Page 7 of Rugger: The Huntress

I flipped the kickstand with my foot and flicked my wrist once more. This time, I was catapulted in the direction of my home. On one wheel, my bike stood tall, defying gravity as a result of my aggressive hold on the handle that controlled its speed.

Just as the front tire landed on the ground, I pressed the button on the small remote attached to the dash. The heat of the flames erupting from the beautiful set of wheels behind me warmed my entire body. Without taking a look over my shoulder, I allowed the Corvette to burn.

Vrrrrrrm.

Vrrrrrrrrrrrm.

It was all a blur.

The signs.

The lights.

The exits.

The streets.

The cars.

The driveway.

When my bike finally came to a screeching halt, just inches away from the garage door that led into my home, I balanced both feet on the cement. A swift kick placed it back on the stand as I removed the key and lowered my garage. With myStormaimed and ready to shoot, I watched as it closed slowly.

My helmet slid off with ease, freeing me from the heat it tended to trap. The clothes I wore glided down my limbs without much guidance. I removed my shoes before stepping inside of my home.

Immediately, I was met with coolness. A chill caressed me as it ran up my spine.

On bare feet, I pushed through my residence until I reached the massive pile of stones. I flipped the switch and was greeted by a deep orange flame.

Fire warmed the space just in front of the fireplace. I stepped closer, but not to be comforted by the heat. The cold was my preference. However, my task couldn’t be completed without the elements before me.

I found the dotted slit just underneath my armpit. Slowly, I pulled downward until I began to peel like a snake ready to shed their next layer. The carefully engineered, ultra-thin sheet of artificial skin that housed untraceable DNA had been a labor of love.

It had taken me six long years to perfect the design. At the age of fifteen, when I was sworn into the family syndicate, I stepped into my carefully crafted suit and had worn one during every project since.

Still, it was my proudest piece of art. From the age of seven until the age of nine – when I began the journey to its completion – it consumed my thoughts.

One hundred and eighty two.

That’s how many tasks I’d been given and that’s how many tasks I’d completed. Unlike the others, these weren’t only business. They were personal.Verypersonal.Verydifferent.Veryrewarding.Verynecessary.Longoverdue.

I tossed the first piece into the fire and watched as it melted. The second piece came off with ease, finding its way into the fire as well. I unraveled the ponytail that sat atop my head.

In the center was the final row of dots. I pulled them apart and released my natural hair. I didn’t stop shedding until I removed the larger of the three components from around my toes. One by one.

Finally, I stood back, massaging my scalp with my free hand. Because I hated the smell of burning fabric, I decided againstleaving the clothes I’d worn in the fire. Instead, I stalked toward the kitchen, through the pantry, and into the room where a large barrel sat with a lid covering every inch of its top.

Carefully, I pushed back the small plastic component covering the hole in the center, and began lowering one piece of clothing at a time. I didn’t stay to watch them disintegrate. I tiptoed through my home as my nipples hardened and fine bumps covered my skin. The air was brutal and inviting at once.

My bare bottom caught my attention in the oversized mirror in my bathroom, forcing me to pause momentarily. The island had done my body well. My skin was tanned two shades darker.

I had fallen in love with it even more than I was prior to St. Catana. I didn’t know that was possible, but I’d been proven wrong.

Maybe a monthly visit. I reasoned as I continued toward the shower. The sun was far too kind to me. With a few taps of the control panel, the water poured from the showerhead. I stepped inside, unable to wait another second to rid myself of the day’s deed.

Fine beads of warmth collected and rained down on the center of my head, flattening my hair. My lids were sealed, yet I could feel the expansion of my tresses before they twisted and twirled until reaching their natural state. The transition was always the most grounding.

Twelve.

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