Destroyed
Page 30
Sadness, heartache, despair.
I hated to see her so unhappy and not have anyone to lean on.
“Um, hi.” A soft, high pitched voice jerked me to attention. I looked around, searching the large expanse of pebbled driveway. I frowned. In my rush, I hadn’t noticed the white car parked at the front of Obsidian.
All members’ car parks were at the rear of the property. Who the hell had the nerve to park in front of my residence as if they owned the f**king place? I moved forward, wondering what the hell was going on.
“Um, mister? Do you have a key to the big door? My auntie and her friend left me to go talk to my mummy, but I don’t want to wait. I said I’d be good and sit in the car because little kids can’t go inside, but I want to see her.”
I spun around, kicking up gravel.
A perfect replica of Hazel stood behind me.
A child.
A girl.
A daughter.
Fuck.
A flashback grabbed me with its gnarly claws, dragging me deep and dark.
“Congratulations on your promotion, Operative Fox. Tell me again how many family members you had.”
I hated this part. The mind games. The constant mental torture. He knew how many family members I’d had because he made me kill them all.
“I had a mother. Vera Averin. She was a whore, a traitor, and a thief, and deserved to die. I had a father. Alex Averin. He was a womanizer, a cheater, and a liar, and deserved to die. I had a brother, Vasily Averin. He was the spawn of Satan, a heathen, and only evil lived inside him, and he deserved to die.”
The moment the vile lies were spoken, I hastily thought the truth. Silently, I undid the heinous things I said. Vera, my mother, was kind and generous. She didn’t deserve to die. Alex, my father, was a great provider and protector. He didn’t deserve to die. Vasily—
My heart ceased to beat as grief crippled me. Vasily, my brother, was a proficient artist, kind and smart. He didn’t deserve to die.
“Good. And did you know you had a sister?”
My gut churned, threatening an explosive reaction. A sister? No. No, please no. I couldn’t handle killing another sibling. A girl. An innocent, little girl whose only crime was to share my blood.
“You killed her, too. Don’t you remember?”
I blinked. White noise hissed in my ears, drowning out my panic. “Excellent, sir. I do not recall that mission.” Like so many others, I’d wiped them forever from my memory. I wasn’t surprised I couldn’t recall killing yet another sibling. I would rather pull my brain out through my ears than remember.
“Yes. Your mother was pregnant with a girl. A double murder and you didn’t even know.” The pat to the shoulder came with an electric shock. Every muscle seized as the current passed through my body.
“What do you say?” the handler asked, once he’d let me go.
My brain screamed, die you motherfucker. My mouth said, “Thank you, sir.”
I returned to the present with a bang, stumbling as vertigo hit me hard.
Goddammit. I f**king hated them. Hated. Hated. Hated. I wished I could stick a cattle prod in my brain and short circuit my entire system. The flashbacks were the worst they’d been in a long time—brought on by the stress of hurting a woman I cared deeply for.
Zel.
Her daughter.
I knew without a doubt the little girl standing in front of me was hers. There was no mistaking the long mahogany hair, the perfect cheekbones, the shape of her chin. The only difference was eye colour. Green had given way to soulful liquid brown eyes that looked right into my f**king soul.
My breathing accelerated; my heart pumped like a demon. I backed away as fast as my legs could motor.
Don’t come near me. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t have more blood on my hands. Her blood. Zel’s little legacy.
Pebbles skidded beneath my shoes as I practically surfed on gravel in my terror to run. I needed to get far, far away from this miniature replica of Hazel. Before I hurt her.
Her dark eyes met mine, and I lost touch with reality.
“For the third and final time, kill him!”
“No!” Wetness splashed on my eighteen-year-old cheeks and it took a while to realize it was tears. I’d never cried before. Not even when I killed my mother and father. But this…I couldn’t do this.
“You made me take care of him! You brought him to stay with me. I thought you wanted me to train him to be like us!” My voice broke as I looked at my small nine-year-old brother, Vasily. His cheeks were still chubby with youth, his blue eyes wide with terror. A dark stain on the front of his jeans signalled fear had hijacked his bladder.
