Page 20 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

T he drive back to base seemed endless. They took his blindfold off after a while.

A morose drizzle painted the car windows and the trees swayed to the tune of the wind.

A storm was coming. Trish had insisted on the blindfold part of the way and Thane had complied, knowing that it didn’t matter—Lirian already had all the coordinates.

Thane didn’t speak the entire ride back, and neither did Trish, though she kept cutting glances at him—quiet, thoughtful ones that made his hair stand at end.

The silence between them felt brittle, like an ancient bridge just waiting for the right amount of pressure.

He kept his eyes on the passing scenery, but his thoughts dragged elsewhere.

She must have been vulnerable once. Trish’s body was a weapon now, yes, but also a temptation.

Slick heat, breathless groans, nails holding him to her, fingers clenching like she needed him.

She always came fast and hard, like it was candy which could be snatched away, not pleasure.

And he’d taken her, used her for what it was. A job. A means to an end.

So, why did he feel like he needed to peel his skin off?

Because every time afterward he felt that hollow echo. That creeping unease when he looked at her face and found nothing behind the eyes.

What happened to you? he wondered, casting Trish a side glance she didn’t catch.

What makes a woman this beautiful so goddamn empty inside?

Something in her past had carved her up and left only calculation and malice behind. The cruel little smiles. The deadpan expression. The unblinking stares when pain filled a room.

She made his skin crawl now, not from lust but from recognition. He was more like her than he wanted to admit.

Ever since the warehouse—no, since before, when he first laid eyes on her—his mind kept turning to someone else entirely.

Theodora.

It couldn’t be her, could it? No, it was just…the ghost of her. The idea of someone he thought had burned to ash two decades ago.

Blonde hair. Blue, haunted eyes.

He hadn’t consciously thought of the girl he left behind in months, though she still haunted his dreams. But every time he saw pale gold hair or heard a voice too steady for its years, she rose again like a phantom limb.

His fingers dug into the side of his thigh as he worked to keep his gaze on the passing countryside.

It had been twenty years. Even if she’d somehow survived the fire, she wouldn’t have survived the aftermath. Not in this world, not in this trade.

Kids had short shelf lives, brutally short. Most of them didn’t make it past twelve. And the ones who did weren’t kids anymore. They were ghosts in skin.

So why the hell did his mind keep conjuring her?

Why did those azure eyes keep surfacing every time he blinked?

Was his mind playing tricks on him? A guilty conscience, half-rotted but still twitching? Or was it something worse—that hidden part of him that hadn’t accepted what happened, that still held out hope in the most useless, painful corner of his charred black heart?

He exhaled slowly, the breath fogging the window.

Get your head straight, he told himself. She’s gone. Let the dead rest in peace.

But the ghost didn’t leave.

Back at the base, Malcom was waiting. He didn’t waste time. “Inside. All of you.”

The office had the familiar smell of stale cigarettes and cheap disinfectant. Malcom leaned against the edge of the desk, his fingers drumming absently.

“There’s a big shipment coming in through the docks.”

Thane gave a single nod, nothing more.

Malcom hesitated for a second, then went on. “We’ll be getting some help on-site this time. We can’t afford any hiccups.”

He didn’t name any names, but Thane knew Lirain must already be neck-deep in the dock rota for the day, looking for the ‘help’.

“The drop-offs within forty-eight hours,” Malcom continued, eyes sliding to Thane. “We’ll let you know when the merchandise is ready. You’ll get first pick.”

Thane gave a curt nod, giving nothing away.

Malcom waved him off with a flick of fingers. “Make yourself scarce ‘til there’s more to share. Don’t need you hovering. Disappear until we contact you.” He turned to Trish. “You’ll be looped in when I say so.”

She gave a sharp nod, no questions asked.

As they left the room, Thane caught movement in his periphery.

Ricky stood near the stairs, eyes locked on him with that same unsettling gleam.

Something behind the grin didn’t add up.

There was a curious light there. Thane stared right back, jaw set.

They held each other’s gaze for a breath too long before Ricky smiled lazily and looked away.

Outside, the cold hit him like a slap.

“You want to head out back?” Trish asked, voice low and sultry.

Thane forced a smile. “Mind if I take a rain-check? Maybe after the heavy lifting’s done.”

Her eyes held his for a second too long before she gave a shrug and walked off without another word.

As he turned toward the barracks, Ricky brushed past him with a shoulder-check. “Watch your back,” he murmured, lips barely moving. “I have eyes on you. You will trip up, and when you do, I will put a bullet between your eyes.”

Thane just watched him go, the chill creeping deeper into his bones. Instinct screamed that things were not going to go according to plan.

They would need to move carefully.

Everything was shifting, and the ground beneath him was getting shakier.

But Thane had danced on thin ice before.

He could do it again.