Revenge Against the Scoundrel

The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Modern Revenge Scheming

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"Victor..." I couldn't help but let out a moan. His torso pressed against mine, and with a dirty smirk plastered on his face, he went deeper with every move of resistance I made.

How did it end up like this?

*******************

Carrie's POV

What would you do if your father and twin brother were burnt to ashes right in front of you? Or if your pregnant mother was murdered in cold blood, and all you could do was watch?

I don't know about you, but for me, there was only one path: revenge.

My name is Caroline Slane. I was only 8 years old when my family was taken away from me by the elusive notorious Mafia Boss, only known as The Reaper. A man rumored to be the devil himself, his very name brings a wave of death and devastation. That night-the rain soaked into my skin, the flames crackled and popped as everything I loved burned before my eyes. I remember every second of it. The smell of smoke still haunts me, clinging to my skin as if it'll never let me forget.

Surviving the streets of Los Angeles as an eight-year-old orphan was a nightmare. Every night was a fight against the cold, hunger gnawing at my insides. I wasn't living-I was barely surviving. That was until I met Mr. Graystone, a Russian top assassin masking as a businessman. He took me in and trained me to fight. To survive in ways I never imagined. Under his care, I became faster, stronger, a weapon in human form. It was only fair I paid him back by becoming one of his assassins; for you see, Mr Graystone was the leader of an organization called The Shadow; here, we help our clients get rid of unwanted pests, and we always get the job done.

"Caroline... I see you every day push yourself beyond your limit," Mr Graystone said as he watched me train. His thick Russian accent echoed all over the room. I could sense a bit of unease from the way he spoke

I wiped the sweat from my brow. "Limits are in the mind, sir. They're only real if you believe in them."

He slowly walked closer, hands clasped behind his back, "You know Caroline..." he started, "My people often say; Месть - это огонь, который сжигает душу, поглощая всё тепло, пока не останется любви. Do you know what it means?"

"No sir". Of course not, do I look like I speak Russian?

"It simply means, Revenge is a fire that burns the soul, consuming all warmth until no love remains." He was trying to dissuade me, but I wasn't buying it. His words were just noise- Love? Warmth? Those things didn't matter to me. Not anymore.

I didn't care about what Mr Graystone or anyone else said to me; what I wanted was vengeance, and I wasn't going to stop until I had The head of The Reaper in my hands.

I swear this on my family's grave!

When I wasn't training or taking out a target, I was working at Midland Hospital as a nurse. I didn't care about the patients or their well-being-Hell no! Blood fascinated me, and the hospital gave me access to the medical equipment I needed for my own purposes. It was quite a convenient cover.

******************

It was just another busy day in the ER. The steady beep of heart monitors and the sharp smell of anJtiseptic filled the air. The sound of ambulance sirens grew louder, and I could see through the windows as they rushed someone in.

Then I saw her-Camilla Estella, the famed model, Barely alive, She had bruises all over, bruises that didn't look like the kind you'd get from your usual accident.

"Something must've happened," I muttered, not realizing I'd spoken loud enough for others to hear.

"Yeah, no kidding," Dr. Jordan, the head surgeon, snapped. "Now get your ass in there!"

Three hours. That's how long it took. And still, we couldn't save her. She died at 11:59 AM. Jordan handed me the paperwork and gestured for me to break the news to her loved ones. Typical. He loved sending me to the war front, watching me deliver bad news while he hid behind his office door.

I went into the waiting room and met a young man standing by the windows. The breeze from the open window rustled the curtains, revealing his face in the dim light. I knew that face. How could I forget it? It was none other than Victor, the only son of the Reaper, the man I swore to kill.

I quickly adjusted my face mask, concealing more of my already hidden face. My pulse quickened, every instinct telling me to strike, but I couldn't-not here.

How is she?" His voice was ice-cold and devoid of emotion. He didn't even look at me as he spoke.

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