by Vic Tyler
My muscles coil and burn with the urge to wipe that smug smile off his face. But Adriana’s here, and her safety is my first priority.
“Come on.” My voice is low and harsh as I push her farther along. “Let’s go, Adriana.”
“Boring.” Ubo sighs as he spins around. “I can’t wait for the day that little girl’s released into the wild. Makes her fair game, right?”
I growl, and he snickers as he makes his way down the hall. Finally, when he turns the corner, I relax a little bit.
“Is it true?” Adriana’s eyes widen fearfully.
I drag my hand through my hair, reluctant to answer. “It’s true that she’s not here anymore.”
“I killed her?” she whispers, horrified. “She died because of me?”
“You didn’t kill her,” I say flatly. Dread fills me as her bottom lip begins to tremble. Dammit. “Think of it like a movie. If you didn’t see her dead body, it means she’s alive somewhere.”
She chokes. “But that doesn’t happen in real life.”
No, it doesn’t. “She left after the day of the ceremony, right? No one saw her. She was just let go.”
I fight back a groan. I’m not usually this bad at lying, but the horror and devastation on her face and radiating off her are making me feel so fucking awkward.
Maybe she’s desperate to believe it because she doesn’t say anything else. We walk silently onward, and she tries to hide her sniffles as she holds back tears.
Goddammit. This is so uncomfortable.
With each step we take, her limp becomes more noticeable. She started a little earlier on, but it’s gradually getting worse.
Shit. She must still be recovering from her injuries. I should’ve taken her straight to her room instead of detouring around.
“Do your legs hurt?” I ask.
We still have to go farther down the hall before heading upstairs, which is going to strain her injuries.
She’s breathing a little heavily, but she shakes her head. “I’m okay.”
She’s clearly not.
Bending down in front of her, I gruffly say, “Get on. I’ll take you the rest of the way.”
“No, I’m really okay,” she protests, the alarm in her voice apparent. “I can walk.”
“Can you make it up all those stairs?”
After a few silent moments, I feel her small, hesitant hands on my shoulders. She awkwardly leans into my back, and I pick her up.
She’s so light and delicate. Even though we’re just walking down the hall, I can’t help fearing that I’m going to break her again.
As soon as we cross over to the other side of the mansion, it’s like everything suddenly disappears.
The noise around us diminishes to a heavy silence, and I can feel it in my ears like they’re stuffed with cotton.
It really is eerily deserted. I get why she doesn’t like staying here, but what other options are there?
Once we get to her room, I let her down, say goodbye, and leave.
The door closes behind her, and immediately, the suffocating silence swallows me, and my thoughts echo loudly within it.
Everything about her is so fragile. Her mind, her body, her emotions.
Something as simple as the head maid getting exterminated for her own mistake tips this girl off the edge.
It’d be so much easier to realize the order has to be maintained. The balance must be kept. And all the variables that threaten it must be removed from the equation.
There’s no need for guilt when we’re dealing with the facts. Nadia made her mistake and paid her price. She broke the rules and was punished accordingly.
Whereas we wash our hands in blood, Adriana feels the weight of it. We’re accustomed to the thick redness coating our skin, and she weeps it away with her tears.
Sweet. Pure. Clean. Adriana.
The angel already came broken, and if she stays, we’ll end up drowning her wings in blood, bearing down on her when she should be able to fly free.
She’s shackled and chained — a prisoner of the devil, no matter how much he dresses her up and feeds her delicacies.
She only thinks she wants to stay here, but she doesn’t know the truth about us. The extent of our depravity and our callousness to what other people would call ‘evil.’ If only she knew, she’d cry for her own soul.
But there’s a part of me that’s also worried that I’m wrong. That, maybe, by the end of it all, the darkness she lives around will consume her until it’s all she knows.
Right now, she can see right from wrong, white from black, good from evil.
But if she loses sight of that, or worse, chooses our path…
I’ll have to make sure she’s kept away from the worst of us. To prevent any of this from tainting her.
Because the only thing worse than an angel trying to save a demon is the angel becoming a demon herself.
chapter fourteen
Striding swiftly towards the front entrance, I’m hoping Turan will already be waiting outside. We’re taking an impromptu trip down to the city for some innocuous errands. A slow, boring day.
Just as I step over the threshold, a thud slamming into my back makes me grunt.
When I turn, Adriana is jumping from one foot to the other, her eyes bright with excitement.
Ever since I gave her a piggyback ride, she hasn’t been shy about colliding into me. For someone so small, she tackles pretty hard.
“Damien! Damien! I got a phone!” She holds up a shiny smartphone.
My fingers fly to pinch her cheek. Her smile stretches into a gummy blob, and I almost burst into laughter when she tries to frown.
In her excitement, she looks her age for once. She normally has a stoic guardedness to her that’s reminiscent more of a jaded adult than it is of a child.
“Good for you,” I say gruffly. But I can’t help the grin creeping onto my face. Her energy is contagious. “Now, you can sit still and stop running around all over the place.”
