Page 119 of Echoes of War

I hated this. Hated myself for it because I was reminded about how much I fucking loved it. The thrill that it gave me seeing someone terrified of what I was capable of. It went against everything I tried so hard not to be, fought to come back from.

I didn’t want to be this way, not anymore. Amaia didn’t deserve this version of me.

She had only ordered us to kill him after we got the information we needed, but she had never said anything about torture. How else did she expect us to break him? Talking? A cackle released from the depths of my chest at that. Surely, she had to assume torture would be the only option when dealing with a soldier. Amaia was strong as hell; she herself wouldn’t give away Compound secrets even if it meant her death. It’s why I knew she was willing to die for this place if Covert got their dirty hands on her tomorrow.

Maybe she had been under the assumption that said torture would have been the kind Riley conducted. The mental kind, not what I was doing. Not the maiming and cutting.

Finley had been different. She had expected the worst behavior from me, had been drawn to anything morbid with fascinationin her eyes. But my girl didn’t deserve the kind of beast that I was. She didn’t even heed the warnings Sloan and so many others had cautioned her about. Amaia had heard their words, but I could tell when she looked at me, she saw someone in pain who had suffered and could heal. I didn’t want her to know the version of me that they all knew existed. Would she accept me if she saw it firsthand?

My girl had seen me kill but not … not this. This was the stuff I’d watched my father do to traitors, snitches, when he needed to force people into his business dealings to meet his demands. What I’d just done was my own sick creative twist I’d taken on my father’s work and used in St. Cloud. But as a result of the fun I’d had, I hadn’t failed her. I’d gotten Amaia the answers she desperately needed and made this sick son of bitch suffer for what had happened to Prescott. I would do this for her all over again too if she asked, even if it cost me her love.

Amaia

My fingers tapped against the desk I’d become accustomed to sitting behind over the years. If I stopped moving, stopped fidgeting, I was scared of what I would do. Falling back on old coping mechanisms would kill us all, remaining strong in this moment was the only option I had.

Harley laid across my feet, Suckerpunch at the door as I ran over my battlefield plans repeatedly, making sure everyone had their place and was accounted for. If we played our cards right, we could survive another day. That was all we could do for now. Joining all our armies as one to move on Covert Province was no longer a possibility. A shared battlefield of equal grounding would have to wait; for now, we just had to survive the night.

War was not won by a single battle, but rather the collection of strategic moves made. A battle here, a battle there. In the endthere would be one winner. While I hoped we would be victorious down the line, I had to focus on my people for the moment because this battle of death was imminent.

This wouldn’t be a battle to be won, but a battle to survive. I wouldn’t waste the opportunity to see how dirty Covert could fight. The Prescott in me had me eager to use this as a chance for them to show us what they were made of and how exactly we could move to crush them in the future.

Survive long enough to fight tomorrow’s battle.

I reached into my bottom drawer, pulling out the tattoo kit I’d forgotten about for some time. Clearing up space on my desk, I pushed the paperwork aside, lining up the pots of dark ink on the polished wood. Removing the corks with my teeth, I spit it out, dunking the needles into the alcohol in a small container within the kit. It took everything in me not to drink it.

Bracing for pain, I brought my arm to the desk, running my fingers across theMemento Moritext that was fading by the day. All that meant to me was that it needed a new addition. Sunlight filtered into the room, dust dancing before my face and I smiled at the angry face I’d grown to care so deeply about. His face didn’t soften as he took me in, his hand absentmindedly greeting the dogs.

“Are you okay?” I asked gently.

“I was coming here to check on you, who cares how I feel?” Alexiares grumbled, eyes darting down to the mess scattered about on the desk. “Are you tattooing yourself?” Humor filled those honey brown eyes, and I sighed in relief.

“Maybe,” I smirked, kicking the chair out on the other side for him to take a seat.

He huffed a laugh, reaching out to grab the needle from my hand. “Give me that and let a real artist do their job. What are we doing today, princess?”

“I didn’t know you were a tattoo artist.”

“One of my many, many, failures in life according to my father. It wasn’t for long anyway, but you never lose the skill.” His voice tightened, clearing his throat as he looked up at me, awaiting my response.

I studied him for a moment, tapping the skin where I wanted the words. “Memento Vivere.”

He blinked, then got to work without protest. Halfway through, he paused, mumbling, “Remember you will die, so remember to live.”

Nodding, I added on, “For Prescott and every other person I love who this fucking world has taken from me.”

“You want to drink, don’t you?” Alexiares asked, noticing the shaking of my knee that had nothing to do with the pain that I was in.

I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he said, scooting the alcohol over to me, placing the needle down. “Go ahead.”

One thing about this man was that he had no fucking problem catching me off guard, pushing me. And while I’d appreciated it in the past, I couldn’t handle it right now. Especially with the temptation being so strong, I couldn’t fail my people. I refused to fail Prescott.

“What …” I stammered.

“If you want to throw it all away, then go ahead. I can’t stop you. I can help you, but only if you want help.”

My flames threatened to coat my skin in anger. Then I considered the weight of his words.Damn him, he was right. I had a role to fill, one that I’d been dreading. It had always been Prescott’s dream for me to fall into his position, fill his shoes when his time here on earth was up. I never thought it would come to pass, assumed I’d always be first given my line of work.

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