Page 36 of The Deceptions

I suck in a breath, reminding myself that my lungs need the oxygen to survive. Blinking past the persistent memories flashing across my eyes, I stare at myself in the mirror. I force my gaze upon the person I’m about to become for however long this case takes to crack open.

Stop thinking about them. Stop thinking about what happened. Move forward. Take them down when the time is right.

Because that’s what I’ll do. I’ll stick to my job. To a fucking T. I won’t deviate, but I will bring them down. One by one. To their knees until Veritas drags them away and throws away the key.

They’re criminals and deserve the prison that awaits them.

“Liv,” Jordy's voice swims through the emotions piling high inside me and swirling like a storm ready to strike.

It's happening. It's real. I'm doing this.

I got this.

I'm okay.

Totally fucking okay.

I tilt my head, and the longer strands swoop over my temples and ears, tickling them, but not going over my shoulders like they normally do. Shaggy with uneven layers from a home done haircut, but yet, it suits me.

My gaze shifts to the long strands still lying on the ground unswept and mocking me.

We did it. We cut my hair. We made me into someone I’m not. All for the case.

My fingers run through the shorter strands, attempting to ground myself. Attempting to tell myself that my hair doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that I hadn't cut it in five years. Not since the night of their betrayal and the fire.

The long strands of my dark brown hair were my safety blanket. Hiding the physical trauma of that dreadful night. Concealing the betrayal I’d been subjected to by the ones I thought I could trust the most. Huxley. JJ. Mack. It hid the shame that festered behind my eyes. Never showing the world the stupid girl who fell for pretty words and ultimately fell and died at their hands. The long slash across my throat signifies the brutal end to our relationship, doled out by their blood-stained hands. The wounds may be healed. But the memories will forever be etched in the back of my mind, coming back at the worst possible time to haunt me.

Healing isn't walking away from the problem at hand and pretending it never existed. It's facing it head-on. And maybe apprehending the very people who killed you without a second thought.

Cutting my hair feels like I've jumped into the deep end of the pool, unable to swim to the surface, and I'm slowly sinking further into the darkness.

“Holy fuck,” Jordy says, poking the side of my face and bringing me back to reality. “You're really going to pull this off.It's too bad for your tits they—umph!” He groans, stumbling back.

Sexist bastard.

A frown etches across his lips as he rubs at his chest. The very chest I just punched with my full strength.

“You're very mean,” he pouts playfully. “That'll leave a bruise.”

Good. That’s what I was aiming for.

I level him with my best glare. “Leave my tits out of this,” I grumble, returning my attention to the person staring back at me in the mirror.

It’s unreal to see myself this way. Usually, it's wigs and false teeth. Maybe a little makeup to blend in. But this disguise is an entirely new playing field.

An entirely new person without trying hard.

Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I square my shoulders. An eerie sense of confidence bursts through me. I've got this. This entire situation isn't about me. This is about taking them down. Taking Franco to Hell, where he belongs.

Finally, getting the much-needed revenge I've wanted to enact for years.

“You might actually pull this off, Liv. Like seriously,” Jordy whistles, putting an arm over my shoulders. Leaning close, he whispers, “You fucking got this. You're a brave fucking warrior. We've been to Hell and back. Now's your chance to kick some ass.” He squeezes me tight and kisses my temple affectionately.

And then promptly ruins the moment by opening his damn mouth.

“You know, I could shave some of my—umph!” He gasps, backing away from me and rubbing his stomach while wincing. “Yeah, you're gonna kick ass. Those dudes don't know what's going to hit them. Seriously! You're violent.” He shakes his head with fake disappointment, but I see the truth shining in hissparkling eyes. He’s proud of me. Knowing how hard I’ve fought to overcome the screaming nightmares and my past constantly chasing me.

He's the one who had to pick up my pieces. Over and over again. It's a wonder why we've never dated or seen each other in that light.