For three months, we’d slept in the same room, ate together, laughed together. I thought my handler rewarded me for good behaviour and given me a friend. Given me my brother to train and integrate into this new way of life.
I never suspected this.
“Roan. Pl—please help me. Don’t kill me. Please?” Vasily’s soprano voice brought fresh tears to my eyes; my body heaved, fighting against years of conditioning and the wrath of my handler.
“I. Won’t. Do. It,” I snapped, sucking in large gulps of air. I refused to kill my last blood relative. A boy I cared for more than anyone in the world.
“Yes, you will, Operative Fox. Otherwise we’ll torture him until he dies, then cripple you as you’re no longer viable property.”
I couldn’t stand anymore.
My handler grabbed Vasily by his neck, bringing him closer to me. “Do it.”
Vomit exploded from my mouth, splashing onto the concrete floor.
My brother stopped crying, squirming out of the handlers hold. Instead of running away from the man destined to murder him, he ran toward me and wrapped his bony arms tight around my waist.
“Mister? Hey, mister?” A tug on my cuff removed me from my horrible memories, slapping me into reality. “Are you okay?” The high, lyrical voice pierced my throbbing brain.
I charged back, breaking her hold on my shirt. “Don’t touch me.”
The little girl looked down and scuffed her shiny black shoes in the gravel. “Oh, sorry.” Her eyes met mine again, wide and worried. “Are you okay? You were mumbling things I couldn’t understand.” She cocked her head. “What language was that? My teacher said we should learn a language. I’d like to learn, but I don’t know what. Maybe I could learn what you just spoke.” She stepped forward, her little lips never stopping. “Can you teach me? I’d love to learn and mummy would be really proud of me. Would you teach me, please?” Her eyelashes flurried and my f**king heart shattered into pieces.
I sucked in air, locking my muscles, conjuring all the self-control I possessed. If I ever needed complete and utter discipline, it was now. I’d avoided children since losing Vasily. I couldn’t look at them or listen to them or even watch them on television.
To me, children were the embodiment of everything I tried to preserve: innocence, fragility, trust, and unconditional acceptance.
I deserved none of it, therefore I wasn’t fit to be around them.
The little girl inched forward again, encroaching on my space. I didn’t know how most children should behave, but she was forward—so f**king brave and inquisitive. Shouldn’t she be timid and meek? Too frightened to talk to a scarred stranger?
“You look scared. What happened? You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.” She drew a cross over her heart. “I promise. I have nightmares sometimes. Do you?”
Everything about her intoxicated me until I couldn’t move an inch. She came forward another step. “You’re not like the other adults. You look like one, but I don’t think adults get scared. You shouldn’t be scared. My mummy taught me to not be afraid of anything.”
Her tiny fingers flew to her lips. “Oops. She said I wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers. Um, you won’t tell on me? She gets real mad when I talk to people. I don’t know why. I know when they’re bad, and you’re not bad. Mummy also gets mad when I cough which is so silly.” Her eyes met mine. “Do you have a mummy who tells you off for making friends with strangers?”
She moved until she stood directly in front of me. My body shuddered and vibrated. Memories of Vasily and my past kept battering me all the while this perfect angel chattered on—seeing deep into my black-ridden soul further than she had any right to.
“Whoa. What happened to your cheek?” Her little hand pointed upward, eyes squinting in the sun behind me. “It looks like a bad man hurt you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did the bad man hurt you? I hope you made him pay. Those sorts of people shouldn’t be allowed to go around making other people ugly.”
Every word lacerated me until I felt like a large tree being hacked at with an axe. Every syllable and consonant chipped away at my already crumbling foundation, and my roots began to snap.
My left leg gave out, slamming hard against pebbles. My right leg joined until I kneeled before the one thing in my world I couldn’t fight.
I toppled to the ground before her, undone by her pristine innocence.
