Page 46 of Seeds of Sorrow

Clearing one room after the other, the team worked their way through the building, looking for Lastra. As they rounded another corner, Peyton heard the grumbling of a male voice. “Ume,” she whispered, nodding her head in the direction of the sound.

Ume mouthed,“Follow me but stay back,”and headed to see if it was Lastra. Positioning her gun in line with her shoulders, ready to shoot, Ume kicked the door open.

There, sitting behind a desk littered with abandoned papers and a landline telephone from the 80s, was Ian Lastra. Peyton had been shown photos of him for identification purposes, but he looked as though he’d aged a decade. Where his hair had been dark brown in the images, it was now primarily gray. His face was gaunt, wrinkles marring what had once been smooth, pale skin. He looked dirty, like he hadn’t bothered to wash in weeks. He must have been living here, though the idea of him being in the same building as the kids 24/7 made Peyton sick to her stomach.

Hadina had explained that while most of the targets they hunted were upper class, using their power and wealth for whatever sick fantasies they had, sometimes they’d have a mark who’d fallen from grace far earlier. Ian Lastra was the latter.

Ian was a silver-spoon, Ivy-league brat who’d been handed everything he ever wanted in life. When he started to show off his unhinged predilections in his teenage years, his parents had shipped him off to military school to straighten him out. And when that didn’t work either, he’d been disowned and turned to heroin and meth, squandering his life away on drugs. Somewhere along the way, those old perverted proclivities had turned into his meal ticket. He used the kids to feed his depraved hunger and sold them on, using the cash to fund his out-of-control drug habit.

He was scum, and death would be too good for him.

“Who the fuck are you?” Lastra yelled, ending whatever call he was on.

“The reaper who has come to claim your soul and drop it in hell where it belongs,” Ume spat back, grabbing him by the collar. “This one is yours, Peyton.”

Ume threw him forward, where he tripped and fell, landing on his knees. He looked up at Peyton with blown pupils and bloodshot eyes. “Please, don’t do this.”

Peyton ignored his pleas and raised her gun, flicking her safety off. Her hands trembled as she aimed at the man’s head. She needed to get it together, calm her nerves, and prove that she could do this—prove it to herselfandto Hadina.

Her finger moved to the trigger but she hesitated, which was a grave mistake. Lastra sneered and lunged forward, kicking Peyton’s legs out from under her. She smacked against the floor, her gun flying out of her hand.

Lastra climbed on top of her, straddling Peyton’s hips as he wrapped his hands around her throat. Ume wrestled to get him off, but the skinny bastard was stronger than he looked. Peyton gasped for breath as he pushed his thumbs harder into her skin, choking her.

“What a fucking amateur!” he swore, rearing his head back to smack Ume in the face. She staggered a step, blood gushing from her nose. Lastra grinned triumphantly and returned his attention to Peyton. She punched at him but her consciousness was slowly slipping. “If they want me, they’ll have to send people who know what they’re doing. Not some bitch playing dress-up.” He spat at her, a glob of sickly saliva smacking her cheek. If he wasn’t squeezing the breath from her lungs, Peyton would have vomited.

Black spots swam in her vision, unconsciousness beckoning her. She couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in her ears. She wanted to fight, but her body was betraying her, showing her to be the weak little girl everyone always assumed her to be.

Suddenly she could hear a familiar voice, though it was muffled, before something hot sprayed across her face. The pressure from her throat was gone and her vision slowly cleared, until the image of Hadina towering over her with furrowed brows came into view. Peyton couldn’t figure out if the woman was concerned, angry, or disappointed; but she was glad to see Hadina’s face nonetheless.

“Get up,” Hadina commanded. With shaky legs and a bout of dizziness washing over her, Peyton pushed to her feet. Hadina caught her as she swayed slightly. “I need you to compartmentalize. The mission isn’t over yet—there are still girls to save. Bury whatever you’re feeling right now, and deal with it afterwards, okay?”

Peyton steadied herself and took a deep breath, ignoring the burning sensation in her throat. Hadina was right; she had been the one who wanted to do this and she had to see it out until the end. Getting hurt was an inevitable, unavoidable part of what they were doing and Peyton had to learn to be okay with that.

Ume walked past them, throwing a bloody tissue on the floor before patting Peyton’s shoulder. “The first time you almost die is basically initiation. Welcome to the team.”

“Be strong, Peyton,” Hadina said before following Ume out of the room.

Be strong, Peyton. She could do this. Shehadto do this.

Hadina and Ume both stayed with her as they cleared some more rooms, finding each of them empty. Then they caught up with some of the other guys, who had managed to locate a couple of kids and get them out. Hadina ordered them to go and deal with Lastra’s body, telling them not to leave a trace.

A thrill ran through Peyton’s every nerve ending, even if it was bad timing.

When Hadina split up the groups again, she made sure to have Peyton with her. Which left Peyton feeling conflicted. Sure, she was calmer and felt safer with Hadina by her side, but she also wanted to prove that she could do this on her own.

Reaching the next room, Peyton stopped Hadina when she went to open the door. “I’ve got this.”

Hadina pursed her lips, her dark eyes focusing on Peyton. “You have nothing to prove.”

“I do. I have to prove it to myself.” Her voice was quiet, vulnerable.

Hadina reached out a hand, entwining their pinkies. “Yo creo en ti, tentadora. I believe in you.”

Tears sprung to her eyes as she took in the tenderness in Hadina’s voice, the affection laced in her Spanish. Peyton offered a small smile, hoping her eyes conveyed just how much those words meant to her and the impact they had on her self-esteem. To have someone like Hadina believe in you was like receiving a gift of courage, and she wanted to keep that feeling bottled up forever.

Hadina released her pinkie and Peyton twisted the handle, pushing the door open. Peyton felt a stab in her chest when she saw a little girl lying on the cold stone floor, her curly auburn hair spread out around her in matted strands. The child cracked her eyes open as they approached, her fear on full display.

Peyton watched as Hadina knelt in front of the girl—the Adis sister’s hands held up in submission. While the situation itself was grotesque and heart-wrenching, Peyton was happy to see this side of Hadina. It wasn’t often she showed the world the goodness that resided inside her, the softness that she reserved for the people she loved. The fact that Peyton was one of those people and was often on the receiving end of that softness made her heart swell.

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