“You always hated when I wore Docs,” I taunted, swinging my foot back. “You hated when I wore anything that made me feel powerful—beautiful.”
Kick.
“You stole me from myself.”
Kick.
My voice got louder. “You told me I would never amount to anything without you!”
Kick.
“And you know what? For a while there?” I laughed and pushed my hair out of my face. I moved up to his stomach. “For a long time, I believed you.”
Kick.
“Then I found myself, and I fucking love the woman I’ve become.”
Kick.
“I’m the one with the power here! Not you, you rotten son of a fucking bitch.”
Things got fuzzy then, rage taking over in a way I’d never experienced. Everything around me was red, blood red, consuming every part of my being, my breaths coming harder. My body was vibrating with anger, my soul on fire, scorching the last remains of scar tissue, freeing me. I just kept kicking him, his cries and shouts filling my ears as the alarm blared throughout whatever hellhole he’d brought me to. Another cage. Another prison. Eventually, I dropped to my knees and started hitting him. My fists pounded into him—wherever I could get a hit in. My body began to ache, but my spirit was just getting started. I was screaming at him, but the words weren’t coherent. It was just a string of rage, floating out of my voice box.
There was a new presence surrounding me then.
Warm.
Not like the fire consuming me.
A gentle promise of truth singing out through a sea of lies.
“Temper.”
My arms started to slow.
“Temper, beautiful, stop.” The gentle but firm voice filled my ear, weighing me down. Strong bands of muscle surrounded me then, pulling me back against a solid chest, a steady heartbeat underneath, against my shoulder. My hands were brought tomy front, and I folded them together, ignoring the sting in my knuckles.
“Deep breaths for me now,” the voice instructed. “Inhale.”
“I hate him,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“He robbed me of myself,” I continued, my vision starting to clear. Gordon was being hauled up, his face bloody and bruised. “He stole years of my life.”
“I need those deep breaths from you, Margo,” Hayes murmured, his finger trailing the underside of my jaw.
The red was gone, but my heart was still thundering in my ears. “But—”
“Baby, I can hear your heart.” He cut me off softly. “Give me two.”
I gave him two, and moments later, when my heart rate was slowing and my skin had stopped tingling, reality set in. Everything came rushing back to me. “He shot Jake,” I croaked, dropping my head.
“Jake is fine. He’s okay. We’re going to go see him in a bit.”
I lifted my head and turned to him. His green eyes pierced mine through his mask, a black skull-shaped covering with silver wings etched around the eyes that stretched back over his temples. “Why are you wearing a mask?” I whispered, putting my hands on his chest. My eyes dropped then, taking in his attire. He was dressed for a mission—for war. My eyes bounced back and forth between the AR-15 poking over his shoulder and the pistol strapped to his thigh.
“I just had to do some bad things to some bad people,” he answered, chewing his gum.