seriously?”
“Yes, I do.”
“That’s hard to believe.” I attempt to step past him, and he blocks the way with his massive frame.
“Oh, come on,” Crew mocks. “Relax. Are you capable of that?”
“I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
“Apparently not,” he frowns.
“Nor do I need you.”
“We both know that isn’t true,” Crew chimes back, raising his brows. “You’ll need me.”
I glare into his eyes, and there’s only one thing I can think of when I see him, which still haunts me.
The night my father was murdered, I saw Crew Bannermin disappear around the corner of the alley where he was shot.
My dad always took it upon himself to make this city a better place, and even after decades in the police force, that training wasn’t enough to confront angels and demons.
“Been on any flights outside the city lately?” Crew asks, tauntingly. “I hear the wheat fields at this time of year are picturesque.”
I rub my temples, letting my annoyance be known, and close my eyes.
“Or are you just wasting away in bars since your release?” Crew continues, trying to grab my attention. “Do you know how much money you cost me last night?”
“You said you wanted to buy me a drink.” I shrug, returning my gaze to his. “So, I had some. Didn’t think you would mind.”
“Try like fifty,” he responds, glancing at my legs. “How are your kneecaps, by the way? I had to pick you up off the damn ground at one point.”
“Please never touch me again,” I demand. “I didn’t ask for your help.”
Crew chuckles but steps back, creating some distance at that statement. He folds his arms across his broad chest and angles his head, studying me for a moment.
“You’re pretty when you’re mad.” He smirks. “Which is really lucky for you, since that’s always.”
I grind my teeth in his face. “Do you like the sound of your own voice?”
“I like many things, grumpy ass,” Crew responds, stepping forward. “Long walks on the beach, expensive red wine, funny movies…”
“Please shut up,” I groan, but he continues.
“…I like you.”
I place my hand on the pistol strapped to my belt, and Crew smiles wider, knowing his taunting is working.
“If you show up tonight, I will shoot you.”
He picks his nail. “You will not.”
“Try me. I’m not fucking around, Bannermin.”
Crew’s large body towers over mine, but I refuse to back down. I move even closer to his face, letting my anger flow into him like a virus. He knows I hate him, and as much as it pisses me off, he revels in it.
“You were fucking around last night.” He leans closer, challenging me. “You still smell like booze, Mara. I’m honestly impressed at how much you can drink.”
“You’re one to talk,” I bite back. “You were basically having sex with that girl on the dance floor.”
“And you enjoyed watching,” he responds, smirking. “Is that your kink? We all have one.” Crew leans toward my ear to whisper, “Want to know mine?”
“You are nauseating.” I jerk my head back.
“That’s just the hangover talking.” Crew’s deep laugh moves around the hallway. “Are you jealous?”
“Hell no,” I admit. “I felt sorry for her.”
He props his arm against the wall. “Your gaze said otherwise. Tell me if you’d like to go dancing, little angel. I’ll gladly take you.”
“I don’t dance with the devil.” I glance up and down his towering frame.
He leans closer. “Oh, baby, I’m much worse.”
I jerk my body back with a huff and push against his chest. “I want nothing from you.”
“Right.” Crew laughs, and its deep tone sends a shiver up my spine. “So, can I make fun of you for having your tongue down that guy’s throat?”
I roll my eyes.
“Do you even know who that was?” He crosses his arms.
“Why do you fucking care?” I seethe.
“I have some free time this week,” Crew responds.
“You are acting jealous,” I cut back, curling my nose. “It’s pathetic.”
“Oh, I definitely am.”
I push past him, driving my shoulder into his chest. "I can’t handle you right now, Crew. Show up tonight, and I’ll kill you."
He shouts down the hallway at me as the distance grows between us, “Oh, I have a feeling you can handle anything I throw at you. Plus,” he pauses, “I like it rough.”
“Just shut the fuck up,” I shout over my shoulder.
“I don’t take orders from you,” he says with a sly grin. “At least, not yet.”
“Fine,” I say. “Then stand here and talk to no one, dickhead.”
“It’s a date.” He booms a laugh. “See you tonight, grump grump.”
I storm down the hallway, desperate to drown the emotions that swirl in my system and quiet them down.
It feels impossible to win when I’m chained to Lowell and everything he throws at me.
I take a deep breath and allow a wave of power to steady my heart and breathing.
The calm feeling floods me as numbness runs through my core, tingling my body with a relaxing ease.
I move down the hallway in a relaxed bliss, not letting the thought of Shaw being disappointed in my actions cross my mind.
