Scarred by Vengeance (Titanium Book 2)

by Valia Lind

  He's out of breath when he finishes speaking, the intensity behind his words shining in his eyes. I stare at him, amazed and bewildered, because whatever I expected, I never expected this. But I feel the embers stirring.

  The fire catches.

  Bursts.

  Burns hotter.

  The mind and body realigns itself to the purpose it was created for.

  If after everything Calen has been through, he still has this kind of faith in me, then I know I can do it: I can fix the wrongs. I lost Kyle a long time ago, but I gained Blake and Calen. Forgetting that is no longer an option.

  I take a step toward him and then, I'm in his arms. He holds me close to his chest, his heart beating as if in reassurance. Half of the time, I may not feel human. What Kallos did to me might not make me fully so, but it's not about them.

  This is personal.

  This is about family.

  This is about payback.

  Just like that, my mind is once again my own. The panic and doubts are gone, safely locked away in the vault in my mind. At least for now.

  I push back, looking up at Calen's reassuring face.

  "I need to talk to Uncle Freddie."

  4.

  "It's good to see your face, Hummingbird."

  I smile at the computer screen: my thoughts exactly. It's only been a few days, but I can see the wears on his face. He's aged a few years in a matter of hours and I try not to claim the blame to that either.

  "I've missed you too, Uncle Freddie."

  Calen hovers just over my left shoulder, a small smile on his face at our exchange.

  "You feeling better?" Uncle asks, watching me carefully. I nod my head, glancing back at Calen.

  "Yes. Calen gave me a piece of his mind, helping me reevaluate my priorities. No more pity parties."

  "You are entitled to them." Uncle Freddie says, all laughter gone from his eyes.

  "True. But my timing could be better." I don't want to continue this discussion any farther because I've had enough heart to heart conversations to last me a lifetime. I run my hand over my necklace, reclaiming some focus. I need to get back to work.

  "What can you tell me about Kallos' movements?"

  Uncle Freddie must see the determination in my eyes because he doesn't question the change of subject, but gets right down to work. I notice his eyes squinting in concentration on something on the screen before the chat box pops up on my own.

  "I pulled a few files from the bugs you've implanted at the main office. There's not much there, they're being way more careful now that they verified your existence and your involvement. But there are a few shipment spreadsheets and some numbers for expected deliveries." I pull up the documents he sent me, scanning the pages. He's right, there's not much here to give us a good starting point. I'm not sure where to go if I don't have a roadmap to follow.

  "What about Blake?" I'm thankful my voice doesn't crack at the mention of her. I try to keep the image of her laughing and carefree at the forefront of my mind so I don’t lose myself in despair.

  "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

  After that, there's not much left to say. I promise Uncle Freddie to check in and we log off, both of us full of discouragement. Calen and I don't say anything either as we both pull up the information Uncle Freddie sent us to go over it in detail. My mind memorizes the names and numbers even before I read them completely. At least my brain seems to be functioning normally, well normally for me.

  After another thirty minutes of staring at the screen, I can't take it anymore. Standing up, I head to the fitness room without a word. I need to work off some of this nervous energy.

  Calen doesn't comment, but I feel his eyes following me across the room. I know a part of him expects me to have all the answers, even if he won't verbalize it. I hate that I keep disappointing him.

  Almost racing into the room, I shove the door open with a bang, and head straight for the punching bag. I don't even bother to wrap my hands, the need for physical violence overpowering me. I can feel the unpredictability rising inside me and I fight for control. I'm getting better at keeping whatever they did to me under wraps, but sometimes my emotions almost take over.

  I ram my left fist into the bag sending it swinging, before my right one connects on the other side, hitting it twice. I repeat the pattern, the sound of my knuckles hitting the leather is almost comforting. My body swings with the movements, the pain of physical exhaustion starting up in my bones.

