Page 39 of Second Chances

“What? Who put you in charge?” the first man questions. I point over to where the head of the gang sits at a table with several of his colleagues and potential buyers.

“He did. He wants undamaged merchandise for sale, and you’re causing problems. It’s time you were replaced.”

“Fuck you,” the man snarls and lunges for me. He’s no match for my years of training, though, and in a few short seconds, I lay him out unconscious on the floor with his nose dripping blood.

A few of the girls scream, but the one on the floor looks on with wide eyes. I reach down and help her to her feet.

“Follow the others,” I instruct her with a reassuring smile, and she scampers away to join the girls assembled on the stage. My supposed boss, Farooq, catches my eye. He’s watching what is happening. I can’t show any weakness, and kindness to the girl could be portrayed as such. I know what I must do. I pull out my gun, and pointing it directly between the eyes of the now unconscious man, I shoot. It’s a cold blooded murder that rips through me, but it also makes me feel conflicted because it’s wrapped in revenge for his treatment of the girl.

I can’t be that man again.

You have to suppress it.

Elena.

You’re doing this, so you can get back to her.

I place my gun back into my jacket, trying to hide the shake of my hand. I reassume the persona of my undercover alias and gesture to another man.

“You. Get rid of him,” I order, and the man scrambles to his task.

I take my seat and watch the girls as they all line up ready for inspection. My heart’s beating rapidly, and I long for Elena’s voice to calm me down, but that’s impossible now the evening of the sale is in full flow. I just have to get through the next few hours, and it’ll all be over.

The day I left Elena to come out here, I made my decision this will be my last job for MI5. It’s not who I am anymore. That was the old Ryan—a cold blooded killer, prepared to do whatever it took for revenge. But it’s not me anymore. I’ve lost that lust, and my edge has disappeared, which makes me vulnerable.

I’ll rescue the girls tonight, and soon I’ll be back in Elena’s arms and can start the life I was truly meant to have.

Chapter Seventeen

Elena

“Thank you.” I express my gratitude to Sonia as she helps me sit down again, having assisted me to the bathroom and to collect a couple of books from my room. I’m staying in the North’s house, and Miranda and Pete have been wonderful, but they’re out for the day, and I still need some help to move around. The pins in my leg are cumbersome, but I’ve been told I should have them removed next week and be able to switch to a regular cast. It can’t come soon enough—I’m bored out of my brain. There are only so many kinky books you can read when missing the man in your life. Ryan gave me permission to pleasure myself while he was gone, but I’m pretty certain that if I do it anymore I’m going to end up with a broken wrist to match my leg. I want him back. Damn it, I’m obsessed with sex and Ryan North and have been masturbating in his parents’ spare bedroom every night to pictures of him he’s sent me. I’m officially a loser with no life.

Matthew has checked in on Ryan, and evidently the case is drawing to a close. He’s assured me that Ryan will be home any day now. I can’t wait. Amy laughed at me for being so obsessed, but I reminded her she virtually moved in with James after one day of knowing him.

“I’m going to get a coffee—do you want anything?” Sonia calls from the kitchen door.

Andrew, her son, is down for an afternoon nap in the nursery Miranda and Pete have installed for all the children, so she’s enjoying her moment of peace from her newly crawling little boy.

“Please.”

I pull the bag toward me that contains a load of books Matthew retrieved from my apartment for me to read. They’ve been on myTBRlist for months, but with working so hard at the dance school, I’ve not had a chance to look at any of them. Thinking about the dance school makes me sad. Amy has taken on a lot more of the day-to-day running of it again, while I’ve been recovering, but has asked one of the other senior staff to step up into my position until I’m able to get back to the office. It’ll be a while before I can return to dancing, but that doesn’t mean I can’t plan performances. I’ll still be there, organizing everything while hobbling along. Nothing’s going to get in my way—I will beat this setback.

I decide to distract myself by pulling out a new book to start reading, but when I reach in, I pull out a tatty notebook instead. I try to remember what I’d used it for, but the memories instantly come crashing back when I turn it around and see the writing on the front. It’s an old diary I’ve kept. Shivers cascade down my spine because it was written at the time I broke my leg when I was younger, and my dance career was destroyed.

I don’t want to open it, but my curious nature gets the better off me, and I flick to the first page. I was given this journal the day after the accident as a way to help me work through what was happening to me and how I was feeling. The first page is filled with nothing but questions:

Why me?

What did I do to deserve this?

Am I not a good person?

Did I hurt someone in a past life?

Was I horrible to my parents, and this is my punishment?

Will I ever dance again?

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