Every organ howled against conditioning, every bone bellowed in agony—my refusal to inflict anymore pain brought mind-numbing orders, amplifying and amplifying, enraged by my disobedience.
I no longer needed fists to find redemption. I found punishment just by staring into the eyes of someone so pure.
“Do you understand English?” the girl asked, moving to stand right in front of me. Her eye level was slightly higher than mine, making me feel as though I should bow to her, obey her, worship her.
I didn’t know what compelled me to reply, but I couldn’t stop. “Yes. I understand English.”
She smiled, clapping her dainty hands. “Great. I thought you did seeing as you told me not to touch you. What language were you talking just now?”
“Russian.”
“And your cheek. Did a bad man do that?”
“Yes.”
Her smile increased and a flash of anger that shouldn’t be seen on a little girl’s face crossed her features. “Did you kill him? I would’ve killed him.”
Who was this child? This perfect, brilliant, brave, little child.
I hung my head. “No. He’s still alive.”
She tutted. “Well, I would kill him.” Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she announced, “I like you.” Her face scrunched up as if I’d passed her test of likeability and stuck her hand out. “I’m Clara. What’s your name?”
A lazy, warm wind drifted across the driveway, rustling the trees ringing the perimeter. I gawked at the little girl dressed in a purple sweater and black leggings. Her hair hung loose, strands kicking in the breeze. A single purple ribbon twirled around her jaw.
My vision blurred around the edges.
This girl was everything I needed. Everything I was running from and to, and I didn’t even know it.
Her sweet fearlessness clutched my heart and in a matter of moments, she’d monopolized my every thought.
My gravity shifted.
I fell madly f**king in love.
I knew I shouldn’t do it.
I knew I should run and never look back.
But I didn’t.
Holding out my hand, I moaned when her little fingers squeezed around mine. Tears sprang to my eyes in overwhelming gratitude. Gratitude for being able to retain my self-control and gratitude for this perfect creature.
Her touch shattered me.
Her touch awoke me.
Her touch destroyed me.
“Hello, Clara.” I looked up into her liquid eyes. “I’m Roan.”
Chapter 13
I’d always known life had its favourites. Like a parent sometimes has a favourite child, life lavished attention and gifts galore on the ones it favoured. The ones it didn’t care for were forgotten. Allowed to survive, but given no special treatment.
I was one of the ones allowed to survive—to carve my own journey with no help.
But Fox, he was someone else entirely.
He was the child that every parent hated. The one no one understood. The one everyone pretended didn’t exist.
Not because he was evil or awkward or cruel—but because he was damaged and needed too much repairing to be feasible.
Ignorance and hatred pushed that child into the dark and their only chance was to turn inward, suffer silently.
I wanted to hate him.
I wanted to despise him.
He hurt me.
He used me.
Again and again.
But ultimately, I understood him.
I forgave him.
But I would never be able to save him.
Three life changing events came in quick succession.
The first happened when Clue charged through the doors of Obsidian’s fighting floor and almost knocked me on my ass. I’d been on my way out—about to leave Fox’s world forever—when she burst in out of nowhere.
I whirled backward, only to be caught by Corkscrew as he appeared right behind her.
One look from her tear-swimming eyes—I knew.
Something had happened to Clara.
“Is she okay? Tell me!” Panic lashed in my blood, flaying me alive. “Tell me, Clue! Now!” Nightmarish scenarios crushed my brain.
Clara dead.
Clara in a coma.
Clara gone forever.
My eyes grew wider; heart pounded harder. “She’s de—dead?”
Corkscrew’s fingers dug into my elbow, keeping me steady as Clue captured my cheeks and shook her head. Her almond eyes were red from crying, but she seemed calm. “No! She’s fine.”
She’s fine. Thank f**king God.
Panic gave way to undiluted anger.
“You gave me a f**king panic attack to come and tell me she’s fine?” I shrugged Corkscrew off, clutching my rapidly thudding heart. “I don’t understand.”
