Chapter 12

No one knew.

No one.

Not my handler or my contact.

But it was the thing that granted me freedom.

It was nature bringing down a predator. It was life giving me a second chance.

It didn’t happen overnight, but slowly, gradually, as if the atrocities I’d done stained my eyes until they no longer wanted to witness my sins.

It took a victim to uncover my one weakness. And I would be forever grateful.

I f**ked up a mission, and my target showed me I suffered a handicap.

Something I hadn’t even noticed.

The news spread, and my handlers booked me in for Lasik and other supposed miracle cures. But it was no use. The doctors said there wasn’t anything wrong with me. It was all mental.

I was going blind.

I bashed my head against the back of the bathroom door, willing away the cold lecherous orders; ignoring the overriding urges I’d never be free of.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

My mind wouldn’t stop whirling with images of Hazel on her knees while I drove manically into her. The red burn on her cheek from pressing her face into the carpet. The sounds of her cries and pleas.

I’m a bastard. No, I’m worse than that. I’m a soulless machine.

Today was not a good day. I woke to a strong wave of conditioning. The first of every month had been a special recap for operatives. A day we were made to cement our training with yet more grotesqueness.

I warned her!

I f**king warned her to keep her distance and yet she kept pushing and pushing and pushing.

I spun around and smashed my fist against the door. Gritting my teeth against the pain licking my knuckles, I glanced in the mirror.

I was f**king wild. Out of control. A rogue operative who should’ve taken the pill two years ago and ended his miserable life. The scar on my cheek itched with memories, hurtling me back to then—to a place I never wanted to return.

“Hold him down.”

My twenty-one-year old heart tore itself into pieces as my handler held up a short crescent moon blade. I’d forged it. I’d hammered the steel into creation. I was well-known for being one of the best metal smiths in the society. And now it would be used against me.

“I obeyed. I did what you said.”

My handler paused beside me, looking down with eyes devoid of emotion. “You didn’t though, did you, Fox. You think you can flaunt the rules. You can’t. You belong to us, and you kill whoever we say you will.”

The two men holding my shoulders against the table grunted as I fought. But it wasn’t any use.

The sharp tip of the knife entered my mouth, moving to rest behind the soft smoothness of my cheek.

“Every time you look in the mirror you’ll see what happens when you try to fight the control.”

His wrist flicked up and pain exploded in every crevice of my body. I screamed and choked on my own blood as my cheek gaped in two.

I hated him. I wanted to f**king kill him and every Ghost here.

Throwing the knife to the floor, he ordered, “Sew him up. No morphine.”

The bathroom swirled around me; phantom pain ached in my badly sewn up cheek. The flesh inside my mouth felt rough and foreign. Infection after infection had turned a neat line of stitches into a tattered mess.

I’d forgotten the message they’d scarred me with. My thought patterns weren’t my own; my body obeyed no one but the programmed rules and commands.

Why did I ever think I stood a chance? I wished I could rewind time and never look at Zel. I wanted to erase myself and all the pain I’d caused from her life.

My white eyes met my mirrored image.

How could you hurt her?

You’re so weak.

You’ve lost her.

You don’t deserve her.

I sighed heavily, hanging my head.

I never wanted to see Hazel again—not after hurting her so f**king much. Every time she came near me, I was the crux of every bad thing that happened to her.

It wasn’t fair. I wouldn’t do it anymore.

I wanted her gone.

Whatever progress she made the night she stabbed me had disappeared. Whatever sweetness we might’ve found in the greenhouse disintegrated. I’d hoped she’d broken through and set me on the road to recovery¸ but it’d just been a moment. One brittle moment that shattered the second it was over.

She’d turned me from killer to man—licking me so sweetly, giving me a gift no one had before and all I did in return was revert back to a useless miserable operative with no chance in hell of living.

I couldn’t ask any more of her. I couldn’t expect her to stay. Not now.

Minutes ticked by. I wanted to leave but I couldn’t risk returning to the bedroom.

Grabbing a small hammer from the vanity, I stepped into the shower. Kneeling, I searched for the seam of the secret escape hatch I’d designed. I would never again go into a room with only one exit. After a life time of cages, I knew the value of having two ways out. It meant the difference between surviving and dying.

The custom-made bench seat looked as if it was tiled and part of the shower, but with a few carefully placed taps of the hammer, the mortar cracked, breaking the false seal.

The escape hole only led to the next bedroom’s closet, but it gave me the freedom I needed.

The minute I crawled through the small space, I stood upright and buckled my trousers.

My c**k still throbbed with the fading orgasm. I cursed the sensitivity of my balls—hating the tingling from being deep inside a woman who I couldn’t help but destroy.

She’d never forgive me, which was fine as I would never forgive myself.

Opening the door to the corridor, I checked to see if Zel was around before charging toward the opposite end of Obsidian.

I wanted no chance of running into Zel. Jogging down the stairs, I entered the section of the house I hadn’t shown her.

The foyer held most of my creations. Birds and horses and every creature I’d ever met in the Siberian forests of Mother Russia. It was a zoo made out of bronze and copper.

When I lost my sight, the thing I missed most was sculpting—bringing animals to life even though they’d never draw air.

The contract I’d signed when my blindness had been discovered roared back to mind.

There are only two ways an operative may leave the Establishment.

Death.

Disability.

Upon leaving, the agent promises to never speak of said Establishment to anyone at any time for any reason. They solemnly swear to never talk about missions, details, or history. They must have their affairs in order and swallow the last instruction of duty.