The Bad Boys Target (#1 Royal Academy Series)

CHAPTER ONE: I shouldn't be here.

Speaking soft and carrying a big stick -Theodore Roosevelt

The first thing I noticed was the smell; leather, wood polished with the fine scent of citrus. It was very pleasant and the lighting was soft, subtle. The source was disclosed, but an ambiance sheen emitted from the corner. The walls were pure and the ceiling was deep, almost like the base of a wooden box. There was a large wooden desk facing the closet, it's a substantial mahogany scent lingered in the room. Dark-burgundy carpet complimented the ceiling. The room was almost the size of my old room. My previous room could only manage a desk, a meager closet, and the bed, of course. This room, however, could hold one more bed and ample space to walk around. I didn't expect a big palatial room, this was good enough.

We weren't rich, quite the opposite. My aunt worked in an entry-level firm that deals with immigration, so she has to be moving all the time, the pay wasn't good either but it was our bread and butter. Working was my aunt's lifeline, no necessarily because we needed money, but because it helps her cope. Keep her mind off things.

In the corner, was my suitcase, unpacked. I dragged myself to it and took out my mom's photo. If this was the only thing I could bring, all other stuff would have to stay behind. Placing it on the desk, I sighed sitting down on the soft bed. My mom would have loved this place, it felt so peaceful and quiet. The creaking sound of the door opening caught my attention, my aunt's blond head peeped inside.

''Gosh, Mia!'' Her breath was raspy and breathless, almost coming out in gasps. ''Didn't you hear me calling you?''

''No, aunt,'' I mumbled. ''I'm sorry.''

She gazes past me unto my mom's photo and her face softens.

''Oh, I see. You've been daydreaming again. I'm amazed you kept that photo in one piece after all those years.''

Well, it's the only memory of my mom, other than the ones logged in my brain. Sometimes, I stay awake at night trying to recall what she looked like, and I'm afraid if I didn't have the photo, I would forget her face.

''Yeah, I am too,'' I mumbled, staring down at the photo.

''Ok, enough daydreaming for today. Get dressed and come downstairs.''

Daydreaming, why did that word hurt me?

''For dinner?'' I asked, after a stunned silence.

''Of course, I'm making your favorite. Do you want a cup of tea before, to help with your jet lag?'' She folded her arms over her chest and gave me a keen look.

Ah, her reminding me of my almost-outer body experience was not dwelling great on my empty stomach at the moment. I threw up at least three times on the plane, in my backpack, and on an older woman seated next to me during the flight.

Twice.

After I exited the plane, I then threw up two more times at the airport so that experience of flying for the first time was not a memorable one.

''Okay, aunt,'' I replied. ''Thank you.''

''Oh, and make sure to unpack by sunset. I'll soak your clothes in warm water tonight.'' She started before walking out.