Page 19 of Shattered By Grace

Finally inside, she slammed and locked the door behind her with a loud click, leaning up against it for just a second to try and catch her breath. Her gym bag dropped to the floor with a thud as she sprinted straight to the bathroom. Trembling handsreached for the faucet, turning it on full blast as cold water splashed onto her face. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart and frazzled nerves.

Turning off the faucet, she patted her face dry with a soft, worn towel and inhaled deeply, trying to steady her racing heart. In the mirror, Victoria’s reflection looked back at her, eyes wide with lingering fear. She needed to pull herself together. She was safe. She was home. He wasn’t here. But it didn’t feel true. Not tonight.

Stepping out of the dimly lit bathroom, she ventured into the living room, her gaze darting across every shadowy nook and cranny as if an intruder might leap out at any moment. The silence hung thick in the air, amplifying each creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath her feet. “Ughh, get it together, Victoria. No one is here,” she muttered to herself, words dissipating like fog in the cold air.

Victoria’s boots thudded softly against the floor as she crossed the room toward the punching bag. It hung in the corner, swaying gently, the rhythmic motion almost soothing. But beneath it all, her nerves were frayed, tension crackling under her skin like static. She needed to work through it. Needed to drown out the noise.

“You’re lucky, little bird.”The rough, husky voice slithered into her mind, uninvited, dragging her back to that night.

Her fingers slid into the gloves, the soft fabric clinging to her palms, a small comfort amidst the chaos of her thoughts. But then, like a phantom, the smell of cigarette smoke wrapped itself around her senses, thick and suffocating. The bitter sting of it hit her nostrils as if she’d been thrown right back into her childhood bedroom.Blood.There was so much blood.

She moved through the drills—jabs, crosses—her body falling into a familiar rhythm, muscle memory taking over. Each punch slammed into the bag with a sharp, bone-rattling thud, sendinga surge of heat through her veins. But it wasn’t the bag she saw. It was Razer’s face, twisted in that sickening grin, the damn cigarette dangling from his lips.

Little bird.The words echoed in her mind like a broken record, driving her crazy.Little bird.He had called her fragile, weak. She could feel the anger building, boiling over, as her fists struck harder and faster, desperate to release everything he had made her feel.

Just one little slice,the voice echoed again, thick with menace. She clenched her teeth, feeling the burn in her knuckles, but it wasn’t enough. The rage, the fear, all of it was a storm brewing inside her, and she couldn’t stop it. Each punch was a release, each thud against the bag a way to fight back, to silence the memories clawing their way into her mind.

Her breath came in ragged bursts, each strike a small escape from the fury coiling in her chest. Sweat beaded on her brow, her muscles screaming from the effort, but it barely registered. She was lost in the rhythm now, lost in the blur of fists and memories and the sound of Razer’s taunting laugh in the back of her mind.

The ghost of his cigarette smoke lingered, stinging her lungs like it always did.You didn’t win,she reminded herself, the weight of the thought pressing in.He didn’t break you.

Out of the corner of her eye, a flash of movement caught Victoria’s attention, making her freeze. Every instinct screamed to be alert, her body going rigid. Slowly, she inched toward the window, her heart pounding, every nerve in her body on edge. Cautiously, she parted the sheer curtains and peered outside.

"HOLY FUCK!" Victoria gasped, clutching her chest as her heart thundered in her ears.Her fear was instantly replaced by shock as Miss Clawdia, her massive black Maine Coon, leapt onto her foot and padded calmly across it. “Clawdia, you sneaky little devil! You scared me half to death.”

The cat looked up at her with those piercing, enigmatic green eyes that seemed to see everything, all the way to the heart of her. Victoria scooped her up, trying to soothe her racing pulse. She stroked Clawdia’s fur, feeling a mix of relief and irritation.

The weight of the unsettling moment pressed in, and Victoria’s mind returned to the terrifying figure she’d seen today, the man who haunted her thoughts. Her fingers moved automatically toward the phone on the counter.

Victoria dialed Detective Adams' number, the steady beeping of the keys a small distraction. She tapped her fingers impatiently as she waited for the call to connect.

“I saw a really bad man today,” she said softly, her voice strained and hoarse with anxiety. She scratched Clawdia’s head, the cat’s purrs providing a small comfort as she tried to steady her nerves. “I think it has me a little on edge.”

“This is Detective Adams. Sorry I missed your call. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll return your call at the earliest I can.”

“Ugh,” she muttered, rolling her eyes, frustration clear in her voice. “It’s Victoria. I need to talk to you.”

She hesitated for a moment, letting out a shaky breath before cutting the message. Her grip tightened on the phone before she set it down on the counter.

The comforting purr of Clawdia settled her nerves slightly as she sank onto the couch, her legs heavy with lingering fear. She scratched behind the cat’s ears absently, her mind split between the call and the steady rhythm of her thoughts.

Clawdia’s presence was the only thing that anchored her right now, the soft rumbling of her purring the only sound that could cut through the static in her head. But even it wasn’t enough to calm the gnawing anxiety.

Victoria flicked through channels mindlessly, the images blurring together as she tried to drown out her fears in the TV’shum. But no matter how much she tried to distract herself, her mind kept circling back to him—the man who had attacked her when she was fifteen.

The coldness in his eyes, the tattoo on his neck she’d seen as she stabbed him. It was unmistakable. The acrid scent of cigarettes still clung to her memory, as did the sound of his voice. He hadn’t recognized her, but that didn’t stop the anxiety coiling in her chest.

Clawdia’s deep purring pulled her back to the present, the rhythmic vibration grounding her. Absentmindedly, Victoria stroked the cat’s soft fur, letting the warmth soothe her frayed nerves. For a moment, she simply focused on the comfort of Clawdia’s presence, nearly forgetting the fight at the gym.

She exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You should’ve seen me tonight, Clawdia. I went toe-to-toe with Tristan Locke tonight.” She scratched behind the cat’s ears, smirking. “And I didn’t let him win.”

Chapter Eight

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

The shrill sound of the alarm jolted Victoria awake, causing her to jump off the couch. Clawdia shot off the furniture with a fierce hiss and landed on the floor with an impressive thud.

"Sorry, girl," Victoria muttered as she made her way to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. She drew in slow, steady breaths, willing her heart to settle. A quick glance at the microwave clock confirmed it was four in the morning. Way too early for a wake-up call.

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