I run my hand along the back of my neck, where a small scar exists from where Tobias ripped the necklace from me. He’d cut my skin, and a scab had formed. And I’d picked it, to remember it happened, to remember that once, someone cared enough to claim me, to call me their own even if it was short-lived.
But the necklace and the meaning behind it means nothing to me now.
It can’t. Tobias broke that connection, snapped the thread in half. And I allowed it, so I no longer feel tethered to them.
It was clear what his agenda was, but I had one of my own.
All I feel now is justified, justified in moving on, and ending my wait.
If they came now, they would be way too late. Even so, I will never want them the same way. All my foolish notions and hopes ended the night I let my enemy fuck me on his adversary’s floor.
And though I do loathe Tobias, with every fiber of my being, I’m okay with the revelation it brought. I crossed a line that my mind and body agreed to and ignored my heart, all for this bittersweet relief.
So, while my flickering love fades for two men, my lust flames for another. And the best part? I don’t have to feel anything.
Shame, remorse, guilt, are my new enemies.
With no apologies, I’m making my own rules to eradicate my weakness.
I may hate him, but he was right on so many fronts.
By pinpointing my shortcoming, he unshackled me from the heart that continues to weigh me down.
A heart that has proven to be worthless.
No one wants it, and I gave it way too freely. It’s made me reckless and weak. And so, I’ll stop supplying it with hope and lies. I’ll deny its existence and stupid aspirations. I’ll let it wither, try to take away its strength, and any power it holds over my decisions. And until my time here is served, I’ll allow myself to become my father’s daughter—cold, cruel, deceptive, calculating, and unapologetic.
But it’s the acceptance of one thing that truly sets me free.
My heart has no place here.
“Weaker Girl,” by Banks thumps through the cabin of my new Jeep as my freshly cropped hair whips in the wind around me.
New wheels and new hair, to go with my new mindset.
Reinvention is a powerful thing.
I’m determined now more than ever to take my control back. Over myself, my emotions, my direction, and my decisions.
As the days pass, I find myself less concerned with the moral high ground, and more concerned with my next move.
Because this isn’t chess we’re playing. This is a different game altogether.
I spent the last week celebrating my liberation at Eddie’s bar. Small towns being what they are, according to Melinda, I’ve built quite a reputation in only a matter of days.
No doubt as a fast girl.
She spent last night’s shift at the plant trying to convince me I needed saving and was welcome at the church any time to confess my sins and cleanse myself of all my wrongdoings.
None of that appeals to me.
I don’t want forgiveness.
I willingly slept with Tobias knowing it would snap the thread.
And it worked well, maybe too well.
Not only did I decide to let my devil out, but I’ve convinced myself to let her reign. Love and end game don’t factor in my participation.
That line of thinking will serve me well when it comes to the bastard that tried to debase me on my bedroom floor.
But it’s my craving for the devil I’d let into my bed that I want to erase now.
“Fast girl, indeed,” I agree as I race toward the square before whipping into a parking space at the store in front of my favorite dress shop. Tessa greets me with a welcoming smile, her eyes bulging when she sees my hair and the grin I’m sporting.
“Girl, you look incredible.” She walks over to where I stand sorting through a rack of dresses. I’ve already spent a fortune today but couldn’t care less that I’m redlining my bank account. Deliverance can do that to a girl. I’m out of fucks to give. I run my fingers through my hair, which feathers right back into place due to the sleek cut.
“Thanks, I’m still getting used to it.”
“It suits you,” she says, joining me at the rack.
We’ve become fast friends since I started frequenting her shop, which seems to be thriving, maybe due to a little aid from the brotherhood. But she hasn’t mentioned anything about it, she wouldn’t, but even if she had, I’d keep my involvement out of it. I don’t want credit—the fact that she’s doing well is reward enough for me.
I glance around the bustling store at a group of women pulling dresses from the various racks. “Looks like things are going well.”