The world would love him for it.
Until that moment, when he could get her attention, he would make sure he avoided her.
She would know him.
A killer could spot another killer easily, and that was something he couldn’t risk happening. She was a cunning killer, and he knew it. This was about being stealthy.
Sneaky.
Tricky.
So, as he walked into his private area, one he found by chance, he saw his mediums in there.
It was time to create his art.
“Hello, my lovely,” he said, cheerfully as he saw her. He only wished she saw how special she was going to be. When he finished, she’d be something no one had ever seen before.
Instead, she was begging him to let her go.
It was cute.
It was darling.
It was impossible.
“I can’t do that,” he said, as she rattled the grate of the cage he’d made for her.
“Please!”
He smiled.
No, there was no way in the world he was giving this one up. She was a sweet thing. She was perfect for bait to get the sweetest prize into his game.
He needed her.
He needed all of them.
“You have a mission in life, my sweet, so I have to keep you with me—for now.”
She wept.
Her tears made him sad.
Why didn’t she see that her sacrifice was going to be worth it in the end?
She’d be famous.
He’d be legend.
“You’re going to be the one who gets me my prize subject. Once I have her, then I can truly be who I was meant to be. I’m an artist, and you are my medium.”
Clearly, that didn’t sit well with her.
She began her temper tantrum.
It pissed him off.
She kicked at the bars, but he’d chained her leg to the cage so she couldn’t escape.
The cage was so small, that there was no way to get away from him.
That was exactly what he wanted.
“Come here,” he said, reaching in to grab the chain.
She whimpered and tried to scoot back out of his reach, but he simply pulled her out by the chains around her ankles.
As she was dragged across the wet, damp floor, she tried to grab onto anything in her reach. She’d seen the table with all the parts on it, and the saw.
There was no way she believed that what was coming was going to be pleasant.
She’d smelled the scent of death, and that fight or flight kicked in, making her want to save herself.
Now it was time.
He pulled her along, and she grabbed onto her last chance to save herself. When she found a bar, she clutched it, stopping him.
He sighed.
“Sweetness, I’m a patient person, but you don’t want to make me angry,” he said, heading back toward her. “Don’t make the inevitable difficult. I don’t want you to suffer, but if I get mad, you will hurt.”
When she wouldn’t let go, he stopped.
“Okay,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
In response to her irrational temper tantrum, he simply slammed his boot down on her hand, crushing her fingers like matchsticks.
She screamed in pain.
It was enough to hurt his ears.
This wouldn’t do.
So, to shut her up, he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the ground. There was the sound of bone meeting concrete, her eyes rolled into her head.
There was silence.
Thankfully.
“Now see what you made me do?” he asked. “I don’t like being mean. This could have been avoided.”
Yes, he blamed her.
After all, this really upset him.
He’d picked her especially for what he had planned, and now she was damaged.
His medium was no longer perfect.
Shit!
“YOU WERE PRISTINE!”
He kept his cool, knowing that if he lost it, he’d never be able to take on Elizabeth. Patience was virtue.
“I’ve got this.”
He said it over and over again until he found his inner Zen. There was no doubt he would need it. Elizabeth was as cool as a cucumber, and he needed that same level of control too.
It would be the only way.
“That’s okay, sweetness. Luckily for you, I’ve been practicing, and I have extra parts. You’ll be as right as rain once I fix you,” he said, dragging her along the cobblestone to his workbench.
When he got her there, he gently placed her on it, and then made sure she was strapped down. He’d made sure that the diagrams he’d studied were in front of him.
It was time.
Picking up the reciprocal saw, he plugged it into the portable battery.
“It’s time,” he said, putting on his apron, face guard, and long mortuary gloves. “Oh, sweet girl, I’m about to make you a work of art like none the world has ever seen before. You will thank me for this. I’m going to make you famous!”
And he would.
With that, he turned on the saw, and made the first cut. As her blood exploded from her body, coating him, walls, and the floor, he took off her head.
Then her arms.
Then her legs.
And then the rest of her was cut into perfect pieces.
That was the hard part.
It only got easier. With the wire that he’d found that worked best, he got to work to repair the damage.
He rebuilt her.
In the process, he rebuilt himself.
Happily, he got to work to make her the most beautiful creation under the sun. She may have been discarded by the world, by her loved ones, and by fate, but he’d found her.
He chose her over the rest.
He’d remember her forever, and in the end, that was all that mattered.
He was ‘The Puppet Master’, and she was his work of art.
Never was there a better combination.
* * * B l a c k h a w k - W h i t e f o x * * *
Boston
Saturday
Book Signing
Charity Event
When they arrived, everyone was shouting at him and asking him a million questions about his new book, his life, and what he was going to be doing next.
It was pandemonium.
Why was she shocked?
