REAPER

Darkness. In his mind, the world was dark. It wasn’t always like this. He could vaguely remember a time in which his life wasn’t always covered in a permanent shadow but, then again, he couldn’t recall if it was any better than now. He had fallen into a vicious cycle which had caused his mind to turn into a black hole; no light or happiness lasting long.
            He could remember the darkness more than anything else. From the moment he could walk, his father began molding him into a weapon with no emotion and no attachment to anything in this world. He had spent many years of his youth fighting his father’s tyranny over his life and the corruption he brought upon him like a virus but, at some point in which he can no longer recall, he gave up and allowed his father to shape him into the killing machine he wanted.
            Nous tuons ceux qui sont mauvais. We kill those who are evil. That is what his father’s crusade lived by and for generations and generations their children were raised to be killers, mercenaries, hit men; but only those who are evil, did they kill. Their crusade was called Tueurs du Diable, Devil Killers.
            As he grew into a man and earned his right to leave the permanent company of the crusade, he joined an ally motorcycle club, The Saints’ Brotherhood, and became something like a personal bodyguard for the club. Despite being a tueur de diable, he looked like a Devil himself and fought alongside Frank, the leader of the Saints, who was known as the Devil.
            "Yo, Atom,” Leo, the tech guy in the club, said, approaching him as he sat outside of the clubhouse, smoking his third cigarette that evening, the smoke giving him a pleasurable burn down his throat with each puff.
            Atom glanced at him lazily and turned his eyes back to the tranquil street. “What.”
            "Come on, don’t be like that,” he tried to joke, nudging his knee into his shoulder. Atom only glanced at him again, causing him to stand straight and clear his throat. “Listen, Frank’s got a mission for you with everything that’s been happening in the club lately.”
            He took one last, long drag from his cigarette, holding it in his lungs and shutting his eyes for a split second before flicking the butt aside and standing to his full height, letting the large cloud of smoke blow into Leo’s face. He coughed and fanned the smoke away, glaring up at him. “Seriously, dude?” Leo snapped. Atom shrugged and stepped on the butt before entering the clubhouse.
            He was welcomed with the loud heavy metal music in the bar, the Saints enjoying drink after drink, some with hookers--who they called Saint-Eaters—and some laughing and cackling away. Atom approached the bar, sitting beside Frank discreetly. The Irish bartender, Ryan, poured him a glass of whiskey without him saying a word.
            "Where you been, Atom,” Frank said from beneath his mask he wore every single day. Even though it was obvious he was asking a question, he only ever demanded what he wanted to know, taking away the choice to not answer.
            "Where d’ya think.”
            "Yeah? And how’s that been,” he continued, never once turning his gaze towards him.
            The mask Frank wore made it hard to tell what emotion he was feeling or what expression he had, but Atom had grown used to the emotions beyond the passive stare. “I follow orders from the crusade and you. You gave me no orders, so I followed the crusades.”
            "I didn’t know I needed to tell ya to help the club when you’re a member.”
            Atom swallowed the amber liquid, his lungs clearing from the aroma. “Ya know my standing in the club.”
            "Yeah, well, your fuckin’ crusade is stupid.”
            "It ain’t like I ever had a choice,” he snapped.
            The entire environment in the club changed. Even as the music continued to play, the rest of the members watched as two Devils sat at the bar and fought. It was not a bloody fight, just the two’s energy alone and the tension between them stirred the entire bar. It was a fight that kicked in the fight or flight instinct and many of them wanted to flee.
            The difference between the two Devils was limited. They were both killing machines, both extremely deadly and merciless. Frank killed for the club and Atom killed for his freedom. Frank wore his title in the form of his mask. He was both the Devil and Frank the difference was that mask. Atom was reminded of his reputation from the permanent curse covering the entirety his skin. As part of his father’s tradition, he was required to get a tattoo after each kill. Some were bigger representing entire groups and organizations he took down while others were small each representing one person. Atom’s face was tattooed to look like a skull, it was his final tattoo he got once he was able to join the Saint’s and leave the permanent position at the crusades. However, even with this tattoo, the crusade had a tight grip on him and the tattoo itself reminded him that he would never be rid of them. Walking death is what some of the club members like to call him. Others, before they died by his hand, screamed Grim Reaper. Atom had a mask, but it was a part of him, it was not something he could take off at the end of the day. He woke up the hit man Atom and went to sleep the hit man Atom.
