Riding The Edge - Elise Faber Page 0,33

of which was to not report the one person who’d shown me kindness without manipulation, without strings. I’d known my father had hated thieves, knew he punished them severely.

And I’d still reported her.

She’d taken forty dollars, and not even for herself. Isa had mailed that money to her son, so he could buy food for his family.

“Did you know what was going to happen?”

“I—”

A finger on my lips. “I’m not trying to be an asshole here, Ava. But stop and think. Would anything have been different if you hadn’t told?”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

“What would have changed?”

“Everything,” I said. “I wouldn’t have been the one who caused her to get hurt, for one. If I hadn’t reported her, she would have—” I clenched my jaw, forced myself to release it. “She would have been whole, and I wouldn’t have been like them.”

“And did you want them to do it?”

My eyes flew to his. “Of course not. I loved Isa, and I-I—” Voice breaking, I took a deep breath. “But it doesn’t matter what I wanted or what I wish could have changed.” Because I had done it, and Isa had been hurt, and it had been because of me. “This was my fault, and I’ll never forgive myself for it, for not understanding the consequences of what I was doing, for not refusing to do it in the first place.”

“Everyone has regrets,” he whispered. “Things they wished they did differently.”

“And what are your regrets?”

“You know my biggest one,” he said. “I told you about it in Georgia.”

My lungs froze. “The mission in Syria.”

“Yes.” The word was filled with pain. “We missed the target, and he ended up killing his entire family.” He cleared his throat. “Those kinds of regrets haunt people like us, make us have nightmares about what we could have done differently. But that doesn’t mean that—”

“I’m a bad person?” I shook my head. “Of course, it does. I hurt my friends, my siblings. The people who cared about me. I betrayed them like it was as easy as it was to change a pair of socks.”

“Until you understood exactly what it meant.”

I stopped, considered that. Considered that he might be right. Except . . . that was too easy, too pat an excuse. “No,” I said. “What I have is confirmation that I’m exactly like them.”

“Ava.”

“Do you know how I know that?” I asked, talking over him. “Why I didn’t meet you for that date two years ago?” I released a shaky breath when I saw him shake his head. “Because when I got back to headquarters, Laila asked me to look at some files. And you know what was in those?”

“No, honey.”

I barely heard the endearment, not when there were so many other important things to focus on. Like my DNA. Like the fact that I’d done unforgivable things. Like the fact that I’d always have these deeds hanging over me and couldn’t ever forgive myself.

“The files had pictures of body parts. Fingers, hands, ears that were branded with a T.” Bile burned the back of my throat. “Parts that my family had removed and delivered to people as threats.”

“Oh, baby.”

“No,” I whispered. “Enough with the endearments and the soft tones. It was the reminder I needed then. It’s the reminder I need now.” I shook off his hand, knowing that my thoughts earlier about being different had been sentimental tripe. I wasn’t different. Wouldn’t ever be different. “I’ll never be like you, Dan.” Even if part of me deep down wished he wouldn’t push me away, wished I could pretend to be normal and a woman he could be with, the rest of me knew that wasn’t ever going to happen.

I’d done awful things.

I’d hurt the people who cared for me.

I—

“You were a child.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” I exclaimed. “I knew it was wrong, and I did all of it anyway. And worse, Isa never hated me. She should have. Should have despised me for what I’d done.” My eyes burned. “Instead, she came to my room that night, comforted me. How fucked up is that?”

“Because you were a child.”

“I was sixteen. That’s an adult in plenty of places in the world.” I reached up and shoved my hair out of my face. “I didn’t grow up like you, Dan, didn’t have a wonderful sister and normal parents. I’m not saying they were great, that they gave you everything you needed . . .” I remembered how he’d felt left alone, like they’d disengaged from his