Sucker (ON HOLD/INCOMPLETE)

1: First Thing to Go

Just like Troublemaker, this book will also have a playlist/soundtrack. It's posted on my profile. Check it out!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/75yXzBcGL6NlkxN186s6Pf?si=700e429944c94468

Song: "First Thing to Go" by Hayley Williams

_____

Sang

~seven years after the Blackbourne team split~

I threw myself over the wall with a heaving breath, willing the guard dogs to be silent. Once the guards passed, myself unseen, I sprinted away from the scene toward the car I left several blocks away.

Once I reached the car, I examined myself. Covered in dirt, pants ripped, leaves stuck in my hair... I was a mess.

But I made it out alive. And I made it with the USB tucked safely in my bra.

Mission accomplished.

I drove to site where I was expected to make the handoff and was greeted by a pristine man in a sharp suit, a maroon tie knotted at his neck. His eyes glinted silver behind black frames perched on strong cheekbones above a cut jaw. An air of authority flooded my senses along with the scent of Irish spring soap. Perfection.

I nodded. "Guatemala."

"Silk."

I reached into my bra and pulled the USB stick. He raised a single, perfectly shaped brow at me, and I wondered for a moment if he got them waxed. I blushed at his scrutiny. "That's about as secure as something can be on the human body. Pick pockets won't really go there."

He nodded slowly, as if he didn't believe me, and I blushed even darker. I suddenly became painfully aware of my appearance, straightening my back and running my fingers through my tangled, leafy hair.

"Well, um, I think that's all, so I'm just going to go..."

I turned and speed walked back to my car. I risked a glance back over my shoulder.

He was still standing there.

***

I didn't get along well with women.

That was an understatement.

Most women made me feel violently ill.

But not Mrs. Rose and Lily.

I had been recruited by the Academy at the age of seventeen. A member had discovered a discrepancy in my file at Ashley Waters, and rather than reporting me to the authorities, they had alerted the elders of their findings; they had caught a ghost.

Lily, a licensed child psychologist, had been assigned my case. She had realized quickly that the best home for me would be with Mrs. Rose, an Academy elder with the same passion for adventure I held. I feared women, shook when one came near me, but they both were gentle, guiding. They taught me to read social cues and navigate PTSD. Slowly, as time passed on, I grew comfortable enough to hold hands with and hug them. They became the mother figures I'd never had.

Other women were still a struggle, but I could hold a conversation without my eyes darting toward the exit.

I still stayed with Mrs. Rose when I was in Charleston. These days, it was fairly rare that I found myself in the city.

I pulled into the familiar drive. The little cottage looked as though it had a fresh coat of yellow paint – one which I assumed Mrs. Rose had applied herself. The gingerbread was white, matching the picket fence surrounding the property. The garden was filled with an abundance of flowers and vegetables in bloom. I took a deep breath and sighed.