            "Ya been gettin’ any rest boy?” Frank genuinely asked, noticing the darkness that had suddenly washed over him.
            "I can’t sleep, ever,” he said, only loud enough for Frank to hear. “What is your mission for me?”
            "Grandma’s Kitchen needs protection,” he began, not meddling into his personal business. “Our allies have kept their heads down ‘cause of the shit happening. Grandma’s kitchen is the only place that’s been helpin’. I don’t want nothin’ happenin’ to any of them, ya hear?”
            Atom only nodded and sat the empty glass down and left. He loaded himself on his dark red Harley Davidson chopper, roaring the engine to life and lighting another cigarette before he took the short cruise down the street to the restaurant Frank wanted him to guard. It was only a quarter of a mile down the road, right by the beach. He parked in the front and smoked his cigarette calmly before going to speak to Grandma, the owner.
            "Let go of me, Drew!” His eyes wandered to the side of the restaurant to see two lovers quarrel, one a waitress and the other a deadbeat. He watched closely, his eyes burning holes into them. The man who had been dubbed Drew, was holding onto the waitress’s wrist, keeping her from entering the restaurant.
            "What’s the big idea, huh?” he slurred. “Come on, why’d you leave?”
            "Let me go, Drew. I have work.”
            She ripped her wrist from his grasp and tried to leave the dark alley, but he lunged towards her and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Before Atom could even think, his body took over and he was by her side in almost an instant, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it back suddenly, the man crying out. “Let me go, you asshole!” he screamed, Atom let go of his wrist aggressively, causing him to fall backwards. He screamed out again in a drunken rage and stumbled to his feet, trying to lunge at Atom but he dodged it and landed a bone-breaking hit to his jaw. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious, and Atom glanced at the waitress standing behind him, clutching onto his leather jacket.
            Pale green eyes looked up at him, innocently, knocking the wind out of his chest. She let go of him and laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. “I’m really sorry about that,” she said, now rubbing her temples tiredly. Freckles riddled her cheeks like stars in the Milky Way. Her smile was warm and so unbelievably bright. Her hair the color of hot embers; a deep, natural orange color, tied loosely in a low bun.
            He wanted to ask her why she was apologizing but he was speechless. Not many women lingered by him or gave him a second glance because of his appearance, even if he did help them.
            "You’re the guy from the motorcycle club, right?” He nodded. She smiled at him and the oxygen departed from his lungs once again, his voice getting lodged in his throat. “Well, come on in. She said one of you would be coming. Oh, and thank you, for helping me. I’m really sorry you had to get involved in something like that.”
            He didn’t say anything, just nodded and followed her into the restaurant, stepping on the cigarette he had dropped when he saved her. “Grandma!” she called, stepping behind the counter, and leaving him to stand at the entrance. “That motorcycle fella is here.”
            Grandma emerged from the back, a large woman, even at her age. She was tall, taller than any average woman and her hair was stark white and tied in a bun atop her head. The area under her eyes held wrinkles from years of laughter, her lips covered in bright red lipstick and her eyes steel grey and sharp. She took one look at Atom, squealed, and hugged him tightly, catching him off guard yet again.
            "Dammit boy, didn’t I tell ya to visit me more often?” she said, pulling away from him and looking him in the eye.
            ​"Busy,” was all he said, and she rolled her eyes at him.
            "I told Frank he didn’t need to do no such things like this,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “You’re pretty much just gonna be security here for a while. Can ya dig, sugar?” He nodded and she slapped his arm. “You don’t need to be so serious all the time. You’ll be eating good while you’re here, you got that? You’re thinner than hell.”
            "I ain’t,” he grumbled.
