A Crazy Kind Of Love The End by Christabelradiance

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 Kickass Heroine Comeback Revenge

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The ballroom was a glitter cage. Chandeliers poured light into every corner, violins swooped over the buzz of money voices, and air had that wraithlike sheen of high perfume and greed. Elena Marlowe had never been so out of her depth in her life.

She stood on the periphery of the throng, black silk gown clinging to her form like a mourning shroud, the rim of the champagne flute chilled against her skin. She did not mingle. She did not come in order to be groomed like some man's trophy. She came as an assignee, a reluctant observer in a society that was alien to her. The thought caused a shiver along her spine.

And still, she could sense it-that pins-and-needles sensation of being watched.

Her spine tensed before she'd spun half around. He was the other side of the room, by the bar.

He didn't belong, either-not that the others did. When men swaggered and blustered, this one stayed silent, deadly, his black tuxedo fitted to a body that pulsed with power. He didn't need to intrude; he didn't need to be. He was adamant in a voice that boomed he never once heard the one word: no. His dark, inscrutable eyes fixed on hers as if the rest of the ballroom melted away.

Elena's own throat constricted. Something deep within her growled warning. She ripped her face away, only to feel the weight of his eyes still upon her.

A wrist was ensnared in a hand.

"Miss Marlowe," slurred the drunk smile of one of her editor's friends. His mouth whiskey-tasting, his grip too tight. "You are lovely. May I-"

"No," she snarled, trying to squirm loose.

The man just laughed, holding her closer. "Don't play games. I insist-"

"Let. Her. Go."

The voice cut through the noise like a knife. Smooth and cold and commanding.

Elena froze.

The man in the black suit materialized out of nowhere-huge, ominous, the acrid smell of his aftershave cutting and burning, reminiscent of the smell of heated metal fumes. His presence overwhelmed her, of a kind that warped the air itself.

The investor brushed her aside with a flinch under that intense scrutiny. Without a word, he melted into the crowd and disappeared.

There was a pause between Elena and the stranger. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her skin tingling with a presence that she could not shake.

"Are you all right?" His voice softened now, but no less commanding.

She swallowed. "I could have done it myself."

His brow furrowed. His lips curled, but not in a smile, a sneer of laughter at her expense. "Perhaps. But I dislike men playing with what does not belong to them."

The words hit her like a match to tinder. What in the world don't they have. Their haughtiness made her want to strike him-although the tone, the very commanding tone of it, sent sparks flying up her breast and terrified her.

"Excuse me?" she managed, her voice smaller than she wished.

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