  As my skin turns red from the impact, my mind drifts back to the time I tried to teach Blake self-defense. The girl will try almost anything and more often than not, she's good at it. Kickboxing was not as fun for her, because she's always been more of a lover than a fighter.

  "Blake, how many times do I have to tell you? You need to plant your feet. I swing in your direction and you're stumbling before my arm even connects with your body."

  "Sorry, Tasia. Not everyone is so good at this kicking butt stuff as you are."

  I laugh at her whiny tone because I know it's bugging her that she can't get it. "Also, how come Calen doesn't have to be tortured like this?"

  "Because Calen already knows how to protect himself. We've trained together while you were off in one of your music classes."

  "Nothing wrong with that!" Blake grumbles, taking a swing at the bag I place in front of her. She connects, just barely, yanking her arm back in pain. "Ouch!"

  "I told you to keep your thumb out. Come on, Blake." I roll my eyes, trying to suppress my laughter. The look on her face is something between a toddler ready to throw a fit and a lost puppy.

  "Come on, You! How come I can't wear gloves?"

  "I swear, if you would put as much effort into actually hitting the bag than you do into asking all the questions, we'd be done by now. And you're not wearing gloves because you won't be wearing gloves if you're attacked on the street."

  "I also probably wouldn't be using kickboxing as my method of self-defense. I'd just kick him in his little brain and run for the hills. You can come and take care of him yourself afterward." I can't help but chuckle at her words.

  I'm smiling now as I think of that day. My perfect memory allows me to remember every little move she made, making it that much more real in my mind. Blake always gave me plenty of grief about my methods, but she also always paid attention. A part of me really hopes that she put up a crazy fight and scratched up a few faces when they took her.

  I move onto another set of punches and kicks, sweat running down my skin.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  My mind brings up pictures of the men and women working for Kallos as my fist connects with their faces.

  They've had her for five days now. Five full days of doing who knows what to her. I don't want to think of all the scenarios that can play out and instead focus on keeping my cool. Just thinking about Blake is sending my emotions on a fritz and if I'm to learn how to control the uncontrollable urges, then I need to do it now, in the confines of my own space.

  Tears run down my face as I will my arms and legs to keep with the rhythm. Only three days ago, I would've been on my hands and knees bawling, but now I can actually push through the overpowering emotions and keep on going. I haven't told Calen that I've made progress yet, I don't want him to get his hopes up.

  Maybe they put some kind of a drug in me. Maybe they used the same drug we discovered in that clinic. Maybe, because of who I am and how I've been programmed, I react differently.

  Programmed.

  I can't get away from that word. I can't get over it. There are still so many secrets buried within the depths of my mind. So many things that Foster never mentioned, my parents never knew. I want all the answers now, but I'm not sure if I'd be able to handle them.

  I don't even know when I stopped moving. Suddenly, I realize I'm curled up on the floor, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as I cry silent tears. Shaking my head, I push myself up to a s
itting position, wiping at the tears fiercely.

  This is progress, but it's still not enough. I can't allow the intensity of these emotions to rule me so much that I don't even know what I'm doing. I need to be out there, looking for Blake, putting in those miles on the street. But I can't trust myself enough to do so just yet.

  The anger comes again, fast and strong. I scream at the bag in front of me, the rage coming through in my jerky movements.

  I punch.

  I kick.

  I tear.

  And then, I'm me again.

  Exhausted, I slump to the floor. My hair is in my eyes, my knuckles are bloody. Tears are mixed with sweat. I feel movement by the door before I see it. Calen stands in the doorway, arms at his sides.

  "You're getting there. Don't give up."

  After he vocalizes his thoughts, he turns and walks away, leaving me to deal with this on my own, because he knows me so well. Taking a deep breath, I stand up and go again.

  * * *

  "Tasia."

  I know Calen has been calling my name for some time without even turning around. His voice finally penetrates my concentration and I stop swinging at the bag to catch my breath. Grabbing my water bottle, I meet his concerned gaze before shifting it down to see what's in his hands. He's holding a sandwich.