            She only laughed at him and returned to the back. He positioned himself at the front desk where the menus were, standing there with his hands clasped in front of him. The restaurant closed in about five more hours, that’s how long he had to stay there and then he’d return tomorrow and the day after that and after that; until Frank told him they were in the clear. It was slow, there were only a handful of customers that were there, and he kept making glances to that one waitress, watching her smile at the customers, even after the event that unfolded outside just a few moments ago. His attention turned towards the entrance and he kept it there, taking this mission as serious as any other.
            "I’m Emerald, by the way,” he glanced over his shoulder to catch sight of that one waitress, leaning on the counter, her head resting on her hand as she stared up at him with those pale green eyes, full of wonder. “You can just call me Emmy.” He nodded, his eyes looking back at the door. “Well, what’s your name?”
            He looked at her from the corner of his eye, his attention almost instantly returning to the door. “Atom.”
            "Adam?”
            "No, Ah-TUM,” he said.
            "You mean like the smallest-thing-in-the-world-atom?” He nodded and she chuckled, the sound swarming his chest with a warmth he’d never felt before and her presence shining the tiniest of lights in his mind. “That’s an interesting name, what’s it from?”
            A massive shadow consumed his mind as he remembered the one and only time he asked his father why he was named ‘Atom.’ “That is because your existence is miniscule. Your importance is forgotten and your work unnoticed. Your existence is so miniscule that even I have to pity you.”
            He shrugged. “Nowhere special.”
            She had noticed his pause and watched his mood shift and his shoulders tense. She hummed, deep in thought for a moment. “’The universe is not made of atoms, but of stories,’” she quoted, his attention being grabbed by her once again. It was like she was a blinding light, shining through the darkness of his mind. “So, what’s your story, Atom?”
            He couldn’t even think of a response. He couldn’t honestly say that anyone had ever asked him that before. There wasn’t much to his story. A troubled child with an abusive father and a lifetime filled with regrets and being used as a weapon and treated as a demon. There was nothing special about him. He was a stone-cold killer with no attachment to this world, what could she possibly want to know about him?
            "Emmy! Table four please!” someone called from the back, causing her to leave and return to her duties.
            Don’t get attached, he reminded himself. Nothing good ever came out of creating bonds or relationships with anyone. He watched too many of the people he loved and grew close with die all because they were associated with him. He knew better than to get comfortable around her. He was on a mission, he had a job to do, he had no time to get close with her and no need.

In the middle of that week, when Atom had appeared and taken his usual place at the check-in table, Emmy came in, having her first and only morning shift that week. Atom watched her like a hawk, everything about her looked normal; her waitress outfit, her hair in its low bun, her freckles uncovered, and her white vans barely tied. The only thing that was different was the grogginess in her eyes as she headed to the back to clock-in and returned to the front, cleaning the menus before any customers began to show.
           “Not a morning person,” he muttered, causing her eyes to slowly lift to him. He hadn’t moved his position; he didn’t even look at her when he spoke.
           “I’m surprised you’re sparking a conversation,” she chimed, smiling at him as she usually did. “You seem to be a morning person.” He grunted and she chuckled, causing him to glance at her from the corner of his eye to catch the gorgeous smile that flashed over her features. She moved and stood beside him, nudging his arm with her elbow, wiggling her brows at him. “If you started the conversation this time, does that mean you secretly like me?”
           He nearly choked. He glared down at her, crossing his arms over his chest.
           “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that.”
           He looked away from her, letting out a deep sigh. “It’s just weird.” She looked at him confused, watching as he turned and looked her in the eye. “You’re always talking when you come in.”
           Something in her chest fluttered and she fought the urge to clutch at her uniform. Of the few days she’d been coming in for her shifts, she always believed she was burdening him with her constant questions and random comments. He wasn’t the talkative type—she knew that right from the start—and yet right here he seemed to give her the reassurance she’d been wanting. Every time she went home after her shift, she went to a place that wasn’t a home and slept beside a man who she once knew but no longer recognized. Her short and sweet interactions with him filled her days with the happiness she needed to keep going and he had no idea of the impact he had on her.