Even now, Adriana is constantly at the door of the west wing. She never goes in on her own, but considering that everyone enters and exits through there, they’ve all seen her. No matter how much I try to get her to stay away, it only makes her more persistent.
Turan says it’s ‘reverse psychology’ and that if I want her to stop, then I have to stop opposing her.
But Jesus, I can’t seem to stop myself from scolding her left and right. She’s always finding some new way to worry the fuck out of me, whether it’s climbing over the balconies or feeding the Dobermans or chasing down the deviants in the garage, in the hall, the lawn, the foyer, and wherever she sees them.
Some of them have tried to scare her and harass her, but she mouths off and runs away, and damn, she’s fast. If you slap her attitude onto Richter, they’d make the perfect drag queen.
Most of the deviants are lost as fuck on what to do with a little girl following them around and badgering them. Some even run away. Which happens more often with the ones she’s already met.
I totally get it. She’s annoying as fuck.
But at the same time, it’s an unwelcome welcome change of pace.
Adriana pouts, but her happiness can’t be contained.
“Here!” She holds her phone out. “Give me your number.”
I stare at her phone and hesitate.
I’m not in the habit of giving out my number often unless it’s for work.
Ever, actually, unless it’s for work.
It’s not like I have any friends to chat with, and neither do I want any. Waste of time. And any paperwork that requires a phone number gets one of my burners or is rerouted to an online system that Jura keeps track of, as he does for everyone else in the organization.
The few women I fuck more than once I only do so when I meet them, and otherwise, they’re all one–time encounters. To date, I’ve never gotten a booty call since I never leave a number for them to call. But considering Kitty literally lives next door, we’ve done plent
y of booty drop–ins.
I don’t know why Adriana would need my number since we live under the same roof, even if we don’t always see each other. And she never leaves the complex, although she will soon for the private school that West enrolled her in.
Ah, I don’t fucking know. In the worst–case scenario, it’s better to be safe than sorry, I suppose.
After my long deliberation, I finally put in my number, letting her save the contact however she wants.
She’s absorbed in her phone for a few seconds before her face pops back up, bright and eager. “I’ll call you!”
Once the call goes through, I memorize the number and delete the entry.
Adriana stares at me and then at the phone curiously.
“Better not to let anyone get a hold of information they shouldn’t,” I simply say.
Which is why all our electronics go through extensive modifications by Jura and his squad to disable all tracking capabilities and identification markers.
Adriana just nods knowingly, readily accepting it.
I resist sighing. She’s getting a little too used to all of this.
Looking shyly down, she fidgets with her feet. “Can you take a picture with me?” She holds her phone up, her cheeks turning pink. “For the contact icon.”
I grimace. I’ve never taken a selfie and never planned on it. The whole thing seems strangely awkward and narcissistic. And I generally avoid being photographed at all since it’s dangerous to be identified.
Part of the reason why Venti has succeeded thus far is staying out of the spotlight and cameras.
For all intents and purposes, we don’t exist. The myth of our existence is out there to scare people but ultimately to be scoffed at. To be underestimated is a great advantage.
Gently, I turn her down. “That wouldn’t be a good idea, Adriana.”
Although I’m sure she’d do her best to keep the picture to herself, she might lose her phone, or someone might forcibly take it from her. And if we’re associated together, she might be targeted, kidnapped, or killed to get to me.
Adriana must’ve been expecting the answer because she doesn’t react much, except for a slight glumness dampening her mood.
Her gaze travels over the complex. “I guess I won’t be able to keep pictures of anyone here, huh.”
Before I can stop myself, I ruffle her head. Huh. Her hair’s soft. “Once you start school, you’ll have tons of friends who’ll want to do that with you.”
“Yeah.” She tries to sound enthusiastic but fails. She lets her fake smile fall as she sighs, dejected. “It’s just not the same as being around the people here. It’s like family, you know?”
My eyebrows stitch together, and I’m too stunned to scoff.
Family?
What a fucking idea.
Jesus, did one of the deviants give her something to smoke?
With obnoxious speed, a royal blue Corvette swerves around and kicks up the pebbles on the road.
Stepping in front of Adriana to block any errant gravel spraying on her, I glare at Turan.
“I have to go.” I pat her head one more time. Strange how natural it feels. Even though the last time I did it was to Elena, when I lived a different life as a different person. Some comforts just don’t die that easily, I suppose. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bring her with,” Turan calls through the open window. “We’re only heading into the city.”
Adriana looks up at me with wide, hopeful eyes.
Damn, it’s hard to keep saying ‘no’ to this girl. But it’s not like we’ll be doing anything exciting.
I absentmindedly run my hand through my hair. “In the mood for ice cream?”
Her face brightens as she nods vigorously. I open the door and pull the front seat forward so she can climb in the back.
It’s a tight fit, but she’s small enough to make it work.
“Ice cream?” Turan grins as I slip into the passenger seat.
I shrug. “Who doesn’t like ice cream?”
“Should I have taken you out for ice cream when you were her age?” He chuckles.
Arching an eyebrow, I glance at Turan. Ever since I was her age, he’s never treated me like a child. As soon as we join the organization, we’re deviants through and through.
