Page 2 of Crimson Tears

I chuckle as I read the message again, then scan the crowd of people. I wonder who she sent. I only know a few of her friends, but any badass female that she would add to her team is someone I want to know.

It’s not that I didn’t check in with her out of spite, I’ve just never been used to answering to someone so frequently. As much as I like it, part of me wants to boycott it.

You see, Evie is one of the very few people to ever care about me. I helped rescue her from a shitty situation, and she’s had my back ever since. She’s practically my family now.

I scratch the red Celtic knot tattoo on the side of my neck, thinking about a girl who was once on Evie’s team, part of her little family even. The only girl I think my heart could ever be capable of missing.

Clenching my fist, I shove my phone back into my pocket, even more determined now. It was men like my target that killed the girl I fell for long ago; I won’t let this man escape his fate.

Don’t worry, I don’t plan on killing him tonight. I just need to plant a bug and figure out everything he knows so that I can take him down before killing him.

The thing about child trafficking is that it’s vital to get it all right the first time. If you go in too early, you risk separating the kids and never finding some of them. Go in too late and you never know what kind of state you’ll find the kids in.

Hence, why I’m heading towards the scum of the earth right now, the great Prime Minister. I refuse to be too late because of people like him.

He shakes hands with someone, smiling while his drugged-up trophy wife hangs on his arm for the sole purpose of keeping herself on her feet. I don’t blame her though; I’d need drugs to be that close to a man like him willingly.

As I prowl closer, the guest of honor tilts his head in confusion. People like me aren’t normally seen here, but I might have doctored a video and letter that states otherwise.

I stick out my hand, firmly grasping his as I pull him close. His breath stutters as fear overtakes him and his eyes dart around. My head swims with adrenaline as I feel his pulse jump in my grip. To me, terror is as beautiful as art.

“Congratulations,” I say, using my most sinister voice, hiding the bite of my Irish accent. “I hear there is more than one thing to celebrate tonight.”

This bastard recently got paid a generous amount for allowing a shipment of kids to slide through one of his ports.

His security team draws closer as the tension in the room makes the large gallery feel small. In one swift movement, I release him while simultaneously tucking a small bug inside the fold of his pocket square. He gapes at me as I give a mocking salute and back away.

“Until we meet again.”

I giggle like a schoolgirl to myself, pushing through the crowd and making my exit. They will likely throw me out anyway if I don’t do it myself. I glance around me, staying alert in case any of the security here thinks they can get the jump on me. Just when I think I’m finally out of their sights, a flash of what looks a little too much like a rifle catches my attention outside the window.

There is only one vantage point to this room, a rather large tower right outside that can be accessed via this building or from the outdoors. I assume the security team wants to keep an eye on me until I make it to my car, so I give them a wink.

I have to be honest; I didn’t think his team was capable enough to even think to have outdoor security. They typically stay within thirty or so feet of the Prime Minister.

Just as I disappear from sight, the glint of the moonlight illuminates a head of red hair I would recognize even in my sleep. I swear my cold, dead heart beats for a split second because the next thing I know, I’m rushing to that tower, needing to know my mind isn’t playing tricks on me again.

A year ago, I was crushed when I heard the news that the girl I once loved had died. There was a tragic accident that endedin a building collapsing. The remains they were able to find had allegedly been hers.

Allegedly.

I went and visited the site myself, and the amount of dried blood around where they found her was enough to convince me it was all real. Well, after a little more digging at least.

Taking the stairs to the tower two at a time, my breathing ceases in my lungs when I reach the top and open the door. There she is. The Irish Reaper Princess. The daughter of the man who slaughtered my parents. My first love.

I watch as she hastily packs up her Black King rifle, one of the finest long-range rifles on the market. She always did have the best eyes, eyes that noticed everything. I remember when I would get lost while watching her look at things. The way she would tilt her head towards the sun as a warm smile stretched over her face, and the way the gold flecks in her irises would come to life.

Except right now, she’s not looking at me. I should be concerned about her lack of awareness. I think back to Evie’s message and realize this is who she must have sent.

My lips curve into a wicked grin as I step out from the shadows onto the stone roof. I watch as her whole body freezes, and those eyes that once held so much wonder, lock onto mine.

I’m curious if she can see the changes in me as clear as I can see the ones in her. She looks stronger, much more fit. Her hair is so long and dyed the same bright red I’ll never be able to forget.

Then, I see happiness on her face. That’s what finally brings me back to reality, the moment I realize she’s found happiness living without me.

“You’re supposed to be dead, A stór.” A treasure in the night.Mytreasure in the night.

“You are too.” Her breathing shakes as if she’s afraid of the man standing in front of her.

---