I hated to see her so unhappy and not have anyone to lean on.
“Um, hi.” A soft, high pitched voice jerked me to attention. I looked around, searching the large expanse of pebbled driveway. I frowned. In my rush, I hadn’t noticed the white car parked at the front of Obsidian.
All members’ car parks were at the rear of the property. Who the hell had the nerve to park in front of my residence as if they owned the f**king place? I moved forward, wondering what the hell was going on.
“Um, mister? Do you have a key to the big door? My auntie and her friend left me to go talk to my mummy, but I don’t want to wait. I said I’d be good and sit in the car because little kids can’t go inside, but I want to see her.”
I spun around, kicking up gravel.
A perfect replica of Hazel stood behind me.
A child.
A girl.
A daughter.
Fuck.
A flashback grabbed me with its gnarly claws, dragging me deep and dark.
“Congratulations on your promotion, Operative Fox. Tell me again how many family members you had.”
I hated this part. The mind games. The constant mental torture. He knew how many family members I’d had because he made me kill them all.
“I had a mother. Vera Averin. She was a whore, a traitor, and a thief, and deserved to die. I had a father. Alex Averin. He was a womanizer, a cheater, and a liar, and deserved to die. I had a brother, Vasily Averin. He was the spawn of Satan, a heathen, and only evil lived inside him, and he deserved to die.”
The moment the vile lies were spoken, I hastily thought the truth. Silently, I undid the heinous things I said. Vera, my mother, was kind and generous. She didn’t deserve to die. Alex, my father, was a great provider and protector. He didn’t deserve to die. Vasily—
My heart ceased to beat as grief crippled me. Vasily, my brother, was a proficient artist, kind and smart. He didn’t deserve to die.
“Good. And did you know you had a sister?”
My gut churned, threatening an explosive reaction. A sister? No. No, please no. I couldn’t handle killing another sibling. A girl. An innocent, little girl whose only crime was to share my blood.
“You killed her, too. Don’t you remember?”
I blinked. White noise hissed in my ears, drowning out my panic. “Excellent, sir. I do not recall that mission.” Like so many others, I’d wiped them forever from my memory. I wasn’t surprised I couldn’t recall killing yet another sibling. I would rather pull my brain out through my ears than remember.
“Yes. Your mother was pregnant with a girl. A double murder and you didn’t even know.” The pat to the shoulder came with an electric shock. Every muscle seized as the current passed through my body.
“What do you say?” the handler asked, once he’d let me go.
My brain screamed, die you motherfucker. My mouth said, “Thank you, sir.”
I returned to the present with a bang, stumbling as vertigo hit me hard.
Goddammit. I f**king hated them. Hated. Hated. Hated. I wished I could stick a cattle prod in my brain and short circuit my entire system. The flashbacks were the worst they’d been in a long time—brought on by the stress of hurting a woman I cared deeply for.
Zel.
Her daughter.
I knew without a doubt the little girl standing in front of me was hers. There was no mistaking the long mahogany hair, the perfect cheekbones, the shape of her chin. The only difference was eye colour. Green had given way to soulful liquid brown eyes that looked right into my f**king soul.
My breathing accelerated; my heart pumped like a demon. I backed away as fast as my legs could motor.
Don’t come near me. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t have more blood on my hands. Her blood. Zel’s little legacy.
Pebbles skidded beneath my shoes as I practically surfed on gravel in my terror to run. I needed to get far, far away from this miniature replica of Hazel. Before I hurt her.
Her dark eyes met mine, and I lost touch with reality.
“For the third and final time, kill him!”
“No!” Wetness splashed on my eighteen-year-old cheeks and it took a while to realize it was tears. I’d never cried before. Not even when I killed my mother and father. But this…I couldn’t do this.
“You made me take care of him! You brought him to stay with me. I thought you wanted me to train him to be like us!” My voice broke as I looked at my small nine-year-old brother, Vasily. His cheeks were still chubby with youth, his blue eyes wide with terror. A dark stain on the front of his jeans signalled fear had hijacked his bladder.