           “Well, are you ready for the grand question today?” she asked him, smiling so genuinely.
           He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and looked back to the front quickly, only giving a small nod.
           She smiled at his tough-guy act and hopped on the counter, continuing to clean the menus as she swung her legs. “Why do you have so many tattoos?”
           Of all questions she had to ask, he wasn’t prepared for this one. Almost immediately, his head snapped in her direction and she looked at him shocked, seeing a darkness fall over his features. He cleared his throat and turned his head back to the entrance. His mind swarmed with ultimate darkness and he fought it like his life depended on it.
           “Sit down and stay still! You know our rules. You know our laws. This is the receipt for your transactions.”
           “Father, please. Don’t! You don’t have any! Please stop! I don’t want any!”
           He remembered how his father struck him over and over and strapped him down to a chair. He remembered the buzzing of the gun as his father’s friend dug the needle into his skin. His father and no other in the crusade had to get tattoos but because Atom was a tool used for the big jobs, everyone had to know of his reputation.
           “Sit down, Atom!”
           “Atom?” He was ripped from the awful memory and brought back to reality by her suddenly shaking his shoulder, looking at him with eyes filled with so much worry. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ask. It’s not something you want to talk about, right?”
           He stared at her, unable to say a single word. He got lost in her pale green eyes that were swarmed with so much worry and care and it was all pointed towards him. “They’re not tattoos I wanted.”
           “Were you…” she hesitated, unsure if she should ask any further questions about the subject. “…forced?”
           “They’re receipts,” he said, reciting the same words his father had told him. “For the missions I have done.”      
           “Missions?”
           He nodded, pulling his sleeve up slightly to reveal the countless designs etched in his skin. “A boar for the underground pig that I killed who ran sex-trafficking and drug labs.” His finger tapped the dark design of a boar, it’s features demonic and unlike an actual boar. “A wooden stake for a serial killer in Transylvania I killed that was dubbed the vampire. A flower made of knives for the female assassin I killed who specialized in using knives covered in poisons from rare flowers,” he glanced at her, watching as she studied each design like she was sitting in a class, learning a new and interesting subject. He rolled his sleeve down quickly and straightened his back. “None of them are good.”
           “So, every single one of these represents who you’ve killed?”
           It was a bold question, even for her yet she looked at him with nothing but curiosity and not even the slightest bit of fear. He nodded. “It’s not the best conversation starter.”
           “Based on the few you showed me and their stories, it’s bad people you killed right?” he was shocked she picked up on such a detail. She stared up at him innocently. “It doesn’t bother me. Everyone in this town has baggage, you did what you did for a good cause. It takes a lot of strength to do what you do and not be in a mental institute.”
           Strength? He questioned. He wanted to ask her more, he wanted to know what she meant. What about him seemed strong? Why was she so accepting?
           “I still like you for who you are Atom, after all, you’re here protecting this place, right? And you helped some random girl the other night from her loser ex-boyfriend,” she laughed happily, and all his questions faded.
           “Emmy, Grandma needs you!” someone from the back called and she was gone, leaving him with a soft glow in his mind, lightening the deep darkness for a long time after that.

“So, did you think about your story?” Emmy asked, arriving to her evening shift. He’d been stationed there for a week now. He came in every single day and watched the entrance and guarded the place with his life. For every single day that week she came in and asked him a different question and he tried his hardest to just end the conversations, but this question hadn’t been asked since their first encounter. She clocked in and looked at him, a slight smile decorating her features. He looked at her for a moment, noticing a slight bruise on the side of her face.
           “I don’t have a story,” he said, hoping to end the conversation there.
           “That’s not possible,” she said, laughing wholeheartedly, brightening his entire world as she always did. “Everyone has a story.”
           “I don’t.”
           Even she had to admit she was incredibly intrigued by him. She’d be lying if she said her first encounter with him at the side of the restaurant didn’t startle her but something within her knew he was a good person. She was cleaning the menus, her eyes following the movement of her hands. “Well, where’d you grow up?”
