Page 64 of Painted Scars
I tip my head. “Isn’t going after Blackthorn frowned upon in your Order?”
“I’ve never met him, and I’m not one of them.” Her voice sours. “Charles Huntington raped my mother and used his connections to make sure nothing stuck in her paternity case.”
She takes a deep breath through her nose to steel herself.
“Huntington had the judge disbarred, trashed my mom’s name, got her fired and evicted.” She sniffs. “She crawled back to her parents with nothing.”
No wonder Kate’s records are sealed tighter than the Vatican vaults.
“Fuck, Glitter Bomb.” I press my visor to her forehead, soaking up the storm in her so it doesn’t break her from the inside.
“I’m one of three confirmed bastard children,” she whispers, pulling away. “I think there’s more. The other two weren’t so lucky. Mom eventually got paid child support and saved every penny, giving it to me when I turned twenty-five for a down payment on this house. I almost lost it when Blackthorn ruined everything.”
I run a hand over the top of my helmet to stop myself from tracking Huntington down. “Some men were never meant to be fathers.”
Her eyes flick to the ceiling, caught somewhere between memory and agony. “Huntington reached out to me once to score PR points to get me the job at The Reporter. Told me I should thank him and be grateful. I told him to get fucked and never call me again. That was almost three years ago.”
Romans don’t do remorse. Only cover—ups and casualties that leave scars or gravestones.
I brush hair back from her face, needing to see every inch of her. She doesn’t melt like she did before. “Don’t give up. There are still witnesses. The judge, for one.”
“If he’s willing to talk,” she replies.
I rake a hand over my neck. “Everyone’s willing if you find the right leverage.”
A different kind of fire lights her eyes, one that doesn’t burn but devours. “I’ve already got enough on Blackthorn.”
She’s planning to set fire to the whole fucking system and sprinkle glitter over their ashes. I’m here, sitting in the middle of it, wondering whether to stop her or light the match for her. Either way, she’s pulling me deeper into her current, and it’s getting harder to pretend I don’t want to be here.
I make my choice. Her. Spartacus. My friends and operatives. It’s not a strategy anymore, it’s personal. Somewhere between rescuing her multiple times, broken rules, and shattered judgment.
“I want to help you, Glitter Bomb. I want to destroy the Order. Get revenge on Blackthorne for what he did to you and me. If he knows you’re coming for him, we have days before he makes his next move.”
A week tops, if Katar’s trick pays off. If we’re lucky. I’m not sure I’ll be fast enough to stop what’s coming.
“You really think we can take them down?” Kate’s voice fills with doubt.
PJ3 leaps off the bed and trots to the window nook, growling outside, then flops down on the pillows like it’s nothing. I don’t miss the way his eyes stay trained on the shadows.
“You ready to burn them down with me, Glitter Bomb?” I propose. “Bonnie and Clyde-style? Or vigilante girl boss and grumpy bodyguard arc?”
“I love it when you talk tropey to me.” She chews her lip for a beat. “I know I shouldThink Twiceand Just Walk Away.” She sings the last bit, and just like that, Celine Dion is back with a vengeance.
Goddamn. I’m turning into a pussy who enjoys her quirks.
“I don’t want to check over my shoulder anymore.” Her voice hardens into steel. “Don’t want to be scared every night and wake up from nightmares. I want to destroy the bastard who’s raped over thirty women!”
There’s no dampening the fires of justice once they’ve caught.
Her defiant and rebellious gaze says she’s already made her decision. No fear or flinching, just the defiant spark that says she’s in. My brave little Glitter Bomb wants to explode hell for every woman silenced, for every story buried, and every secret locked behind Roman marble and blood money. And the selfish, vindictive part of me is letting her.
The other side of me, weary and war-torn, knows this isn’t one of her romance novels with revenge orgasms and righteous victory. This is real, messy, and unforgiving, and the ending may not leave her standing.
Both halves of me know she won’t give this up, not the pursuit of truth or the fight for justice. If she’s marching into the fire, I’ll be damned if I let her walk this path alone. Whatever happens in this war, I’ll burn everyone and everything to keep her safe.
She throws out her hand to shake. “Fuck it. I’ve always wanted to be morally gray. But I have one condition—we get glitter in our mugshots.”
I chuckle and clasp her hand, ready to sign a contract in blood. “Nothing less for my Glitter Bomb.”