I’m not sure how to answer, so I don’t. We make most of the drive in silence.
“Whoa!” Suddenly, the seat lurches forward and Adriana’s face pops out between us. Turan stiffens when she leans forward, pointing excitedly. “Look! It’s a corgi!”
Shoving her head back, I grunt, “Why aren’t you wearing your seatbelt, Adriana?”
“You know, for a master assassin and so–called criminal, you sure follow the rules a lot,” she pipes.
Turan fills the car with deafening laughter, and I plug my ears. Jesus.
“That’s why he’s called the Dog. He’s good at following orders and rules.”
“But that’s a good thing,” she says, confused. “Everyone likes dogs. They’re friendly and loveable. Just like the Dobermans back home.”
Turan laughs again, and I scowl.
This is what you get when a kid interprets our way of life.
As soon as we finish making our rounds and running our errands, we stop by at a local ice cream shop.
When she sees the refrigerated ice cream display, Adriana’s face brightens.
Turan and I watch as she plants her hands on the glass and presses her nose to it. Her breath fogs the glass as she deliberates which flavor to get.
“Do you remember being her age?” I casually ask.
Scratching the stubble on his chin, Turan chuckles. “Do you?”
My eyes follow the girl in front of us just as earnestly as she studies her choices. My chest feels lighter just from being around her.
Is there a right answer to the question?
By Venti’s standards, I would ace the test. I don’t remember what it felt like to be her age. I don’t remember what it feels like to be happy about something so simple.
What keeps me going is the thought that I’ll finally be able to kill West and avenge my family, and every day is an endeavor to get closer to my goal.
Just as much as my anger and hatred clawed itself into me, I latched onto my resentment and my revenge, using it to fuel everything I do.
But Adriana. Watching her makes me question everything.
Something so ordinary as picking out a flavor of ice cream has her full devotion. Joy emanates from her, infecting my resolve.
Being around her tugs at something deep inside me. At who I used to be. The person I tried to bury with the rest of my past.
The memories dredge back up. Of Elena staring at the flowers in our garden with the same attentiveness as Adriana, marveling at the bees and butterflies flitting around.
When the weather was hot, father would turn on the sprinklers and laugh as we jumped back and forth through the cold spray.
And then there were the days Elena and I snuck into the pantry for handfuls of chocolate chips, pretending we were stealing provisions to bring back to our blanket fort.
Mother would slip us marshmallows and sugar cubes, sometimes wrapping them in paper and string and leaving them outside the duveted entrance like they were dropped off by air.
I reminisce with a detached feeling. Like I’m watching someone else’s memory reel.
But the ache in my chest is real. Something inside me remembers and longs for those days again. Something inside me is wistful they were cut short.
It’s unpleasant but not unwelcome. In a way, watching Adriana feels like I can get a taste of what it was like to be pure and naive again. Her sweet innocence seeps through all the hardened bitterness.
And I’m not the only one. Turan looks at her with a melancholic kindness in his eyes that I don’t recognize.
The mammoth of a man isn’t what I’d call ‘gentle,’ but with Adriana, that’s exactly what he is around her. He treats her like she’
s made of spun sugar, like she’d snap to brittle pieces before melting into nothing at a single touch. Although considering the difference in their sizes and weight, that’s probably exactly what’d happen.
He tenderly places a hand on her head as she enthusiastically licks her scoops of cookie dough and Moose Track on her cone.
“Is there any other flavor you want?” I ask Adriana as she glances back at the display.
I barely even looked at the ice cream, distracted by the unfamiliar feelings floating through me.
Besides, I don’t normally indulge in things like this. The simpler pleasures, I suppose you could call them.
Most of my pleasures are of the illicit or adult variety. It’s not hard to forget about enjoying other things when the only people you’re around are mercenaries who do little else besides drink, fuck, kill, gamble, and anything else you’d need a lot of money or the right connections for.
Since Adriana’s more excited about this than I am, I figure she can taste a few more flavors if she wants. I don’t mind any of them, except for —
“Mm,” she mumbles thoughtfully. “Mint chocolate chip?”
Of course.
Turan bursts out laughing, and I swear the windows fucking shake, along with the teenager behind the register. I’m surprised I haven’t gone deaf already since I spent most of my time as a deviant with him.
Everyone in the little shop jumps a foot in the air at the obnoxious ear–splitting sound. They were already apprehensive of Turan stepping in here and have been eyeing us in fear for the past ten minutes. Not unusual. Most people get a little scared when they witness a man having to duck under a publicly accessible door.
Adriana looks back and forth between Turan and me, confused. “Do you not like it? I can choose something else —”
“A scoop of mint chocolate chip,” I tell the trembling kid behind the counter.
He nods furiously as he trips over himself and stumbles to the refrigerated display.
He can’t be much younger than me, if at all, but he’s shriveled and scared shitless — eyes wide open, pimply face pale, gangly limbs shaking.
We’re worlds and experiences apart.
I stopped going to school when I joined the organization at thirteen. My concerns are about making sure my gun’s maintained and loaded, my knives sharpened, my men loyal, and my assignments carried out.