           He didn’t remember one specific place, his father moved around a lot. At some point they lived in Lyon, which was far south of Paris, then it was Barcelona, then Portland, Oregon. They never stayed in one place for long. “Everywhere,” he finally said.
           She looked at him, blinking a few times. “Everywhere?” He nodded. “So, you moved around a lot then?”
           “Everywhere.”
           “What was your favorite place you lived, then?”
           With each place the only thing he remembered was the missions. The bloodshed, the screams of horror and fear, the sound of gushing blood and bullets flying, the sound of his knife slashing through skin, of breaking bones and of people choking out their last breath. He hated every single place he lived for every time he moved, he only had to kill new people. As he searched his mind through the dark files of memories, he found one that was a shade of grey. He could remember, when he went to Lyon the first time, he met his birth mother.
           “Lyon.”
           “Where’s Lyon?”
           “France.”
           Her eyes lit up, catching him off guard. She smiled so brilliantly then, her eyes shining with adoration. “You’ve been to France?” He nodded slowly; a bit taken back by her reaction. “Where else have you been?”
           “Barcelona,” he recalled the groups and people he killed in each place. The blood, the screams, the darkness afterwards. “Quebec, Siberia, Oregon, Transylvania, Venice, Sweden, Chile—” he noticed her amazed look and suddenly shut his mouth, for once feeling a bit self-conscious.
           “You’ve really been to all those places?”
           Before he could nod, she was summoned to the back and her presence was gone before he had time to process. He was constantly bewildered by her interest in him. He couldn’t honestly say he had any long or deep conversation with anyone, let alone did anyone ever have interest in him. Everyone on the street steered clear of him because of his appearance. After all, who would talk to a man who looked like the grim reaper himself?
           “You seem more restless lately, sugar,” said Grandma, appearing from around the corner and grabbing his attention. He grunted. She laughed. “Go take a seat in the back, enjoy the evening a bit.”
           “I got a job to do—”
           “Oh, shut your trap and go sit in the back. Ya barely started working a week ago and only went home for four hours each day before coming back here when it opened,” she said, pointing a stern finger at him. “I ain’t gonna tell ya again sugar. You gotta take care of yourself.”
           He debated with himself for a moment before giving in, heading to a secluded table in the back of the restaurant with a window seat so he could look out at the ocean as it glistened from the moonlight. He constantly had to remind himself he wasn’t working directly under his father anymore; he was allowed to take breaks. He cracked open the window and lit a cigarette, the salty breeze greeting him and putting his mind at ease, for a split second.
           “What’s the world like?”
He looked over, his cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.
           He stared at the bruise on her face. She smiled so vivdly and yet she was being abused by, who he assumed was, her boyfriend. He was baffled by how she could smile that way, how she could laugh when her life probably wasn’t the best.
           “What do you think the world is like?”
           Her smile fell and she then noticed he’d been staring at her bruise. She looked away, chuckling weakly. “That man isn’t the world,” she said, staring out at the ocean, the breeze coming through the window pushing her fiery hair back, her eyes shining in the moonlight. “The world isn’t just abusers and power-hungry jerks, I know that. So, what’s the world like?”
           She had a strength he had never witnessed before. He was envious of it. She was like a forest fire; unrelenting, strong, and so unbelievably bright. It lit up the shadow that covered his mind and eased him. It was a feeling he’d never had before.
           He stared out at the ocean and tried to recall the places he lived, not the blood and the horror, but the places, the scenery. He ended up remembering such fascinating images of the world, they were memories he never knew he had. The darkness in his mind seemed to lift for a moment as he looked back on the beauty of the places he’d been.
           Lyon was a warm city. The buildings were tall, they touched the sky, and their roofs were stained by sunlight; red and burnt ember. He could see the rivers that ran through the city, the clear and calm waters hardly touched. They looked soft and delicate, like silk, and reflected the city lights making the city look more vibrant than it was. There were trees and plants throughout the city, a beautiful contrast to the warm colored buildings. He remembered meeting his birth mother and standing along the edge of one of those rivers, outside of those warm buildings. He couldn’t remember the features of her face, but he remembered how he felt. He had a warmth in his chest. He felt loved for just one hour of his life before he was returned to his father and the darkness fell upon him once again.
