Page 116 of Breaker

I take it and aim.

“This one’s got a bigger kick, so grip it like it’s trying to escape. You control it, not the other way around.”

Taking another deep breath and widening my stance, I pull back on the trigger and the pop doesn’t prepare me for the recoil. I stumble backward slightly, more surprised than anything. I blink through it, and right myself, maintaining my death grip and aim and shoot. The target ripples.

I lower the rifle and grin, a satisfied fuzzy warmth spreading in my chest when I catch Clyde’s satisfied smirk.

“You’re fucking natural,” he says. “Again.”

I aim again and shoot, feeling steadier and more confident, hitting the target almost every time until the clip is empty.

“I like this gun more than the other,” I say, slipping the earmuffs off. “My aim is better.”

“Helps when your bullets are live.”

I catch his eyes and notice the amused expression on his face. “What do you mean?”

He chuckles. “You really think I was going to hand you a semi-automatic with live bullets?” He grabs the first gun he gave me and reloads it with a fresh clip, then hands it over. “The first magazine was shooting blanks.” He repositions my earmuffs and points to the target. “Aim to kill.”

Chapter 35

Cora

Istarted sleeping withthe lights on when I was six years old. It gave me a small amount of comfort to see the devil as she entered my room. My mother would come in and tell me to stay in bed and go to sleep. She never tucked me in. No, Fallen Angels with flaming red hair don’t offer such comforts.

One night, I dared to ask for a glass of water, and she slapped me so hard that I never asked again. From then on, I had everything I needed before she came to enforce her strict rule of staying in bed. It wasn’t until I snuck out one night and stumbled upon her bent over the couch, a man thrusting into her from behind while sucking on her underwear, my father watching from behind his desk, that I finally understood why my mother wanted me to stay locked away in my room at night.

Not that she cared if I saw what she was up to. To be honest, with the number of guests coming in and out, she probably didn’t give a damn. She just wanted to be left alone. Having a child ruined her parties and shoving me in the closet was her quick fix.

I got used to it after a while. Being in that darkness for hours. But then she forgot about me that day and I became a different person.

When she finally found me two days later, I could see the horror in her eyes. Not because she almost killed me. No, my mother’s only concern washerwell-being. She argued with daddy I didn’t need to go to a hospital. They’d try to have her arrested, and after all, it wasmyfault she had to put me in there.

Being back at the estate has all those memories clawing their way to the surface. I’ve wandered around, turning on every single light in the house, Clyde in tow, until I finally told him to leave me alone.

Zane said he’d be here soon, and my nerves are frayed.

My earlier message to him said I wanted to meet to go over a few things. He agreed and said he’d meet me here this afternoon.

After last night, I know I need to do this. Between Rune and Zane, if this marriage is finalized, I will no longer have control over my life or my body. Neither man will be satisfied until they own my soul.

I have to put a stop to it.

When we finished at his home range this morning, I told Clyde we needed to return to the estate. He grumbled, but he drove me here anyway without further questions.

Now I’m standing outside the hall closet where she had locked me away, dressed in my mother’s slacks and silk blouse, her black flats, the pretty diamond earrings she cherished adorning my ears. I want to open the door and let light flood the space that holds so much darkness. Like bringing brightness to that haunted place will somehow ease the pain stabbing my heart.

I’m a fool, I know.

But I still want to do it. For the past me. For the kid who still lives in my memories, terrified of the dark. I long to bring some light to her world, but I can’t even lift my hand to open the door.

The realization that I cannot fight for my past self hurts just as much as the fact that it took years for me to start fighting for myself now. And I only found the courage because others told me I am worthy.

I never even believed it myself. I always felt like I deserved the abuse. My mother had ruined me in so many ways. I was shaped by her abuse and neglect and what she never gave me. Love. Appreciation. I spent the first ten years of my life feeling like a burden, constantly told that I was worthless. Even after escaping her torment, I still carried the reminder that my worth came with conditions.

I had to be sweet. Amiable. Never complain. Stay out of the way. Then, and only then, was I worthy of attention.

Nerves fizzing, I reach for the door handle. My fingertips brush against the cold metal knob, while my other hand reaches for the light switch on the wall. Turn. Flip. Pale yellow light fills the small space, causing my stomach to twist and my fingers to ache.

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