Page 23 of The Pretty Psycho

"What are you talking about?" I asked again, taking a good look at her.

She seemed frazzled, panicked, and something told me it wasn't for nothing. "Yolanda?"

"Look," she stopped, turning toward me with a black sweater and a pair of leggings. "I don't want to alarm you, especially not so soon after you woke up."

"But?"

Yolanda took a deep breath, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "We're under attack." Those blue eyes flew open just as the words tumbled over her lips, and I knew her well enough to see the fear swirling in those blue depths. "We're under a massive attack. The Acad…" she stammered. "The Academy is basically a no-man's-land right now. Adrian is there with Dante and Jax, but… It's bad, Vega. It's really fucking bad."

I hated the way my heart started beating faster at the mere mention of Adrian's name, or the fact that it filled with fear because he was over there and I was here. I had no idea what was happening, who was attacking us, but I had a good idea. Arseniy said as much after Adrian left and before the nurse came in to give me my meds.

Several of his warehouses had been attacked in the past two weeks, and they knew it was Adrian's father. There was not enough time for him to tell me everything, but I could read between the lines—we were in the middle of a war with Adrian's father, and between him and The Schatten I had no idea which one was worse.

At least I knew how Heinrich operated, how The Schatten operatives worked, and how they attacked. I didn't know Adrian's father. I never had to face anyone from the ZyllaEmpire, not until Adrian, and judging by the moves he had, they were well trained. Maybe even too well.

"Arseniy is arranging for a car, but we need to hurry." She came closer to the bed and threw the clothes on the bed. "Get dressed. Your boots are in the bathroom as well."

"Do we know who's attacking us?" I asked slowly, carefully, because I didn't want to spook her even more.

Yolanda might have been a part of this world since her birth, but that didn't mean she had any exposure to this kind of thing before the Academy.

"No." Her lower lip wobbled, her eyes filling with tears. "I mean, we kind of do, or at least suspect, but I don't know for sure. Dimitri came to me fifteen minutes ago, telling me we had to go, now. He didn't exactly share any of the details before he ran off, leaving me to deal with you." She plopped down on the sofa placed under the window, resting her elbows on her knees. "I didn't sign up for this," she continued. "I hate this. This violence, this uncertainty, all these things. I don't know how to fight, Vega," she said, looking straight at me. "Jax showed me some things but—" Ah, there we were. So she was definitely spending time with Jax. "—I'm not you. I can do some things, but if they come after me?—"

"They won't come after you," I said, stopping her rambling. I pushed myself off of the bed, wincing as my feet connected with the ice-cold floor. "And if they do, I'll fight them."

"How!" she shrieked. "No offense, but you're kinda, uh?—"

"Beaten up?" I asked, turning toward her with a smirk. "I might not be at a hundred percent, but trust me." I walked away from the bed, rounding it slowly toward the other side, until I stood in front of her. "I can still kick some ass."

Her tear-filled eyes looked up at me, hope overtaking the fear swirling in the depths of her soul, and something broke inside of me at the sight. I was too busy dealing with my own shit to startthat training I'd promised her, and even if she wasn't the heiress of one of the mafia families, she should know how to fight.

I grabbed the clothes from the bed and bent down, urging her to keep looking at me. "Look, it's gonna take me at least a couple of days to recover, but once I do we will start that training I've promised you."

"If we get out of here alive," she sputtered.

"We're getting out of here alive, trust me," I gritted out. "I'm gonna change. Give me just a minute."

Her small nod was all I got before I started wobbling on unsteady feet toward the bathroom, closing the door behind me as soon as I reached it. I'd failed to see myself before now in the mirror. I've avoided the cursed object since I woke up, but as I stood there in the middle of the small bathroom adjacent to my room, I stared at the person in the mirror, barely recognizing myself.

My hair was a tangled mess, in dire need of washing and brushing plus at least ten more procedures that only a hairdresser could do. But my hair was the least of my concerns, and taking care of that would have to wait, especially since I could see the bandage at my nape, covering the cut made by Tyler. My hand lifted up toward the bandage, my fingers softly going over the plush surface, and I fucking hated the thundering of my heart as image after image rushed through my head.

I didn't have time for this. I didn't have the strength to think about those three days he kept me, raped me, hurt me, cutting through more than just my skin, but my heart. My eyes flew open, narrowing at my own reflection in the mirror. The slash over my cheek bothered me, twisting my insides with its presence, no matter how much I hated paying attention to it. Perhaps it was because it was so visible, so… there. The rest of my scars would heal, but this one—this one would forever be a reminder to everyone around me that something had happened.

"This will not break you," I whispered to myself, feeling that same old anger rushing to the surface. My skin heated, my veins filling with a fiery rage only one thing could extinguish, while I boxed all these other emotions in the far back of my mind, ignoring them just how I ignored everything else I didn't want to deal with.

My fingers wrapped around the bottom of the hospital gown I had on, lifting it slowly over my head, and as the blue fabric fell down by my feet, I saw every naked inch of my skin in the mirror, finally seeing what that monster did to me.

Half of my face was bruised, with that cut running across my cheek, but it was the bruises on my ribs that made breathing just a little bit harder. It was the sight of his fingers etched in my skin that made me wish I could carve it out with the first knife I could get my hands on.

But most of all, it was the sight of the deep slashes on my left hip in the form of his initials that made me want to burn down the world just to appease the monster thirsting for blood living in my veins. With shaky fingers I pressed against the red, angry marks, refusing to wince as the first shock of pain ricocheted through my body, because I refused to give him that. I refused to give him my pain.

I refused to be a victim.

I wanted revenge. I wanted him to pay for what he did.

I wanted to look him in the eye and know that my face would be the last one he sees before descending into the deepest pits of hell. I could mourn the memories I had, but I gave up on mourning the people who only wanted to hurt me.

My heart could no longer take the heartbreaks. There were far too many scars slashed all over that organ to withstand another one, so I let it go. I let Tyler as I knew him go, because it was obvious that the memories I had were just figments of my childish imagination.

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