T H I R D
Nova had spent years imagining what this moment would feel like.
The moment she finally stood face-to-face with the man who had haunted her nightmares. The man who had taken pieces of her childhood away. The man who had left scars on her that no one could see.
She always imagined she would feel fear.
Maybe anger.
Maybe even hatred.
Instead standing there, inside Trevor Volkovich's office, with a gun aimed directly at him and the weight of everything she had carried for years pressing down on her shoulders, the only thing she felt was exhaustion.
She was tired.
Tired of running.
Tired of being lied to.
Tired of everyone deciding what she could and couldn't handle.
Nova kept her pistol trained directly at him.
Trevor, meanwhile, sat behind his desk as though this were nothing more than an ordinary business meeting.
He leaned back in his chair, studying her with that same infuriating amusement she remembered from every photograph, every message, every nightmare.
Nova's breathing was heavy, but her grip remained steady.
"We're going to talk.".
His calmness made her angrier.
"Sit down," she ordered.
Trevor raised an eyebrow, amused.
"Excuse me?"
Nova stepped closer, keeping the gun steady.
"I said sit down."
For the first time, something in her voice made him pause.
"What do you want to talk about, butterfly?"
Nova's expression immediately hardened.
She fired.
The bullet slammed into the wall beside Trevor's head.
He flinched for only a fraction of a second before slowly raising both hands in mock surrender.
"All right. All right." His smile returned. "Sorry. You may speak, Nova."
"Don't fucking call me that."
Trevor lowered his hands.
"As you wish."
Nova didn't lower the gun.
She had imagined this moment countless times. She had imagined screaming at him. She had imagined killing him. She had imagined demanding answers until he finally gave her something—anything—that could explain why her life had become what it was.
"Four years ago," she said, her voice low, "you were in Tennessee."
Trevor tilted his head.
He stared at her for a moment, pretending to think.
"Four years ago?" he repeated. "That's a long time ago, Nova."
"Think harder."
His lips twitched.
"Tennessee," Nova continued. "November."
She took another step forward.
"Does that ring any bells?"
YOU ARE READING
Bonita
Ficción GeneralShe was only 8 years old. 8 years old and she saw her mother get killed by a drive by. From that day poor Nova has been traumatized and has been to foster home to foster home. At the age of 12, Nova has anger and trust issues, never letting anyo...