For three months, we’d slept in the same room, ate together, laughed together. I thought my handler rewarded me for good behaviour and given me a friend. Given me my brother to train and integrate into this new way of life.
I never suspected this.
“Roan. Pl—please help me. Don’t kill me. Please?” Vasily’s soprano voice brought fresh tears to my eyes; my body heaved, fighting against years of conditioning and the wrath of my handler.
“I. Won’t. Do. It,” I snapped, sucking in large gulps of air. I refused to kill my last blood relative. A boy I cared for more than anyone in the world.
“Yes, you will, Operative Fox. Otherwise we’ll torture him until he dies, then cripple you as you’re no longer viable property.”
I couldn’t stand anymore.
My handler grabbed Vasily by his neck, bringing him closer to me. “Do it.”
Vomit exploded from my mouth, splashing onto the concrete floor.
My brother stopped crying, squirming out of the handlers hold. Instead of running away from the man destined to murder him, he ran toward me and wrapped his bony arms tight around my waist.
“Mister? Hey, mister?” A tug on my cuff removed me from my horrible memories, slapping me into reality. “Are you okay?” The high, lyrical voice pierced my throbbing brain.
I charged back, breaking her hold on my shirt. “Don’t touch me.”
The little girl looked down and scuffed her shiny black shoes in the gravel. “Oh, sorry.” Her eyes met mine again, wide and worried. “Are you okay? You were mumbling things I couldn’t understand.” She cocked her head. “What language was that? My teacher said we should learn a language. I’d like to learn, but I don’t know what. Maybe I could learn what you just spoke.” She stepped forward, her little lips never stopping. “Can you teach me? I’d love to learn and mummy would be really proud of me. Would you teach me, please?” Her eyelashes flurried and my f**king heart shattered into pieces.
I sucked in air, locking my muscles, conjuring all the self-control I possessed. If I ever needed complete and utter discipline, it was now. I’d avoided children since losing Vasily. I couldn’t look at them or listen to them or even watch them on television.
To me, children were the embodiment of everything I tried to preserve: innocence, fragility, trust, and unconditional acceptance.
I deserved none of it, therefore I wasn’t fit to be around them.
The little girl inched forward again, encroaching on my space. I didn’t know how most children should behave, but she was forward—so f**king brave and inquisitive. Shouldn’t she be timid and meek? Too frightened to talk to a scarred stranger?
“You look scared. What happened? You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.” She drew a cross over her heart. “I promise. I have nightmares sometimes. Do you?”
Everything about her intoxicated me until I couldn’t move an inch. She came forward another step. “You’re not like the other adults. You look like one, but I don’t think adults get scared. You shouldn’t be scared. My mummy taught me to not be afraid of anything.”
Her tiny fingers flew to her lips. “Oops. She said I wasn’t allowed to talk to strangers. Um, you won’t tell on me? She gets real mad when I talk to people. I don’t know why. I know when they’re bad, and you’re not bad. Mummy also gets mad when I cough which is so silly.” Her eyes met mine. “Do you have a mummy who tells you off for making friends with strangers?”
She moved until she stood directly in front of me. My body shuddered and vibrated. Memories of Vasily and my past kept battering me all the while this perfect angel chattered on—seeing deep into my black-ridden soul further than she had any right to.
“Whoa. What happened to your cheek?” Her little hand pointed upward, eyes squinting in the sun behind me. “It looks like a bad man hurt you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did the bad man hurt you? I hope you made him pay. Those sorts of people shouldn’t be allowed to go around making other people ugly.”
Every word lacerated me until I felt like a large tree being hacked at with an axe. Every syllable and consonant chipped away at my already crumbling foundation, and my roots began to snap.
My left leg gave out, slamming hard against pebbles. My right leg joined until I kneeled before the one thing in my world I couldn’t fight.
I toppled to the ground before her, undone by her pristine innocence.
