Reckless

Prologue

■ Robyn ■

I was in high school when I realised what pure evil looked like. I'd heard of it countless of times from my mother, I'd watched my father put it behind bars repeatedly, I'd felt myself turn away from it whenever I sensed it prance around near me. But I had never, not once, realised what it looked like until it ripped my best friend to shreds.

My mother was, without a shadow of a doubt, my father's lighthouse. The light that draws him to safety whenever he was lost in the dark, merciless waves that came with his job - his occupation as an Agent.
It didn't matter what the situation was or bad it was, all he had to do was take one look at her - with her fiery red hair in a messy bun, light brown eyes glistening with life, bright warm smile and the voice of an seraphic vixen - and he'd be back to sanity.

And that was what Lydia was to me, my light house.

I had met her in primary school, full of laughter and hope as she befriended me without my consent. She was pretty and blonde and friendly, while I was reserved and tomboyish and a redhaired stuck in the brunette closet. So naturally, I was weary of her - until she puked on Echo Mathers's pretty pink shirt, cementing our friendship instantly.

Pretty blondes with bright smiles and big blue eyes irked me, so she was no different - at first. Lydia was - still is - a blonde; the kind of blonde that inspired blonde jokes; the kind of blonde that wasn't bright enough to be platinum but was bright enough to be your umph; the kind of blonde that was pretty with a bright smile and big blue eyes.

That was Lydia. Lively and friendly and filled with the right amount of light I needed to keep me sane. She was so happy and welcoming it frightened the darkness out of anyone she came across. She was so forgiving and so caring that she could love the world for the both of us without me having to be polite. She was harmless and so beautiful that not even the most sinister of criminals we kept locked up at the Agency even dared to taint her shine - because she didn't deserve their wrath and they atleast realised that much.

So when those hazel eyes settled on her for far longer than necessary, when I saw the bone-chilling smirk curve its way onto his face, I knew that - right there and then - there was no way in hell that monsters had claws and fangs.

Because the evil that was so clearly willing to dim one of the brightest lights this world has ever known, looked like an angel when he was clearly Satan himself.