Darkest Before Dawn by Stevie J. Cole

container and set of cutlery. When she opens the lid, she squeals, rips the fork out of the plastic wrapping, and begins shoveling food into her mouth. One bite and she throws her head back, closing her eyes.
    “Mmm.” She exhales as she swallows. “I forgot what actual food tastes like.”
    And that makes me feel bad. Fuck!
    She takes several more bites of food before looking up at me. “Aren’t you gonna eat?” she asks, using the back of her hand to wipe sauce from her lips.
    “I already ate.” I drop the bags of clothes to the floor, lean back against the wall, and watch her.
    She scarfs down nearly two plates of food, completely ignoring me in the process, before she places the bag on the floor, and all the while, I study her. The shape of her face, the dip in her lips. Her hair. Her eyes. Her mannerisms. Unlike the others, she was ripped away from a life of privileged, a life with promise. And I cannot convince myself this is a better life for her, so I remind myself that her privilege came from bloodshed. She is the daughter of a criminal and with that birthright comes shit like this.
    “I am sorry,” I say, reaching over to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Such a simple touch, but the soft feel of her warm skin under my fingertips, well, it’s really not enough. I want more. I swallow. “I’d much prefer to not have you in this situation.”
    “Then let me leave.” She forces away the tears threatening her eyes.
    Ava may be strong, but no one is this strong. If I had to guess, the only reason she is fighting those tears right there is because she doesn’t want me to view her as weak. In this world, weak people are easily disposable.
    “Please,” she says barely above a whisper.
    “I can’t.”
    “He’d give you anything you want. As much money as you want…my father would give you anything. He’s wealthy. He’s very wealthy…” She inhales and sniffs back a few sobs before anger settles on her face. “And he’s a very dangerous man. He will find me and he will kill you. Slowly. Brutally. Without any remorse.”
    I stand and head to the door. “I hope you enjoyed your dinner.”
    Panic darts through her eyes. She jumps up from the bed, wedging herself between me and the exit. “Tell me why I’m here!”
    “Don’t ask me that again.”
    That panic flicker morphs into anger. “How many people’s lives have you taken?”
    What the fuck does she thinks she’s doing with these questions? “Only people who fucking deserve to have their lives taken.”
    “Oh.” She snarls. “A vigilante? Is that it?”
    I shrug.
    “You think you’re some fucking savior? A hero?”
    “Never said that. All I said was that I only kill bad people.”
    Her gaze narrows. Her jaw ticks. Her tiny nostrils flare with anger. “I don’t believe you. Look what you are doing to me, look at what you fucking do,” she shouts. “ You’re a bad person, a very bad person, Max.”
    I almost feel as though I’ve just been scolded, and out of instinct want to feel a hint of shame, but I don’t. “Depends on your definition of bad,” I say.
    “Look in the mirror. You are my definition of bad.”
    “Why, thank you.” I smirk.
    “And I hate you.”
    “As you should.” I grab both her shoulders and move her away from the door.
    “Please don’t leave me…” And just like that, she’s again swung from hatred to need. She drags in a breath. “I just…I just—I can’t take the silence, the being alone. Please, just stay. For a minute. Let me pretend something is normal.”
    Our eyes lock for the briefest moment and all I can think about is kissing her. And that’s a terrible thing. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m cupping her cheek in my hand. Her breath catches and she freezes. A low groan makes its way up my throat when I brush my thumb over her plump bottom lip. The things that run through my mind at this moment: I want nothing more than to grab her by the hair, tilt her head back,