A Necessary Sin (The Sin Trilogy, #1)(3)
This isn’t a perfect world. Bad things happen to good people. True evil exists and it walks this earth in the form of a well-suited man wearing expensive shoes. He speaks with a charming Scottish accent and smells of liquor and sweet tobacco. My mother’s killer.
Most children are too na?ve to recognize the moment they are being ruined for the rest of their lives. I wasn’t that lucky. I remember everything about that dreadful day and the memories often replay in my head–the bitter aroma of burning cookies, the smell of gunpowder floating in the air, even the vision of seeing Max’s brains splattered onto my carpet. I wish the amnesia I claimed to have would’ve stolen those gruesome memories. Maybe then this unquenchable demon with a thirst for hunting and executing wouldn’t have been spawned inside me.
That was the day Stella Bleu Lawrence died. And Bleu MacAllister was born.
I can barely recall a time in my life when I wasn’t obsessed with finding our attacker. I’ve spent years imagining the different ways he might beg for mercy as I hold a gun to his temple. These were the aspirations in my head when my mind would drift from memorizing presidents and state capitals. I never had innocent, childlike thoughts. My dreams weren’t of becoming the doctor to discover the cure for cancer or becoming the first female president; they were consumed by dark, vengeful thoughts.
For eighteen years, every aspect of my life has revolved around retaliation in one form or another, with the exception of the two pleasures I allowed myself: photography and playing violin.
Other kids took karate lessons for fun. I took Muay Thai for strength and defense skills. Girls my age enrolled in gymnastics because it’s what all their friends were doing. I became a gymnast to learn balance and agility. My fellow ballerinas liked wearing tutus. I became a dancer to master grace. I wasn’t naturally the brightest student so I excelled to the top of my class by becoming the most studious. Why? I’ve always known being the smartest person in the room would one day be my greatest tool. An intelligent person has a chance at outwitting another using a gun in place of his brain.
How does a person live this way without going mad? It wasn’t easy. But I had a confidant–my dad.
I was twelve years old when I sat Harry, my adoptive father, down and told him it was time for a talk. No, not about the birds and bees. I’m certain that would’ve been much more preferable. Instead, I described my memories of the dreadful day my mother was murdered and how I was suffocated with a pillow and left for dead.
I’d spent the previous five years claiming to have no memory of the horrid event. To say Harry was shocked to learn the truth would be an understatement. But that didn’t hold a candle to what came next. Telling him I intended to hunt and execute Thane Breckenridge was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
Harry wasn’t delighted to learn that this little girl he saved was planning a murder. I’m certain no father wants to hear that his daughter’s aspiration in life is to grow up to be a killer, especially when he’s an FBI special agent sworn to uphold the law. That’s why I had to give him an ultimatum. Some might call it an ultimatum he couldn’t refuse–either teach me how to kill or watch me attempt it on my own without any training.
It was a hell of a bomb to drop. I can’t imagine the despair he must’ve felt while hearing such a declaration. For that I’ve always been sorry. But I must have been convincing since he agreed. I suspect he went along with it in the beginning to pacify me. He probably believed a twelve-year-old girl would eventually change her mind or lose interest. Neither happened.
Once Harry saw my determination, he took precise care in teaching me how to safely blend with monsters. That’s how I plan to do it–infiltrate Thane Breckenridge’s world of organized crime.
Although I was tutored in the art of facade from an early age, Harry couldn’t prepare me for everything. Together, we decided I should briefly work as a police officer before applying for the FBI academy. He was once an instructor at Quantico so he knew all the right moves to expedite my acceptance into the program as soon as I turned twenty-three and had the proper credentials. It was a good decision since it furthered my education. Although brief, the most beneficial was the hands-on training in undercover work. I regret I wasn’t able to obtain more experience.
Being an agent taught me to think of no one as more than a profile, even myself. I’m Stella Bleu Lawrence MacAllister, former special agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigations, Memphis division. I’m a twenty-five-year-old Caucasian female with chestnut brown hair and light blue eyes. I’m five-six, weigh one hundred fifteen pounds. I’m considered attractive by most men’s standards. I lack an interest in relationships, both romantic and social. I’m emotionally cold, detached, and often display narcissistic characteristics. I’m very well aware of my thick skin and completely unapologetic for it. I’m simply inclined to not make connections or friendships with people, with three exceptions: Harry, Julia, and Ellison.
Harry trained me to be a chameleon. I can easily adapt to any situation—except the one happening right now. Julia, my adoptive mother, is gone. Cancer claimed her two years ago. Now Harry has it as well and the treatments aren’t working anymore.
I haven’t recovered from losing Julia and now I face the same prognosis with the only father I’ve ever known. Losing two parents to cancer only a few years apart isn’t fair. I’m bitter and angry but this is different from my mother’s death. I can’t avenge losing them because an intangible illness is the villain to take them from me.