Jennie and the FBI Agent.

Chapter 8

JENNIE

I stare at my last text and she never messages back. Seriously, I suck at flirting. Groaning, I get up, flicking a gaze over at the monitor on the wall. Tyler walks around in front of the camera in just his boxers, smirking as he texts someone. My secondary phone dings right on cue, and I look down and read the messages he's sending to a girl named Denise.

TYLER: What're you wearing? I'm thinking of you.

I roll my eyes. It's hard to watch them live their lives for a month. I have to watch them loving The freedom they stole from us. Tyler is the first one who is married, and apparently having an affair. I've been saving him for closer to last, but right now, I can't afford to go home and sprint through so many.

Jake assured me feds are investigating our hometown. It was only a matter of time before they linked the kills and made the connection. I'd hoped to have more time before they got on my trail, hence the reason I started the kills outside of town.

It's not like they'll link it to me. Jennie Kim doesn't exist in that town. Never has.

Victoria Evans died ten years ago. I look nothing like her anymore.

They made sure of that. My eyes flick to the small mirror on the wall. Without any makeup, you can see a few faint scars.

I spent a lot of money to make sure there were few scars as possible. Victoria Evans was a poor girl from Delaney Grove, but Kennedy Carlyle was heiress who died in car accident same night my death certificate was signed. She was so mangled and unrecognizable that Jake had no problem shifting the info around in the computers. Kennedy might have died that night, but the stranger I never met saved my life.

I went in as Victoria, left as Kennedy, took on her rich, orphan life, and 'legally' changed her name to Jennie Kim to avoid anyone from her past finding me out.

It was the easiest way to build a fund to support us and to change my identity.

It took a while to see my scars on my face as marks of survival instead of brutal reminders of that night. The scars on other parts of my body didn't heal as cleanly. But the scars on my soul took the longest to deal with.

They say everyone has their own healing process. The first year of mine was spent mourning for my family and suffering

from all the trauma. I cried until there was nothing left to fall from

my eyes. I showered three times a day, never feeling clean.

The second year was spent being angry. I took on kickboxing first. By the third year, I'd tried other forms of mixed martial arts. I never want to be anyone else's victim. The fourth year was spent getting stronger, dealing with my fears, and learning to stand on my own.

The fifth year was the first time I could withstand any physical contact. I learned not to flinch away when someone barely

touched me. I learned to be as normal as I could be.

The sixth year was when I could handle intimacy without wanting to kill the person touching me. It was time I decided I was no longer their victim. It was the year I took back control over my life and embraced my future. The seventh year was when I decided to get revenge. The eighth year was when I started locating them all. I learned all there was to know about them. The ninth year was hacking the case files from my father's trial, learning all the police had, searching for the truth instead of the lies. The tenth year is when I decided to start killing.

Jake convinced me to be cautious. I'd hate to be caught before I can finish. My life will happen in between kills. I can have both. Because I doubt I'll make it out of this alive.