Every organ howled against conditioning, every bone bellowed in agony—my refusal to inflict anymore pain brought mind-numbing orders, amplifying and amplifying, enraged by my disobedience.
I no longer needed fists to find redemption. I found punishment just by staring into the eyes of someone so pure.
“Do you understand English?” the girl asked, moving to stand right in front of me. Her eye level was slightly higher than mine, making me feel as though I should bow to her, obey her, worship her.
I didn’t know what compelled me to reply, but I couldn’t stop. “Yes. I understand English.”
She smiled, clapping her dainty hands. “Great. I thought you did seeing as you told me not to touch you. What language were you talking just now?”
“Russian.”
“And your cheek. Did a bad man do that?”
“Yes.”
Her smile increased and a flash of anger that shouldn’t be seen on a little girl’s face crossed her features. “Did you kill him? I would’ve killed him.”
Who was this child? This perfect, brilliant, brave, little child.
I hung my head. “No. He’s still alive.”
She tutted. “Well, I would kill him.” Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she announced, “I like you.” Her face scrunched up as if I’d passed her test of likeability and stuck her hand out. “I’m Clara. What’s your name?”
A lazy, warm wind drifted across the driveway, rustling the trees ringing the perimeter. I gawked at the little girl dressed in a purple sweater and black leggings. Her hair hung loose, strands kicking in the breeze. A single purple ribbon twirled around her jaw.
My vision blurred around the edges.
This girl was everything I needed. Everything I was running from and to, and I didn’t even know it.
Her sweet fearlessness clutched my heart and in a matter of moments, she’d monopolized my every thought.
My gravity shifted.
I fell madly f**king in love.
I knew I shouldn’t do it.
I knew I should run and never look back.
But I didn’t.
Holding out my hand, I moaned when her little fingers squeezed around mine. Tears sprang to my eyes in overwhelming gratitude. Gratitude for being able to retain my self-control and gratitude for this perfect creature.
Her touch shattered me.
Her touch awoke me.
Her touch destroyed me.
“Hello, Clara.” I looked up into her liquid eyes. “I’m Roan.”
Chapter 13
I’d always known life had its favourites. Like a parent sometimes has a favourite child, life lavished attention and gifts galore on the ones it favoured. The ones it didn’t care for were forgotten. Allowed to survive, but given no special treatment.
I was one of the ones allowed to survive—to carve my own journey with no help.
But Fox, he was someone else entirely.
He was the child that every parent hated. The one no one understood. The one everyone pretended didn’t exist.
Not because he was evil or awkward or cruel—but because he was damaged and needed too much repairing to be feasible.
Ignorance and hatred pushed that child into the dark and their only chance was to turn inward, suffer silently.
I wanted to hate him.
I wanted to despise him.
He hurt me.
He used me.
Again and again.
But ultimately, I understood him.
I forgave him.
But I would never be able to save him.
Three life changing events came in quick succession.
The first happened when Clue charged through the doors of Obsidian’s fighting floor and almost knocked me on my ass. I’d been on my way out—about to leave Fox’s world forever—when she burst in out of nowhere.
I whirled backward, only to be caught by Corkscrew as he appeared right behind her.
One look from her tear-swimming eyes—I knew.
Something had happened to Clara.
“Is she okay? Tell me!” Panic lashed in my blood, flaying me alive. “Tell me, Clue! Now!” Nightmarish scenarios crushed my brain.
Clara dead.
Clara in a coma.
Clara gone forever.
My eyes grew wider; heart pounded harder. “She’s de—dead?”
Corkscrew’s fingers dug into my elbow, keeping me steady as Clue captured my cheeks and shook her head. Her almond eyes were red from crying, but she seemed calm. “No! She’s fine.”
She’s fine. Thank f**king God.
Panic gave way to undiluted anger.
“You gave me a f**king panic attack to come and tell me she’s fine?” I shrugged Corkscrew off, clutching my rapidly thudding heart. “I don’t understand.”
