BROKEN ANGEL (Savage Cinderella Novella-#4)

BROKEN ANGEL-Chapter 1

I bit down on the inside of my cheek and parked behind Abby's VW Beetle, which she fondly referred to as a Punch Buggy, the meaning of which completely escaped me. I held onto the steering wheel for a long minute after turning off the engine, breathing through my nose and focusing on my hands...hands that had taken more than one life, I reminded myself, unable to keep my mind in the present.

The image of Stockman's cold dead eyes staring from inches away was never far from me, but today, it loomed larger. I kept insisting to myself he couldn't hurt me anymore, yet his image rose like a ghost telling me I would never truly be free of him. A second image crept in and the face of Matt Donnelly—a man I'd recently shot and watched fall to his death—flashed before me. I pushed it away, unable to fully face what I'd done. It had been a so called "good" shoot, but the only thing good about it was I'd done it to save Justin's brother, Steve.

Whether Stockman and Donnelly deserved to have their lives snuffed out for their crimes was up for debate, but I'd done the only thing I could in each circumstance—the consequences of which I would have to live with.

I growled, released the steering wheel, and gripped Eliot's scruff instead, giving him a heavy pat. "No sense in putting this off. I need to face the past if I'm going to have a future, right?" This month's mantra from my therapy group rolled off my tongue as if it were gospel. Therapy, as hard as it was, was helping. Maybe if I kept working at it, I might eventually put all those missing pieces back together, I thought, rubbing my temples and taking one more deep breath.

I stepped out of the vehicle, Eliot hopping down beside me and lifting his leg on the nearest shrub. Abby ran down the walkway, arms around me before I could close my door.

"Brinn! I thought you'd never get here!" An overpowering scent of jasmine hit my nose, and I pushed her back. "Oh, sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I remember how you didn't like people touching you." Realizing her error too late, her face fell. "Sorry," she said again, pink tinging her fair skin.

Abby hadn't changed. Well, she'd changed in that her blonde hair was cut boyishly short and she'd slimmed down considerably living in the city—the city in question being Charleston, South Carolina, where she attended college. But she said whatever came to mind before thinking of the consequences. I reminded myself her directness was one of the reasons I liked her.

"It's fine. I've gotten past that for the most part," I said. It was true. Despite the years I'd lived in fear of capture, whether it was from Stockman, social services, or the police, I'd found a way to exist in the world. To adapt just as I'd done so long ago, staying hidden in the hills for eight long summers and winters before I'd met Justin and decided to come out of hiding. He'd taught me to trust again. He reunited me with my family and made me feel as if I belonged. The thought of him brought a bittersweet tenderness to my heart.

"There's a smile," said Abby. Not completely oblivious to my inner turmoil, she wrapped an arm gently around my shoulder and steered me toward the house. "Now, tell me everything you've been up to."

Eliot followed along, his tail wagging and perfectly happy to be included in this reunion. I'd only seen Abby a few times over the past two years, either when she'd come to visit me in Atlanta, or when I made the drive to Charleston. But I told myself it was because I was busy...which in truth, I was.

First, there was daily therapy and months of reintegration after I'd emerged from seclusion in the North Georgia High Country, healthy and sane for the most part, if not slightly malnourished and completely unaccustomed to the bustle of daily life in the civilized world. I lived with my parents then but quickly decided their smothering me wasn't good for any of us. I moved in with Justin and tried a year of school after that but found it frustrating and futile, although I'd managed to pass a high school equivalency test. College was another matter. I'd missed too much formal education. Despite my excellent reading skills, my exposure to more than basic math, science, and history was as limited as my world experience.