Page 94 of Breaker

So did the next and the one after that. The one to extract and hold for ransom was harder because the guy cried for two days straight, wailing and pleading to the point Viper gagged him and threatened to shove his dick in his mouth to keep him quiet. He shut up after that, but every time I brought him water, he’d wince and shrink back into himself, making my insides pinch with guilt. I wasn’t sure how it was going to end for the guy. But then we were told to return him, and we dumped him outside his office building, then waited for his associates to retrieve him.

He was lucky. I think Reaper was, too. Hunter, as well. It was a straightforward job in the grand scheme of things.

But this one, the one I completed today, was harder. It required my skills. And that meant Viper saw me at my worst. Or best, if you ask Fallon. Maybe that’s why he’s drinking. He can’t bare to think about what I carry inside me.

The thought sticks, making my throat close.

We got the information we needed, and Reaper finished the job for me. I was glad to hand it over to him. Some things are harder to stomach, and I don’t think I could dispose of our target. Extracting the information was brutal. Our target fought me every step of the way.

Now I feel…

I don’t know what I feel. How I feel.

Dismantled, maybe, but not exactly broken up. Not exactly terrible inside, like the day I was named. Our target wasn’t a good man. Maybe that helps. But he wasn’t pure evil either. And I wasn’t driven by hatred or the need to hurt him, make him feel pain like he’d inflicted on another. It was a job. Just something I had to do because I was ordered to get the information we were paid to extract, by any means.

So, I did.

That’s what I find concerning. It was me chiseling away with no remorse, no emotions until I had what we needed. I tell myself at least I’m self-aware. I know I should feel more, but it just feels like I have a crater in my chest. A vast, open, inky black space that grew darker and darker with every act. Like every time I had to go a little harder and push the guy more and more, it cut parts of me out too.

Maybe my name is fitting. Maybe I’m broken inside. Nothing but cracked pieces and sharp edges.

I stop pacing and snatch the bottle from Viper, taking a gulp. The burn as it goes down reminds me I’m not completely dead inside. My body still works properly, even if my mind is fucked. Even if I’m nothing but the broken bits of the man I tortured today.

You’re a good, sweet boy.

I wonder if Hunter still thinks that.

When I hand Viper the bottle back, he shakes his head, looking up at me with those eyes that are the color of my every bad memory and my every desire. They fall to my chest, then down to my crotch before flickering away.

That look he gave me zins through me chest. Taking a step closer, my knee hits his. I’m taller than him now by several inches. Muscular thanks to my training, but he’s huge. Sculpted.

I wish he’d put his shirt back on.

He’s so chiseled, smooth chest and defined perfection. Sounbroken.

Ripping my eyes from his body, I step back. “I’m taking a shower,” I say, setting the glass bottle on the cheap laminated table by the windows.

He stands, grabbing my arm. “You’ve already showered.”

I shake him off. The need to bathe again, get this sticky feeling off my flesh is too intense to bare, but I don’t say the words aloud. I don’t say I need to scald the last few hours frommy mind, my body, my fuckingsoul, because then he’d try to parent me, and we’ll just end up fighting as usual.

“Break—“

“Stop,” I snarl, stalking toward the small bathroom.

“Will you just talk to me?”

I turn, shoving him away as I do. God, I’m so sick of him pushing me. Getting into my space. Forcing me to look at my emotions, and talk. Doesn’t he know I’m a monster with sharp teeth and anger issues?

“I don’t need you to fucking console me or tell me to use my coping skills. You’re not my caretaker.” I reach for the knob, but he grabs my arm again.

Goddammit.

My fingers curl around his throat before I’m thinking, whipping his body around and slamming him into the wall. He grunts but doesn’t fight me. He rarely does unless I go too far.

Which right now, I want to.

“Leave me thefuckalone.“ The words come out gritty, just like the warning. “You’ve seen what I am. Don’t push me.”

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