Page 5 of Heroes & Hitmen
Jordan’s the first to turn toward me. Her brows furrow, mouth parting like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out. Blake shifts beside me, wringing her hands, biting at the edge of her lip since she’s already demolished her fingernails. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly, the sound grating against the fragile quiet, like the world is trying to fill the space we can’t.
They’re both staring at me, waiting, but I don’t know what to say either. I look the same as when I walked into that office– lipstick pristine, bow perfectly tied, fingernails immaculate– yet I feel completely different now. Sick and hollow, as if I’ve already been peeled out of my skin and handed over.
I’ve been chosen.
Those words seem unreal, like they belong to someone else’s life.
I knew it would happen eventually. We all do. That’s the game– survive the perusals until the inevitable moment you're picked. But knowing doesn’t prepare you for when it actually happens. Not for the way it steals the air from your lungs and makes your life feel like it's no longer yours.
Jordan steps closer, fidgeting with her ring again. “Do you think you’ll at least be able to finish school?” she asks, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
The question guts me more than I expect. “Depends on where he’s from, I guess,” I murmur numbly. “And whether he allows it.”
I hate that I have to say that; that the rest of my life is now tethered to a stranger’s permission.
A bitter laugh slips from my throat, dry and humorless. “Not that it matters. The whole thing was a fantasy anyway.”
“Maybe not,” Blake whispers, nudging her shoulder against mine. “Maybe... maybe you can finish your classes online or something.”
I shake my head, more to clear the fog than to dismiss her hope.
Jordan exhales slowly, arms folding tighter across her chest. “It’s bullshit,” she mutters. “You shouldn’t have to give up everything just because some guy pointed at you like you’re a damn item on a menu.”
I blink hard, trying to hold back the sudden sting behind my eyes. “College wasn’t supposed to matter,” I say, my voice tightening. “It was just supposed to be a distraction, something to keep my mind off…this. But I actually liked it. I was good at it. Journalism made me feel like I had a voice…”
“Youdohave a voice,” Jordan cuts in fiercely. “You’re stillyou, Miley.”
“Am I?” The question slips out before I can stop it. I stare down at my hands, still folded obediently in front of me. “Because right now, I feel like something that’s been repackaged and handed off.”
We fall silent again, all at a loss for words.
Blake nudges closer, offering me a weak smile. “Do you want to come to my apartment?” she asks hopefully. “We can watch something dumb, eat ice cream, pretend none of this is happening for a few hours…”
“I’ve got wine,” Jordan chimes in with a smirk. “Let’s get blackout drunk, pretend we’re just normal college girls for a change.”
I look between my sisters, my breath catching in my throat at the realization that in a couple weeks, I may never see them again.
“I don’t want to pretend tonight,” I murmur, dropping my gaze to the floor. “Not yet. I just… need to feel it, first.”
Jordan abruptly steps forward, yanking me into a hug, and Blake joins a second later. The three of us stand there in the sterile hallway of the gleaming Tower with our arms wrapped tight, holding onto each other like it’s the only thing keeping us upright.
They don’t say anything else, and honestly, they don’t need to. There’s no stopping the chain of events that’s just been set in motion. My fate has been signed, sealed, and delivered, the inevitability of it hurtling toward me like a freight train.
And I’ve been tied to the tracks, powerless to save myself from being crushed beneath it.
CHAPTER 3
Ares
It’slate in the evening when I arrive in Chicago, the city streets bathed in artificial light beneath a dark, moonless sky. I’d planned to get an early start on my drive today, but dragging myself out of bed after too many whiskey shots at my going away party was rougher than anticipated. Not that I have any regrets. Last night was a perfect send-off, and I’m aiming to make my first night here just as memorable.
Shadows cling to the edges of the buildings lining the street as I ease my truck up to the curb, shifting the gear into park before reaching over to grab my phone off the passenger seat. Swiping across the screen to unlock it, I pull up my message thread with Nash, double-checking the address he sent to ensure I’m in the right place.
Nailed it.
I make a mental note of the apartment number, then slip my phone into my pocket, killing the truck engine. As I climb out, I suck in a lungful of cool night air. It smells and tastes different than the air back home– stale, tainted with pollution– and my eardrums are immediately flooded with the sounds of horns honking, people shouting, and the distant wail of sirens.
I’m definitely not in Stillwater anymore.