  "You need to eat. You've been at this for hours."

  He's not criticizing, just stating a fact and I'm thankful. The look on my face seems to give him the go ahead, so he closes the distance between us and hands me the plate of food. I take it, grateful that I have someone looking out for me. Then, pause. Even being grateful is a new emotion for me.

  "Did you find anything new?" I ask between bites. Sitting down on the floor, I stretch my legs out in front of me and lean against the wall. Calen follows suit before replying.

  "There's not much. I keep running a sweep over any information coming in through the main computers, but it's all regular work related stuff. I've got nothing."

  He sounds resigned and I feel the same. But I won't allow the root of disappointment take place. I've been practicing at categorizing my emotions, only using those that are needed. Right now, I need to be strong for Calen. Much like he's been strong for me.

  "It's only the beginning of the week. I'm sure more information will come in within the next few days. Meanwhile, we'll do another blood test tomorrow, to make sure whatever drug was in my system is now gone. I feel like it's almost gone and when it is, I can finally concentrate better."

  I know Calen is listening to me but he looks a million miles away. I punch him lightly in the shoulder, bringing his full attention back to me.

  "And you, my dear friend, need to get some sleep. You look even worse than I feel. And that's saying something." He chuckles, but doesn't disagree. Instead, he reaches over, squeezes my knee, and gets up off the floor.

  "You should take your own advice, T. Sleep would do you some good."

  Waving in my general direction, he leaves before I can comment. He's been giving me my space, and while that is exactly what I need, I don't think that's what he needs at all. It's weird to think that I'm suddenly so attune to the needs of others. I've never been that person before. Maybe when I was little. Yet, here I am, thinking of what Calen needs instead of myself.

  He needs his sister.

  I get off the floor, my heart heavy with the knowledge that she's not here to make it all better. Finishing off my sandwich, I head for the bathroom, pausing long enough to check on Calen. He's already laying down, face first, legs and arms spread out to hug the bed. When he sleeps, he sleeps.

  When we were little and we used to have sleepovers on the floor in front of the TV, Calen would take up half the room with his long limbs. My heart pangs with the memories of yesterdays and the bliss of being a little kid, without a care in the world. True, I've never truly been that kid since the day my family was murdered. But Blake and Calen made me forget, if only for a night, that I was broken, helping me feel whole. Made me feel part of a family. I wanted that back.

  I leave Calen sleeping and head in the direction of my room. The house is quiet, but I can hear the sound of computers buzzing in the main office. I stop there on my way, making sure the alarms are set and smile when I see that they are. Calen will always make sure everything is where it needs to be before he takes a breather.

  Feeling better, I grab my towel and pajamas before turning the bathroom light on. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I almost gasp. No wonder Calen didn't quite know how to approach me.

  I look feral.

  My hair is half plastered to my head, half doing who knows what. My face is flushed, sweat dripping down my temples. My clothes are sticking to me, puddles of sweat pooling under my arms, stomach and back. But even after all that, I look much more like myself. Much more lethal.

  It makes me smile.

  I get in the shower, letting the water run over my skin, soothing my mind and body. I'm not sure about other people, but being in the shower always makes me feel better. It makes me pause and think. It gives me time to think without rushing. It's not something I allow myself to do very often.

  However, right now, maybe for the first time in a long time, my mind is blank. I have worked through so much anger, that I feel more controlled than I've felt in days. I try to come up with something to go over in my mind, but the exhaustion has finally seems to catch up with me. I'm not sure how I make it through the standard shower motions, because the next thing I know, I'm in my bed. I climb under the covers, not bothering to shut off the light, and then I'm dreaming.