Callen, or Jackson James, was a commodity. From her perspective, Elizabeth kind of figured that this is what he saw when she was in front of the media. Somehow, this had to be pretty much the same thing when the media was hounding her.
Oh, the irony.
She was hounded as she solved murders, and Callen was hounded as he wrote books about solving murders.
It was…amusing.
She hated this so much, but it was life. Elizabeth wanted to punch them in the face with each stupid question.
No.
They weren’t worthy of a face punch. It would be a crappy-ass throat punch for these jackwagons.
Yet, her husband handled it with grace, elegance, and class. Callen Whitefox, the second he hit the spotlight, became Jackson James.
It was a true transformation.
He didn’t saunter like the Fed.
He didn’t stay in the background like the husband who was watching his wife’s back.
He wore flashy clothes—instead, of the simple, white button-down and jeans.
Now, he was a different person.
Gone was the father, the husband, and the FBI agent, and in his place, there was this suave, sophisticated writer who had legions of adoring fans.
Most of them women.
From the look of it, he had the hearts of every woman in Boston.
Old ones.
Young ones.
Pantiless ones…
Did it bother her?
No, not really.
Despite the damage Ethan had done to her heart and ego, she was better now.
Eliz
abeth was learning to trust again, but with Callen, that was never an issue. The man was dedicated, devoted, and loyal to her and only her.
She was safe.
Well, on the relationship front.
With Callen, there was no doubt who he loved. Even as he was playing ‘superstar’ she knew he was cognizant of her location at all times. At moments between signing the books and posing with a fan, he’d glance over at her and wink, smile, or just watch her.
Those moments said it all.
Her husband was hers—there was no doubt.
Why was that so hard for people to get? When you made a commitment, you kept it. You didn’t get married and then go well diving in another woman.
You didn’t pick up men in a bar.
You didn’t sleep with a stranger because you liked sex.
Marriage meant something.
How some people didn’t get that astounded her. Honestly, Elizabeth was sick of hearing the media ask if he was restless with being tied down.
Thus, the overwhelming need to throat punch some assholes.
While they may sow their wild oats if they were in his shoes, Callen James Blackhawk-Whitefox wouldn’t.
He was her sweet man.
In fact, before they got there, he defended her heart as he was getting prepped for the whole gig.
As he was changing his clothes at the bed and breakfast, his publicist told him to take off his wedding ring, so the women would think they could have a shot at him.
Elizabeth said nothing.
She didn’t even bat an eye.
Oh, but Callen had.
Not only had he refused, but he nearly shit a ton of bricks at the mere suggestion.
No, he did more than that.
Callen James, or Jackson James, as the man kept calling him, had told his smarmy, single, money-hungry publicist that he’d shit can him if he ever brought that up again.
In that moment, Elizabeth was reminded that she was safe.
Callen was that island in a storm when you couldn’t hold your head above water any more. He was the solace when you were too weak to go on.
While he said she saved him, Elizabeth knew the truth. When he came into their lives, he saved her.
Her sexy novelist was that safe place she could hide when she was scared.
That happened a lot the last few months, and thanks to him, she was getting over it. Elizabeth was back on the mend with nothing to fear.
Callen James Blackhawk-Whitefox would never hurt her, and here was her proof.
While he was smiling wickedly at the women lining up for him to sign his books, he was lecherously staring at her.
His wife.
His partner.
The mother of his children.
Believe it or not, there was one hell of a difference. While the pantiless stalker wannabes didn’t see it, she did. When you were in tune with your soulmate, you could see it in their eyes.
Callen looked at her in lust, want, and need.
While she’d been running her division, taking care of ANOTHER baby, and working out hard for a rematch against the skank who tried to destroy her life, Callen still chased her around like the first day they’d become a unit.
His love…it was bottomless.
Yeah, the man had it just as bad as she did, and there was nothing to fear.
Callen was hers.
Then there was her other husband, or as the media called him, ‘Husband Number One’.
She always found that amusing on a sad, pathetic, degrading level. Had there been two women in their polyamorous relationship, she wouldn’t take it nearly as well as the men did.
‘Husband Number One’ and ‘Husband Number Two’ were far more patient than she would ever be.
Especially after what the media had said about them.
It degraded them to nothing more than sexy Native arm candy. While that was perfectly fine in the privacy of their bedroom, it was irritating in public.
It also made people think that she was a collector of men.
Yeah, no, thank you.
She was tired of kids, men, her job, and stupid people. The latter daily, the former…only on a bad day.
Now that she and Ethan had begun fixing their marriage, the media was NOT cutting them a break.
They still believed he cheated. While Marlee had gone MIA, the rumors had not.
With each one that was rehashed, it was hard.
