Scarred by Vengeance (Titanium Book 2)

by Valia Lind

  Scarred by Vengeance

  Valia Lind

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright 2015 Valia Lind

  All rights reserved.

  Cover designed by Mae I Design

  First Edition

  For the two Amanda’s in my life.

  H & B, you keep me sane.

  Scarred by Vengeance

  1.

  It's been three days since I killed a man.

  Even with all of my preparation and hatred burning within me, his face haunts my dreams. His eyes stare at me through the blood running over his skin and then, he doesn't see me any more.

  He doesn't see anything.

  In my dreams, I always kill him differently. One time it's with a knife, another with a gun. But every night when I wake after the dream, the pain of taking a life shatters through me. I guess that's what separates me from the monsters I'm hunting.

  It's a quality of humanity I didn't know I had left in myself. Until Logan came along.

  I can't be thinking about him. I can't. He's gone and I have much more urgent matters to attend to. Like getting Blake back.

  "Earth to Tasia," Calen's words break through my musings. Lately, I've been a lot more spacey than I’d like to admit.

  "Did you manage to find anything about Foster's whereabouts?" I ask Calen, berating myself for letting my mind wonder. I've sent him and Uncle Freddie away, but I can't find Blake without their help. And I know Calen just wants to help.

  "Like I was saying—" Calen gives me a pointed look, "the man has disappeared. I can't find even any trace of him through his accounts. You must have wounded him a lot more than you originally thought. He needs time to recover."

  "You mean he needs his time to run another batch of children's DNA through a processor so he can have hisforever young elixir."

  I sound bitter, but I can't help it. The anger I feel at the very thought of Kallos Enterprises is an ever present companion. I push it away and turn my attention to the boy on the screen.

  "And what about—"

  "I haven't been able to find anything about her either."

  Calen doesn't need to ask who I'm talking about. The sadness in his eyes reminds me just how much of a failure I am. It's my fault they took Blake. It's me they want to test.

  "How are you healing?" Calen asks, worry streaked across his face. I've been sitting stiffly in front of the computer the entire time we've been talking. I’m afraid to move too much because Ihaven't been healing well. Not well at all. Usually, my accelerated gene makeup helps rapidly mend bruises and cuts, but for some reason, it's taking a lot longer than I'd like. Not that this is something I would mention to Calen or Uncle Freddie.

  "I'm fine. I'll get back in touch with you soon." I state, and shut off the screen before I do something foolish and allow Calen to see me cry.

  I didn't used to show that kind of emotion easily. But the last couple of months have reminded me what it means to be a regular person, and I now can't seem to shut that part of me off anymore.

  I doublecheck the wireless network card and shut it off. When I'm not in communication with Calen or Uncle Freddie, I try to stay off the grid. The rundown hotel I'm staying at right now has no provided Wi Fi, cable TV, and no computers in the lobby. I paid cash and they let me chose a room on the other side of the building, far away from the front of the hotel.

  I had to leave Chicago, even if it was just for a little while. I didn't go far, but the pressure of the big city was getting to me. I felt like I was being watched on every corner. At least here, I can hide away until my wounds have stopped bleeding.

  I lay down on the bed, stretching out my sore muscles. It's been three days.

  I should be better by now.

  I should be getting back to work.

  I should be hunting those bastards down.

  But I can barely breathe without my ribs protesting in pain. I hate feeling this helpless. The ever present rage within me burns hotter and hotter. Each passing moment, my mind runs through all the different ways that I'll make Foster pay. Once I find him again. He played with me, from the very beginning. The moment I walked into the gala, Logan recognized me and that was all Foster needed.

  I thought I had the upper hand. I thought I was smarter than them.

  But I didn't count on Logan.

  I didn't count on his existence.

  I didn't count on his betrayal.

  Yanking the pillow from where I left it on the floor earlier, I push it behind my head, getting more comfortable on the bed. One of my hands clutches at the bedspread, the need to hit something—anything—powerful. The other is firmly wrapped around the necklace I now wear with my mother's ring on it. Foster had it the whole time, I thought it was lost in the fire. Just the feel of it in my hands calms me a bit.

  I allowed myself to be duped. I went against every instinct I've developed and I let Logan in. I let him near my family and for that, I made him pay.

  But it doesn't take the ache away.

  Pushing myself farther up on the bed, I stare at the ceiling. Tomorrow, I will get back to training. Regardless of how my body feels. Tomorrow I start my search for Blake.

  Tomorrow I raise a little hell.

  * * *

  I'm not sure what awakens me, but I'm on my feet in a flash.

  Grabbing for my knife, I crouch on the side of the bed opposite of the door, my eyes on the only exit in and out of the room. I chose this room intentionally. The second window is boarded up for repairs, making it easy for me to have full control over who walks in and out of the room.

  I stay still, and at first, I think I'm just being paranoid. Then, I hear a shuffle of feet and a key in the lock. It sounds like an actual key, and that makes me even more nervous. I move to stand next to the door, knife raised, ready to strike. The person opens the door just a crack, sliding in: I'm on them in a moment's notice. I push the knife to his throat, my other hand placing a second knife at his stomach. Just one flick of a wrist and he's a dead man.

