When he took me to the sanctuary a few days ago, it changed something in me. Seeing all those survivors getting better, working on healing, and seeing them shrouded in all kinds of happy vapors, it shifted something in my chest.
It made me realize that’s what I really need. A goal—something to work toward that would genuinely make me happy. And now, I know what that is.
“Add—“
“Don’t tell me I’m not capable, or not ready. I’ve had a lot of fucking time to think. And I don’t want to be this insufferable victim, okay? I don’t want to let them win, and more importantly. I want—no, I need to help.”
He crosses his arms. “Okay. How would you like to help?”
I shrug. “I’ll tell you everything I know. And if you go out on missions, I want to come.”
His brow cocks, and his gaze flickers over me before returning to my eyes.
“Okay,” he acquiesces again. I’m almost suspicious of how agreeable he is. I was expecting him to lock me in my proverbial tower like Rapunzel.
Noting the look on my face, he says, “I’ll never treat you like you’re helpless or incapable. I’ve always known how strong you are. So, if you want to help, fine. I’m more than happy to bring you along for the ride, baby, but that comes with stipulations.”
“What stipulations?” I ask, growing wary.
“We start training again. We’ll pick up where we left off, and I’ll teach you not only how to defend yourself but how to fight, too. You need to learn how to use a weapon properly, and so help me God, Adeline, you will not do stupid shit when we’re working in the field.”
My mouth opens, offended by his accusation. “What makes you think I’d do anything stupid?”
His brow jumps up to his forehead again. “You’re going to tell me that confronting your stalker in the middle of the night wasn’t stupid?”
My teeth click shut. So, maybe he has a point there.
“You’re brave. Incredibly brave, and a goddamn survivor, and it’s admirable as fuck. You have no idea how proud of you I am. But you’re also impulsive, and reactive, and I refuse to lose you again, do you hear me? I won’t. Which means that you have to listen to me, and you cannot go off and do your own thing because you think you’re helping. We’re a team, baby. Got it?”
I chew my lip, mulling that over. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I am underwhelmingly out of my league when it comes to this corner of the world.
“I understand,” I agree. “I’m not going to pretend like I’m the big bad wolf… yet.”
His answering smirk suggests that he is the big bad wolf, and honestly, I’d have to agree.
But I won’t admit it. His head will blow up, and then I will need to jab that knife in his face just to pop his oversized ego.
“Aim for the jugular, not the ear, baby,” Zade instructs patiently. It grinds on my nerves anyway, and I’m a hairsbreadth away from turning the knife on him instead. “Adjust your feet—” He gently kicks one of them back. “You’re unbalanced and not holding the knife correctly.”
Since I started training with Zade three weeks ago, I've improved, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It never does.
Before me is a gelatin mannequin with countless stab marks in it, most of them far off from where I’m supposed to be hitting.
A reel of people clicks through my head, picturing each one in place of the mannequin. It helps for the most part, but then I freeze up, remembering Sydney’s lifeless body beneath me, or the feel of my knife cutting through Jerry’s throat.
Claws dipped in guilt have me in a chokehold, and I’m growing frustrated with myself. With him. I’m not like him. I can’t just kill someone and… get over it.
I whip around, shooting daggers at him with my eyes instead of my hands.
“You’re so unapologetic for what you’ve done. For how many people you’ve killed. How are you okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he challenges, tilting his head with an amused grin. I’d say he looks like a cute puppy, but that would be a lie. He looks like a vicious beast that’s been locked up too long and is ravenous. For me, in particular.
“I don’t know—morals?” I say, like the answer is obvious. Because it is. “Guilt? Remorse?”
“The very people you want to kill are the founding fathers of society’s morals. I killed their expectations of me, and then I sliced open their throats to show them that they would never control me. They will only ever answer for their crimes, and I have no problem being the executioner. If you don’t want to do this, y—"
I slash my hand in the air, cutting him off. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me an out.”