CHAPTER 2 Reborn in Blood
908 Words
pain was the first thing to greet her.not the sharp piercing of a bullet in the ribs that she was expecting but the all consuming, heavy blanket of pain that made her skin crawl and chest burn like she was breathing glass. It came before thought, a biological protest to existence. Amara's eyes snapped open, a ragged breath clawed out of her throat as if her lungs had just filled with water. Her eyes snapped open, and her body sprang upwards, her spine stiff as adrenaline surged through her body. The world was a haze of grey and shadows for a dizzying second; her head was spinning violently and her vision wouldn't come into focus. She felt like a ghost trying to anchor itself into a body that wanted no part of it.... Still breathing? It was a rough, masculine voice too close for comfort. Amara froze, her breath catching with a sudden, sharp hitch. It wasn't Daniel's sweet, deceitful tone. It wasn't Serena's high-pitched poisonous whispers. The blood pounded in her ears, a deafening drumming sound, as she forced her eyelids open. Her gaze was met with the thin, ragged cracks on a dirty, stained ceiling. It was unlike the cool, mirrored surfaces of her high-floor, city center penthouse. This wasn't even the stark-white antiseptic glow of a hospital room. Something felt very wrong, undeniably wrong. As Amara attempted to shift her weight, her body refused and a piercing pain shot across her ribs. Stop, the voice commanded from above. It may rip if you do. Her gaze fell slowly across to the man beside her. He was like carved from granite, his mid-thirties face etched with what looked like strain and a constant, unfathomable expression behind eyes that gave absolutely nothing away. He wasn't wearing a doctor's coat, rather the rugged appearance of someone who dealt in physical combat rather than idle conversation. Where am I? She whispered, her voice like dry leaves skittering across pavement. He studied her closely; his gaze was a heavy thing she couldn't shake. Don't you remember? Amara's stomach dropped. I should? A suffocating silence fell between them. The man pulled back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his voice dipping an octave lower. You're in one of our safe houses. You were shot. Twice on your last job. You were shot because you got sloppy. They almost didn't pull you out in time. Job? It was a foreign word; it didn't fit with board rooms and takeover bids. Shot twice? Almost involuntarily, Amara's fingers brushed against her collarbone, then flew to press against her chest as if expecting the fatal hole Serena had put there with such vicious enjoyment. But it wasn't there, no bleeding hole and no hot slick of blood. Instead, she felt tightly wound bandages about her torso, further down and in a slightly different place to the wound she was expecting. No.... She whispered; it was all beginning to dawn on her. This body wasn't hers. Her skin felt too tight, her muscles too sinewy and her pulse too fast. Mirror, she demanded, her voice stronger. The man sighed heavily and pulled a cracked, small mirror from the drawer and placed it on the mattress next to her. She took it in her shaking hands and lifted it slowly. Her eyes widened. Staring back at her was a face so beautiful yet deadly it was a masterpiece of sharp edges, young, lean features, and bone structure that commanded fear. These weren't Amara Blake's eyes. This wasn't Amara Blake at all. Her breath came in sharp, panicked bursts. Her eyes closed and her head shook from side to side, her voice a low, negative murmur. This isn't possible. But the image was a truth that the flesh and bone dictated. As her mind raced and whirred through possibilities and confusion, a name, foreign yet insistent, surfaced through the mayhem. Ava Reed.Suddenly, her mind flashed with pictures of deeds she had never known. Cold weapons, back alleys, death, and untraceable transactions. No face, no attachments, no name. She was a contract killer. It isn't my life, she gasped, her voice cracking. I think you hit your head harder than you should have, the man mumbled. Amara- no Ava- looked sharply up at his face, her voice gaining a hard edge that cut through her lingering fear. Who am I? Ava Reed, he stated plainly. One of the best assassins in the network. It resonated with her, the title was potent and somehow fitting. A new life had been handed to her, a life far more superior than the pathetic existence Amara Blake had known. It had simply slipped through the cracks in fate and she intended to maximize her advantage. Good, she whispered with a slight, shadowed smile. Very good. She wasn't helpless anymore, wasn't blinded by foolish emotions and naive dreams. She was the weapon. And weapons didn't turn around, they only destroyed. Who shot me? Target put up a fight, he chuckled dryly. You missed your kill. I never miss, she whispered, her eyes darkening with a new spark. Who was it? He paused and the silence filled the room with a tense, almost palpable hum. Lucien Voss. The name hung in the air like a danger warning. Amara smiled, this time a genuine, predatory curve of her lips. She was just getting started. The hunter had become something else entirely. Something deadly. And new.
- Writer