  "Tasia, it's me!" A frantic voice yelps. I swear, I'm about to cut him just to teach him a lesson.

  "What the heck, Calen? Why are you here?"

  I let him go, just slightly, staring at him as if he's lost his mind. Granted, I really think he has. He looks just like he usually does. Raven dark hair, disheveled, because he keeps running his hands through it, a button up shirt over a TV show quote T-shirt, dark eyes piercing to my very soul, and they are very knowing.

  "I'm here because you're a lousy liar." He moves farther in, dumping his duffle bag on the only bed in the room. I lock the door behind him, then turn around to stare him down, my hands on my hips.

  "I am afantastic liar. I don't know what you're talking about." Calen gives me a pointed look, then proceeds to take items out of his bag. He gives my body a once over before speaking.

  "You're hurt. You're not healing. I don't even think you're eating. If you can't take care of yourself, how are we going to save Blake?" I open my mouth to protest but he waves me off with a hand. "Don't even bother. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?"

  I haven't. I'm avoiding mirrors like the plague.

  "Thought so." Calen continues without waiting for a response. He pulls a couple more of items out of the bag and starts spreading them on the bed.

  "Okay, I brought you a set of clothes, some hygiene items, another phone—untraceable, before you ask—and some snacks and vitamins. Oh—" He pulls out a little baggy of stuff. "I need to dress your wounds."

  I stand on the other side of th
e bed, open-mouthed, as Calen looks at me expectantly. I wish he could read my mind right about now, because I honestly don't even know what to say. Suddenly, I burst into tears.

  Falling down to the floor, I land on my knees, my arms wrapping themselves around my middle. Tears flow freely, running down my cheeks, and soaking into my shirt.

  "Hey, Tasia. Hey."

  Calen is there, kneeling beside me, but I can't even raise my head enough to look him in the eye. This overwhelming sense of grief hits me so suddenly, so unexpectedly, I can't even catch my breath. I'm gasping, trying to figure out where this is coming from, but I can't find my footing. Calen reaches out to bring me to him and when my head connects with his solid chest, his arms wrap around me and I'm back.

  Just like that.

  We don't move for a second, while I make sure that I have a grip on myself and then push back. Looking up, I find Calen's eyes on mine, full of questions. It's an intelligent kind of a look, one that I know all too well. He's working out a problem.

  "What was that, T?" he finally asks.

  "I have no idea." I answer honestly.

  "Okay, talk me through it." He gives me an encouraging nod and I move back, a little bit, to give myself some space.

  "You were being nice. You brought me all these things to take care of me and I thought it's been a while since I've been taken care of, and suddenly I was bawling."

  He mulls over my words, registering everything in that special genius way of his. I watch him dissect it in his mind: the process has always been fascinating to me. My brain works differently than his. Granted, my brain works differently from pretty much every other person in the general population.

  I'm not a born genius.

  I'm a made one.

  Miss Science Project in the Flesh.

  To me, how "normal" people work through things is fascinating. Uncle Freddie is very scatterbrained in his genius thinking. Blake is very hands on. Calen—well—he's a little more like a computer processor. He digests, then organizes, then acts. And in the midst of all that thinking, he still manages to be the most levelheaded and fun person I know. Besides Blake coming in at a close second.

  I'm afraid the tears might start flowing again at the thought of my friend, but for some reason, I sit frozen, waiting for Calen to speak. When he finally does, I'm not really surprised by his question.

  "How often does this happen?"

  "Five times in the last three days." The next question isn't a surprise either.

  "Is it just the crying?"

  "No. I get suddenly angry to a point where I need to break something. Twice, for just a split second, I got incredibly happy." I stop talking, because just admitting that is difficult. I can't even begin to explain to Calen that I was happy at the thought of someone who hurt me. I know, eventually, we'll have to talk about Logan, but right now is not the time.

  "Five times—" he stops before he can say anything else, that look is once again in his eyes.

  "What is it, Calen?" I ask when he doesn't continue.

  "Nothing. It could just be PTSD or another form of coping. Your emotional balance is off. You're unstable in—"

  "Do NOT tell me I'm unstable! I'm not a science experiment in a beaker. I'm a human being. I'm a—" I take a deep breath, fighting to stay in control. This kind of anger is something I'm a lot more comfortable with, but the outburst of it is still hard to deal with. I pull on years of training and level my gaze on Calen.

  "I'm sorry."

  "I know. Don't worry, T. I'm here now and we'll figure it out." This time when he opens his arms, I step into them willingly.

  Calen and Blake have always tried to remind me of the basic human needs. They tried to give me hugs when I was little and make sure to tell me I was part of their family. Now, Calen is once again doing that for me. Even with his sister missing, he's still looking out for me.

  He leads me over to the bed, settling me down in front of him before reaching for his first-aid kit. Because we've been here before, I don't have to ask and he doesn't have to tell me. I strip down to my tank top and shorts as he takes out disinfectant wipes and gauze.

