Page 47 of The Darkest Hour

“Another dealer tried to take my drugs and money as well as. . .rape me and. . .”

“That was the first person you killed?”

“Yes. Then, an addict tried to rob me in the middle of the night and now we have the second person.”

“How did you feel after your first kill?”

“Like a demon destined to live eternity in hell.”

“And what about the second one?”

“That was when. . .I started to go numb.”

“That happens.”

“I sold more. . .killed more. . .got more money. . .due to a deadly reputation.”

“Killing people has a way of spreading your name around town.”

“It does.” She sighed. “Then one day, this man approached me. Said he could offer me a way to make real money, and take care of my brother. All I had to do was be willing to learn some. . .unconventional skills.”

I frowned, sensing where this was going. “He recruited you.”

“Taught me everything I needed to know to become an assassin. At first, I did it for the money and to get out of drugs. Although I said it was all for my brother. But over time, it became my life. It was all I knew. The dancing, the dreams—they faded into the background, replaced by the mission, the target.”

Tension gathered in my shoulders. “Sometimes killing becomes its own addiction.”

“True.”

“And your brother?”

“He's in college now. Studying engineering. He thinks I'm just a successful businesswoman. I send him money, pay for everything. He doesn't know the truth. I. . .don’t spend a lot time around him anymore.”

“Wolves don’t like to be around lambs. You might eat them.”

She trembled again.

“You've sacrificed so much for him.”

“Well. . .that's what you do for family, right?”

“Right,” I whispered, however, her words had brought back heartbreaking memories that I had buried deep—memories that clawed their way to the surface now that the darkness and isolation provided no distractions.

I let out a long breath, feeling the weight of those memories pressing down on me.

“What about you, Havoc? Tell me something about yourself.”

How many years had it been since someone dared to ask me about my past?

Even more, how long had it been since I’d answered.

Should I tell her?

Would it matter?

Confessions in the Rain

Havoc