Destroyed(89)

Zel carried sadness inside, heavy and aching, and she never uttered a word about it.

When Zel and Clara went to bed, I oversaw Obsidian. Once the last fighter left at five a.m., I headed to my basement and worked on Clara’s request.

The second night was spent out on the lawn under the summer sun. Complete with Nutella sandwiches and chocolate dipped marshmallows. Zel had rolled her eyes at how easily swayed I was by the whims of an eight-year-old. She didn’t know taking orders was in my DNA. She also didn’t know I’d fought my handlers all my life and enjoyed finally obeying such simple, innocent requests from someone so tiny.

I would kill for her without question. I would protect her with my life.

When dinner was over and Zel announced it was Clara’s bedtime, she’d pouted and moaned and only settled once I’d dragged three bronze statues into her bedroom—slowly building a menagerie of metal wildlife.

I indulged her. I adored her.

I’d never been so consumed by one person. Every time I watched her liveliness, my heart would break for Vasily and all the children like me who’d been killed because we weren’t cold-hearted enough for the warped game of our handlers.

Clara looked nothing like him—where she was dark and pearly skin, Vasily had been dusky skinned and fair. Vasily’s eyes had been like mine—an artic white-blue so clear I had a vague memory of my mother calling them icebergs.

It didn’t matter Clara looked nothing like him. My brain couldn’t stop poking at wounds, invoking pain I thought I’d put behind me.

But the pain didn’t compare to the newness and warmth I’d found. Where Clara was my sun—healing and casting my shadows away—Zel was my f*cking cosmos.

She was everything I wanted. Everything I needed. Everything I never thought I’d deserve.

Obsidian used to be my obsession, but now I no longer cared about the fighters pummelling each other in my house, or the steady influx of money from eager members. I wanted to rest and step back from violence.

I was done with it.

I just hoped it was done with me.





I woke at my usual midday and worked out for an hour before entering my office. The calendar on my desk blotter told me it was Saturday.

A big night at Obsidian and the weekend. No school for Clara. My heart picked up its beat at the thought of asking Zel to stay another night.

She’d agreed previously not because she wanted to, but because Clara had bounced around like a little lunatic and sealed the deal without her permission.

Ask her in front of Clara again.

I knew it was underhanded to use the excitement of an eight-year-old to keep Zel here, but I didn’t mind playing dirty if it meant she never f*cking left. My days were brighter and darker, easier and harder, when she was around, and I wasn’t ready to give that up.

“Can we go to the beach? I want to go to the beach.” Clara’s high voice preceded her as she bolted into my office with Zel trailing close behind. I hadn’t seen them since last night, and my f*cking heart leapt out of my chest and splattered at their feet.

Zel met my eyes, a soft look in her green gaze. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” I murmured. I couldn’t tear my eyes off her. Dressed in a feminine white skirt and pink singlet, she looked too young to be a mother and far too intoxicating for my already strained self-control.

Clara pressed her hands on the front of my desk, jumping up and down. “Morning! We went for a walk. The sun’s out, and it’s hot already. I want to go for a swim.”

I leaned back in my chair, drinking them in. “I can see you had a good walk.” I smirked. Her glossy brown hair held foliage and pieces of freshly mowed grass.

Clara darted around my desk to stand beside me. My skin pricked; muscles coiled with anticipation—sensing her will to touch me, preparing itself to battle the imminent urge to kill.

“Yep. Like my daisies?” She shook her hair, showing a long daisy chain wrapped in the strands.

“They’re very pretty.” I smiled, never relaxing.

Clara grinned. “You’re coming to the beach. I’ve already got my bathing suit on. You need to bring yours, so you can swim.”

My throat slammed closed. The idea of going to the beach filled me with horror. How could I explain the thought of being half-naked gave me the cold sweats? How could I explain the tattoo on my back or the scars on my chest?

I couldn’t.

“Scars are a mark of pride, Operative Fox. They show how successful you are. Many requests for killers come in based on how many injuries you’ve endured and overcome.”

That’s all we were. Evaluated on how efficiently we exterminated another life—how perfectly we obeyed orders.

“Please, say you’ll come.” Clara’s voice shattered the flash back. She moved closer, hands out-stretched, eyes full of determination.

All my strength had been replaced with icy fear. Shoving my chair back, I kept my distance. I couldn’t do it.

Zel made a noise in the back of her throat, rushing forward. “Clara, don’t touch Fox right now. He’s not feeling well.” Her eyes met mine, and I stopped breathing.

Her green gaze glowed, lips parted, face flushed. She stared so intensely at me I swore she touched me, whispering across my black covered body. All her passion and anxiety for Clara’s well-being battled with the complex emotions she felt for me. It was as if she whipped me with everything she struggled with: uncertainty, anger, grief, lust, friendship, betrayal. My heart went from sluggish to racing, pumping my blood with need.