  There is a film in the air, this kind of a heavy presence that keeps me from seeing farther than five feet in front of me. I realize I'm standing in a field, but that's all I can say for sure. A cool breeze disturbs the fog for a minute and suddenly, I'm shivering. I glance down and find myself in a dress. My hand runs over the silky material, that barely comes up to my knees, swaying in the wind. It's green, much like the color I wore on the day I met Logan. The meeting I actually remember.

  As if my thoughts conjure him up, he's there. He stands barely a foot in front of me, watching me silently. The fear and betrayal dance together underneath my skin and I can't seem to move away. Or forward. The emotions are keeping me rooted in place. His eyes cutting into me like a knife.

  I feel pain, then warmth. I look down and find I'm bleeding from the wounds on my arms. The blood runs down, pooling at my fingerprints.

  I can't push the panic away.

  I can't concentrate on stopping the bleeding.

  I can't seem to breathe.

  "Anastasia. Stop." Logan's voice breaks through the fog in my mind, my eyes snap up to meet his. He's closing the distance between us, and in the next breath, his hands are on my arms. He places his palms over my wounds, watching me with an intensity that can be defined as purely Logan.

  "Breathe, Princess. I'm not going to hurt you. Not unless you let me."

  The way he says the words, so matter of fact, snap me from my self pity. Just as suddenly as I was bleeding, I'm not. I wretch my arms away from him, taking a step back.

  "Unless I let you? You've already hurt me, Logan. You've hurt me more than you can even imagine." I'm shouting the words, wielding them as if they're actual weapons. My rage is once again my own. My control and anger fueling me like they should.

  "You betrayed me. You used me. You made me believe that I—" I inhale a gulp of air, refusing to give in to the need to cry. "You did the one thing that you knew, you KNEW, would destroy me. You made me trust you."

  "But did you?" Now he's shouting. "Did you ever actually trust me? If you trusted me, you would've let me explain. You wouldn't have—"

  "No!" I scream, stopping him in his tracks. "You don't get to make excuses, you don't get to lie to me anymore. I'm in control again. I found my center. I found MYSELF."

  I keep screaming, shouting over his words. Drowning him out.

  Forcing him into the darkest abyss of my mind
.

  Pushing him away.

  Pushing.

  Pushing.

  And then, just as suddenly as I appeared in the field, I'm back in that house.

  I'm still dressed in the blood soaked dress, I'm still shivering from the cold of the field. But now, there's another kind of a coldness that takes over. The dread of watching my family die all over again.

  I won't do it.

  I won't.

  I won't.

  The younger version of me is on the couch, so I know what she'll see next. I can't bare to watch again, so instead, I scream.

  I scream until my throat is dry.

  I scream until I can't breathe any longer.

  I scream until she looks up from her pain and meets my eyes across the darkness.

  Then I wake up.

  5.

  The next morning, Calen doesn't mention my screaming episodes.

  I know he heard me, because I felt the room shake after I woke up, covered in sweat. He's already at the work station when I finally make my way into the main room. He gives me a look, then motions in the direction of the kitchen. I squeeze his shoulder as I walk past him, feeling the tension vibrating there. He's coiled tighter than a guitar string and it breaks my heart all over again, just seeing him like this.

  Here I go again, with the heart comment again. Even mentioning it this much is a new thing for me and I'm honestly getting a little tired of it. What the heck happened to that tough girl I used to be? Did years of training get ruined by one guy? I'm a pathetic excuse of myself and I'm getting mad.

  I almost break the cup, slamming it on the table, after I pour my coffee. I grab a piece of bread and drop it in the toaster, before taking a sip of the heavenly nectar. And once again, I'm trying to not think about the guy who loved it as much as I do. It always made me feel a little bit special when he brought me a cup, even thought I'd never actually admit it to him.

  When I reach to grab the piece of bread from the toaster, I burn my fingers a little. The sting of pain brings some clarity to my wondering mind, thankfully. I don't even bother putting anything on toast, just grab my cup and head back to Calen. Apparently, I'm not allowed to be left alone with my thoughts. At all.