Page 1 of The Pretty Savage

PROLOGUE

Vega

My mother once claimed our family was cursed—a hollow prophecy doomed to repeat itself through the years.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have read too much into the words of a woman that was on her deathbed, destroyed by the life she was cursed to have, high on medication while cancer ate her piece by piece, inch by inch, until she let out that last shuddering breath right in front of my very eyes.

Perhaps she was right; perhaps we're all just walking tragedies waiting for our moment to unravel.

But there was something to be said about the memories a child could carry through her life, and those words, no matter how insane they were, followed me throughout the years that would come. But insanity lived in my blood, in these very veins, and I knew at that moment that there was nothing I could do to change the outcome of my life.

People talked about defeating their demons, exorcizing them from their system, but I couldn't do that because the demons were the only things I ever knew. Demons were the ones I could go back to, the only warmth I have ever known.

Maybe things would've been better if on that fateful night of my fifth birthday I had listened to my mother and stayed inside, but I was a curious little cat and sounds from the backyard drew me out. Instead of staying silent and hiding when I saw the scene in front of me, I ran, screaming into the night, sealing my destiny.

And I should have stayed silent.

Maybe if I did I wouldn't have been sentenced worse than my mother.

Maybe they wouldn't have recognized that the demon blood coursed through my veins as well.

1

VEGA

My eyes landed on a little girl on the other side of the street smiling up at her mom as she carried a toy that looked like a little unicorn in her arms, talking animatedly while the woman kept glancing down at her lovingly. The little girl's pigtails bounced with every step she took, those little shoes shining in the dark, illuminating the area around them, unaware that predators lurked at every corner on this godforsaken planet.

My eyes followed them until the end of the street before they rounded the corner, counting the men leering at them, their hungry eyes landing first on the beautiful woman that was simply walking with her child and then to the little girl that couldn't have been older than six. But what did I know? I had no idea what kids looked like at a certain age.

But those men… I knew them. I knew how to recognize the hungry, depraved gazes and what they wanted to do. I knew their souls as well as I knew the back of my hand. Those men, those predators, were the reason why I existed. Why people like me lived in the shadows, and why I more often than not loved what I did. Maybe if the society we existed in actually cared for the innocent people, if it protected those that needed protecting by condemning the monsters that thought they could simply take without ever paying the price, maybe I wouldn't need to dance with the shadows, while toeing the line between right and wrong.

But society rarely ever did what it was supposed to, and then it had the audacity to cry and complain about the unfairness of the situation, but only when it benefited them. I have seen it more times than I could count—the silence that would ensue when injustice would spread over our world, only for those same people that kept their filthy mouths shut to start speaking once it was too late, expressing how sorry they were, what a shame it was, and how they wished they could've done something.

I had heard those pathetic words more times than I could count, and each time it felt like a new stab in my gut because they could've done something. But they decided not to, because their own comfort was more important than the lives of those who were suffering.

And there were at least three men I saw that were hungrily drinking in the woman that was probably in her mid-thirties, and at least two other men and one woman that saw what was happening, but they decided to avert their gazes when the short man who was standing in front of a bar started walking toward the unsuspecting pair that probably only wanted to breathe the fresh air before the cold November nights made it impossible to do so.

That little ball of fury I carried everywhere I went, unfurled in the center of my chest, and moved my body even before my mind could comprehend what was going on. It took me across the street as I evaded oncoming cars, and right behind the stocky man with a shaved head, who was now following the mother and daughter.

My eyes sliced toward the woman and two men that had the audacity to look worried now, and I hoped none of them would ever have to fear for their own lives, because not doing anything like they just did, didn't make them innocent—it made them just as fucking guilty.

And monsters weren't the only ones drawing blood, but also those that stood idly by, allowing the crimes to happen.

My pace increased as soon as we rounded the corner, my eyes scanning every single person coming in my direction, but I never lost sight of the target in front of me. I never lost sight of his filthy stench that wafted after him or the fact that he stopped every time the mother and daughter did. I didn't miss the way his head kept going up and down, his eyes no doubt drinking in what he thought was his right to have. The soulless monster in front of me had no idea what was coming after him, and I was glad to be the one to show him what the true meaning of suffering and pain was.

What it felt like when you knew that there was no one out there to save you, because you simply didn't matter enough for your screams to invite a knight on a white horse, to save you from the demon that was ripping you apart. When all hope abandoned your bloodstream and you could almost taste the sweet death that was just lingering there, stripping you bare all the way to your soul.

My hands turned into fists in the pockets of my long coat when he came closer to them, just before a dark alley, and the tactical part of my brain knew what I was supposed to do. The part that took over every time I needed to plan, to be cool, to separate my heart from my mind, because only one of them could have control in these moments. But right now it was hard separating the two, with the roar in my ears announcing the little monster that lived inside my being, wanting to rip apart the threat in front of us.

My long legs ate up the pavement, shortening the distance between us. He was mere inches away from the woman, his right hand extending toward her, when I wrapped my arm around his neck, pulling him into the dark alley and far away from the eyes of the onlookers that wouldn't have done anything to help the poor woman and her child.

I could already see it, the titles in the newspapers—A tragic ending for a mother who was walking with her child late at night—as if she had no right to walk whenever the fuck she wanted and still feel safe.

"Wha—" The man grunted, trying to fight me off, but there was a reason why I was as good at my job as I was. There was a reason why my first mission commenced when I was barely eleven years old.

There was a fucking reason why I wouldn't let him go no matter how much he thrashed or how much he wanted to flee. The reason that was forever etched in my DNA. The very last gift my mother gave me, and possibly my father, whoever the fuck he was. There was a reason why I was one of the best operatives in the organization, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I could overpower men that were bigger than me.

I pulled the man deeper inside the alley, slipping into the darkness. The air smelled like snow, and with every new intake of breath, I tightened my arm pressed around his neck, reveling in the fact that he was slowly choking right in front of me. His front hit the wall as I pressed him into the cold, hard surface, holding my knee to his lower back.

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