The Reinvention of the Rose - Christina C. Jones Page 0,45

were these…stories. It was on this site for fiction, but the author implied that it’s based on true stories. They’re all about like... espionage and murder and…sex,” she added, in a very, very quiet tone. “And one of the details is that, all the women have a rose tattoo.”

What the fuck…

“Show it to me,” I demanded, knowing she likely had a cell phone on her.

“I can’t,” she insisted. “It got pulled down, which made me think it must really be true! It was like a year ago, and I feel like it probably wasn’t one of the actual assassins, just someone who knew about it and-”

“Your mouth is gonna get you in trouble,” I interrupted her, as it suddenly occurred to me how incredibly guilty I was acting. “And your imagination too.”

Her eyes went wide. “I won’t shrink myself just because -”

“Nobody fucking said all that lil girl,” I snapped, moving away from the door. “I didn’t say you had to stop, I said it was gonna get you in trouble. So you should think about that. Instead of blurting made up stories to a woman you don’t know, but think might be an assassin.”

“Former assassin,” she corrected. “And you wouldn’t hurt a child.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Yep,” she grinned. “You didn’t cover it to protect or conceal yourself - you did it to reinvent yourself. So you’re not an assassin anymore, just my dad’s girlfriend.”

“I’m not your dad’s girlfriend. Or an assassin either.”

“Sure. Those things don’t define you, you’re Tempest. Your own woman. Those are just threads that make up your fabric.”

“Get out of here,” I demanded, pointing out the door. “And I’m definitely telling whichever of your parents I see first about those guys following you.”

“I figured that,” she shrugged, pushing the door open. “Your secret is safe with me though.”

I woke up before the glass broke.

There was just… This feeling of unease that ripped me from my sleep, guiding my fingers to the slick black gun tucked between the headboard and the mattress.

I had it in my hands, had turned the safety off, had swung my feet out of bed, onto the cool surface of the hardwood.

And then there it was.

The unmistakable crash of someone breaking in.

I was light on my feet, quick to do a cursory sweep around the apartment to make sure I was alone before tossing on some pants to go with the oversized shirt I’d slept in, and shoes.

Then I opened the door.

Quietly, of course.

No lack-of-oil whine from any of my hinges, no alerting creek from the stairs. Once upon a time, I was heralded for my stealth, so it was almost fun getting down those stairs, using the second entrance to make sure there was no one in the workroom.

Almost.

There was still an intruder to contend with.

At first, I thought whoever it was had already moved on, but then I realized there was a dark figure lurking half-crouched near the door.

If they were from the Garden, they would know better.

This had to be someone else.

But at least it wasn’t worst-case scenario.

The figure suddenly moved, grabbing one of the removable shelves from the wall. From my concealed position in the stock room, I watched as that shelf got used like a battering ram through the glass front door, making even more noise as it shattered and rained down.

Trying to draw my attention.

A skilled hunter wouldn’t have needed to break a thing, and wouldn’t have wanted the attention on them. This person probably thought they couldn’t get past my apartment door on their own, so they had to draw me out instead.

Well…

Here I was.

“You looking for me?” I asked, my voice commanding as I took a wide stance in the workroom doorway, gun aimed. The only illumination spilled in from the streetlights through the broken door and window, but it was enough for that dark figure to see me - and my loaded weapon - and decide it was better to run.

“HEY!” I shouted, taking off after them, making it to the sidewalk in front of the shop before I lifted my gun, aimed, and…didn’t take the shot.

I couldn’t fire a fucking gun in the middle of the neighborhood without attracting a lot more attention than I wanted.

With two gaping holes in my storefront, the block was already hot enough.

Still on high alert, I retreated back to the workroom - my best vantage point - to pull my phone from the pocket of the sweats I’d tossed on. My eyes stayed focus around me, seeking out movement