Still, that pain, that dagger to her soul, when she thought Ethan had cheated on her, was slowly going away. With it, her confidence was coming back tenfold.
Well, working out hard in the gym had also helped. When you didn’t feel frumpy, you had a better outlook on life. Being a mother was hard, and being a working mom?
BRUTAL.
Some people thought she couldn’t do it. Some people thought she should pack it in and end it.
Well, fuck them.
Elizabeth Whitefox-Blackhawk had more life in her. She could work, be a mother, and keep it all together. For the people who thought she couldn’t do it?
She would love to flip them off, tell them to stop being whiny babies, and to move along. Just because her marriage had a bump—it didn’t mean that she was going to go out on a high note as an investigator.
Oh, she could.
They all could, but when naysayers gave their shitty opinions, the only thing you could do was prove them wrong. There were so many more cases left in her. There was so much more needed to balance the scale of justice.
This ride was just beginning...
Still, she wasn’t delusional. The last few weeks had been hell, and that wasn’t even an exaggeration.
Bonnie had torn their life to shreds, and she was the one carrying the guilt of it all while putting on a happy face.
Then there was the heartbreak.
When she took Maeve, and made Elizabeth choose between chasing her, or saving little Timothy Jackson James, she had no choice.
She saved the child.
They were the innocent.
They were the sweet.
The reason she saved that child was her secret shame. In that moment, when she found out that Maeve had betrayed her to Bonnie, she was so damn angry at the woman. If you couldn’t trust your family, who could you trust?
Would she have taken a bullet for Maeve?
Yes.
In a heartbeat.
Would she have died for her family?
Yes.
Without a doubt.
Would she have ever traded her life for someone else to that sick, filthy animal Bonnie?
Never.
Who would betray their family?
And yet, Maeve had done just that to her—even when she’d welcomed her into their home with open arms. Even when Wyler showed up, already married, and excluding all of them from his ‘big day’.
They’d all be hurt, and they’d swallowed it for Maeve, and here she’d bartered away Elizabeth to save herself. In their family, you didn’t do that. It wasn’t a good thing if your personal motto was ‘every man for himself’.
So, Elizabeth had to choose, and she chose to save the baby instead of getting Maeve justice.
It made her a monster inside, and she knew it.
It made her something she never thought she’d be.
Lawless.
Oh, there would be justice for Wyler, but none for the woman who made the choice to betray her family. In that moment, when Maeve was willing to offer her up on Bonnie’s altar of disgustingness, she was willing to take away her children’s mother, her husbands’ wife, and the FBI’s big dog.
She was willing to offer it all up for her own wellbeing.
That was a problem for her.
In her state of resentment and anger, it was hard not to feel that Maeve got what she deserved.
And that’s why she felt guilty.
After seven weeks of struggling to stay afloat, alive, and in the present, Elizabeth couldn’t take any more betrayal from someone sh
e loved.
She LOVED Maeve.
Her own mother died so many years ago, and Elizabeth had actually loved having that person in her life. Yes, Maeve wasn’t much older than her, but she wanted that connection for her and for Wyler.
They were a family.
And then it went to Hell in a handbasket.
Ethan had told her to leave, that vile woman told her she’d slept with him, and then she let her ‘father’ down.
Oh, it didn’t stop there.
Bonnie’s shitfest was wide encompassing.
No one had been safe.
Not family.
Not friends.
Chris Santana’s death had taken a chunk from her heart. He’d been hers—her friend, her ex-coworker, and someone who had always had her back.
In Bonnie’s rampage, he’d been a casualty of the crazy, and she couldn’t forgive herself.
Elizabeth, in that moment, had become a different person.
When her childhood home and all of her memories of Charlie were burned to the ground, she became what he always told her not to be.
Vengeance.
That was her new title and she willingly embraced it. Out of her fury came that dark, seething pain that was consuming her alive. That guilt that she’d let everyone down was taking her to her knees behind the façade she was keeping up to pretend.
It defined her.
Sadly.
The President of the United States wanted a hired gun? Well, he got one on that day. As she stood in the embers of her home, and her life, she held that baby and made a promise.
TJ would be safe.
Bonnie would pay.
There would be vengeance for his mother’s death, and only then would she go back to her normal life.
Only, she had to be the one who brought Bonnie to justice—by justice, she meant a bullet to her brain.
The end…
It was coming.
Elizabeth would only bide her time, and then, she would strike like a bolt of lightning, killing everything in her path to get that retribution.
Was it wrong?
Yes.
Was it justified?
Yes.
Would Charlie be ashamed of her?
Yes.
Only, there was no saving her. While she hid all these feelings, no one noticed she was morphing into something so ugly, vile, and horrible that she hated herself for it.
Elizabeth was drowning in it, and there was no one to save her but herself.
Discarded by Fate Page 2