If anyone saw me, they’d surely think I was crazy, walking with a sly grin on my exhausted face.
With calmness flowing through me, I no longer feel the hangover threatening to overpower me.
I resist the urge to knock on Shaw’s door, but after last night, I’m sure he and Talon could use a break from my antics.
I push open my bedroom door, uncaring of what this evening will bring.
All I care about is getting back into bed until it’s time to start tonight’s assignment.
I toss the folder containing the information about who I will be killing tonight on my desk.
It’s an odd thing, knowing someone will die tonight, but not an ounce of dread pushes through me.
I decided long ago that the individuals the High Elders sent us to kill no longer served a purpose on this earth—usually meaning they were terrible people who needed to die.
I had no problem killing the murderers and rapists on the loose, even if that turned me into a murderer.
Depending on their profile, I made their deaths miserable when I deemed it appropriate.
Over the years, it changed me as a person, and I’ve made peace with that—at least that’s what I tell myself.
I walk to my bed and fall face down, letting the cool sheets and soft mattress envelop me like a gentle hug.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I feel the effects of my powers wearing off.
I grapple with myself internally about whether another wave is necessary, but Shaw’s voice echoes in my head, and I refuse to numb myself once more.
As scared as I am, I need to feel something—I have to face this.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.
My room is silent, making me uncomfortable, and my palms are getting clammy.
I think back to the prison when I first arrived.
Riggs had me placed in a solitary confinement room that had no windows, white walls, and was completely silent.
He left me there for nearly three months before allowing me to join the others.
Being alone for that long nearly broke me, but pure spite kept me going.
I may walk near the cliff’s edge of my life, but I will not jump. I’ll keep trying.
I’ll keep trying.
It took me weeks after getting a jail cell to myself to believe that I wasn’t hallucinating everything.
I rejected food, water, and any conversations until I could convince myself that what surrounded me was real, and I still feel as though I’m struggling to accept that what I’m doing right now is reality.
A few weeks after joining the others in the prison, I got into a fight, and a woman punched me in the jaw so hard that stars danced in my vision.
I knew it was real, and I enjoyed the pain.
No hallucination could cause that much agony, and unfortunately for me, with the iron chains taking away any ability I had to heal myself, I felt everything for weeks.
I allowed inmate after inmate to beat the shit out of me, just so I could feel something and possibly have the Grim take me across the black lake to end my misery.
I close my eyes and let the silence in my room fill the space around me, and as painful as it feels, I need to feel something.
Anything.
I know numbing my emotions won’t make anything better—it won’t make me better.
I let the anxiety build like the rising skyscrapers around me, seconds away from crashing down into pieces of rubble.
My chest heaves, my palms sweat, and my mind races.
I let the horrible memories crash into my mind like a brewing storm on the brink of swallowing me whole, and I don’t stop it.
I sit up, unable to lie flat from my pounding heart, and grip tightly to the now sweltering bedsheets. Tears begin to rain down my cheeks, and the nausea I’ve been feeling all morning finally wins, making me rush to the bathroom.
My gags turn into dry heaves, and finally, I expel the anxiety I've held inside for too long. I’m not in prison anymore, yet the outside world feels no different.
I’m forced to be the Mara I once was, and in this moment, I don’t see a way out.
The minutes pass while I spill my guts into the toilet.
Every so often, I get a reprieve and can gasp for air, but I’m once again met with the harsh reality of how my life has turned out, and throw up again.
I deserve this.
After what feels like an hour, the nausea subsides, and I lean back against the cold wall, letting my head drop between my knees.
I feel it all—the past year of my life trapped in that dark prison, the reality that my friendships have changed—and my mind wanders back to the night my world was turned upside down.
My throat, already sore, burns miserably, and my eyes are nearly swollen shut from the tears streaking my cheeks.
The silence returns once more, but is interrupted by a hard knock on my door.
I attempt to stand, my legs uneven and weak, but crash back to the hard tile floor, sending a flash of pain through my knees. A quiet sob breaks from my raw throat. The knock sounds again, and I grind my teeth as I try to stand once more.
I’ll keep trying.
I brace myself against the wall, successfully standing after the third attempt, and push my body toward the door. In my current state, I’m likely to scare whoever stands on the other side of the solid wood, but I make my way to the knob and turn it as another knock echoes through my room.
I crack open my door and peer into the hallway. Fiery hair catches my eyes first, followed by the beautiful face of Bronwyn Vale.