  "They sure did a number on you," he says, looking over my bruised body. With some effort, I follow his gaze and it lands on my skin where it's turning a nasty shade of purple and yellow. There are a few cuts on my arms, on my side, and my leg. The big one on my arm still bleeds when I pull on it, because I didn't even bother covering it completely. Surprisingly, Calen doesn't berate me, he just gets to work patching my battered body. I grit my teeth against the pain and ask the question that's been bothering me since the moment he got here.

  "Calen, how did you find me?"

  2.

  He pretends not to hear me, but I know better.

  "Calen..."

  "What?"

  "How did you find me?" I wait, hoping I don't have to beat the answer out of him. I think a part of him knows it might come to that if he doesn't answer truthfully. After all, he knows me well. He finishes doctoring my arm and wraps it securely in fresh gauze before responding.

  "Uncle has a tracker on you. We knew where you were the whole time. We just knew you needed a few days to yourself."

  "What?" I'm outraged, but when I try to stand, Calen pushes me back down. Gently, but firmly.

  "Stop moving. I'm not done." I glare at the top of his head, breathing heavily. What is wrong with everyone? What part ofI want to be left alone do they not understand? People who get close to me get hurt. Blake is a prime example of that. And if they don't get hurt, they betray me and then I'm the one left hurting.

  "Where is it?" I ask, still glaring at Calen. I went through everything I had on me, to make sure I was untraceable. I dumped all of my possessions, except for the clothes on my back. "Calen!"

  "It's almost out of your system." He mumbles the words, but I hear them anyway, as if he’d shouted them right into my ear. At first, they don't register. Out of my system? What the what? And then just like that, it clicks.

  "He put something IN me?" I jump to my feet, toppling Calen to the ground. I stalk away from him, my hands reaching to claw at my skin. "Where is it, Calen? WHERE is it?" I advance on him, my body humming with the need to beat it out of him. Instead, I grab for the covers on the bed and fling them across the room. My hands run over my skin.

  Scratching.

  Pulling.

  Rubbing.

  The boy in question gives me a moment to regain my composure, right before he tackles me. We land on the floor, as he pins me between his body and what's left of the carpet.

  "Stop, Anastasia. Stop it."

  He holds my arms above my head, straddling me around the middle. He's strong, but I know I can still take him. It's the use of my full name that stops me. No one uses it. Not until Logan. Just the thought of him brings a sharp pain to my heart and just like that I'm calm. Calen stays on top of me for a moment longer, making sure I'm not going to attack myself or him, before getting up. I get to my knees, feeling desperate.

  Calen doesn't say anything, allowing me to collect my thoughts. I don't know how long we sit on the dirty floor, but a chill runs over my body and I know I have to speak.

  "What is happening to me, Calen?" I whisper, fear evident in my voice. These off the wall reactions come on as suddenly and as fast as a bullet from a snipers gun. I can't catch a break on my own thoughts because I'm trying so hard to keep it all together.

  "I don't know, T. " He reaches for one of my hands, giving it a little squeeze, and I hold on to it like a lifeline. There's always been a special pull between Calen and me and right now, I needed it more than I need anything else. He could always break through my defenses, even when we were little, and calm me somehow. He gives me a few more minutes to pull myself together before speaking.

  "You ready?" Calen asks, and after receiving a nod, helps me back up on the bed. He gets right back down to work, fixing the damage I caused.

  "Uncle Freddie put a tracker in the cream you used the l
ast time you were at the basement," he says after a pause. I look up at him sharply, but surprisingly, I don't blow a gasket. Taking a deep breath, I keep calm enough. He studies me to make sure I'm not going to lose it before continuing on. "He tested it on me a few months back. It's perfectly safe and a lot easier to conceal if you're being checked for those kinds of things. It's still a prototype model and it washes off after a few times. It doesn't get imbedded that far into your skin."

  "So, you're telling me I've been walking around with a beacon on my skin for four days now?"

  "It's a low frequency, Tasia. Uncle knows where to look for it, but no one else would. They wouldn't even stumble on it by accident. You're perfectly safe."

  Ha. I almost laugh at that word.Safe. I don't even know what that means anymore. I don't know if I'll ever be able to feelsafe. Maybe not until every person at Kallos pays for their sins. But maybe, not even then. Can you truly feel safe when the demons inside you won't leave? I will forever be hunted by my own monsters, and how do you run from that?

  "So what now?" I ask, getting my mind back to the problem at hand. I can't exactly be thinking about the far away future, when I don't know if I'll live through today.

  "I think we should test your blood. See if there's anything in your system that doesn't belong."

  "You think they did something to me while I was unconscious."

  It's not really a question, because it's the same thing I've been thinking since I've started getting these episodes. It's just nice to know that I'm notcompletely crazy: Calen witnessed it too and there might be a reasonable explanation for my odd behavior.

  "I think it's a huge possibility. You said so yourself, Foster played with you for months—" Calen drifts off, because he doesn't want to say the words that still haunt me in my dreams.

  "Because I'm a science project." Calen cringes at my words, but doesn't interrupt. "He needed to test my abilities, to see what his scientists have accomplished. I wouldn't put it past him to do it all over again."