           “Under all the darkness and chaos,” he began, keeping his eyes trained on the waves as they crashed on the shore. “It’s beautiful.”
           She was mesmerized by him. Besides his appearance, the gentle expression on his face had filled her chest with warmth, a welcoming and calm kind of warmth. She couldn’t understand why she was so drawn to him. Could it be because he helped her from her ex? Or was it something else? He was the definition of ‘don’t judge a book by it’s cover’ because her first impression of him wasn’t the same as how she felt right now. “The way you say it makes me want to leave this place even more,” she chuckled sheepishly, his attention turning back to her.
           “You’ve never left?”
           Her eyes widened as she found he was initiating a conversation. “Born and raised and stuck,” she commented, rubbing the back of her sore neck, wincing at the pain. She smiled weakly, looking at him.
           “Il y a beaucoup de douleur,” he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke and looking at her shocked face. “Derrière ce sourire.”
           “What did you say?” she looked at him, her eyes showcasing her eagerness to understand his words.
           “Emmy! Someone’s callin’ for you outside!” Before he had time to answer she stood, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and disappearing from sight.
           “Is it that same piece of shit?” he heard Grandma say to one of the workers.
           “Yeah, he was demanding she come out.”
           “Damn idiots, why the hell did ya let her go out there alone?”
           “She’s indebted to him after all.”
           “What nonsense are ya spoutin’ now?” Grandma asked, her hands on her hips.
           “It’s known all around town, Grandma. Her dead-beat father left her with so much debt and that man is one of the debt collectors that keeps changing his conditions. One week it’s ‘date me and your debt is paid for’ then it’s ‘live with me’ and soon it turned into this.”
           “Enough of your gossiping, that’s just rumor.”
           He kept telling himself not to get involved. He was there to protect Grandma and Grandma’s Kitchen, nothing more and nothing less. Yet he hated how the light left when she was gone and how his mind quickly went back to the darkness. He looked out the window again, flicking his cigarette butt and catching sight of movement. His eyes focused, finding two people down at the beach but, something was off. As he stared at it longer, his eyes squinting, he could see it was her and she was being drug away and loaded into a van on the beach.
           He was frozen in his seat, watching the events unfold. She was putting up a fight and when his hand left her mouth, she let out a cry that sounded like a whisper to him. She called his name.
           He was on his feet, his frozen limbs thawing instantly and carrying him out of the restaurant and onto his bike. He roared the engine to life and caught sight of the van leaving the beach parking lot and he put his bike in gear and took off, following the van inconspicuously.
He didn’t know what he was doing. He had only known her for a week, so why was he riding like hell to go and save her? He never did anything without being told to do it, this was the first time he was reacting on his own and riding to save a woman he knew close to nothing about. Was it because she might’ve been the first person to ever speak to him like a human? Was it because she made such casual conversation with him? Was it because she always smiled at him as if he didn’t look like a dangerous person? Was it because she didn’t fear him?
            He knew why. He knew what it was. His mind wasn’t so dark anymore. In just the short week he had spent with her, only a couple hours of each night, she had filled his mind with something other than darkness. It was faint, but it eased him more than anything. It allowed him to sleep for longer than two hours before being awoken by nightmares. She had a large impact on him without even knowing.
Most of all, he could see the pain in her eyes. It was something he was accustomed to. Even though she smiled constantly, that smile lighting up the people around her, she had her own darkness. He wanted that ability, he wanted to know how he could smile that way, how he could learn to enjoy the world despite what he’d been through. For once in his life he wanted to do something and what he wanted to do was protect her.
            He was crazy, he was out of his mind, but he’d never wanted anything in his life before. He wanted to hold onto it for as long as he could. He followed the van to an abandoned part of town where run-down factories and warehouses lay. He remained hidden and out of sight, parking his bike far away and keeping to the shadows. He could do tasks like this with his eyes closed. There were only a few men stationed around and he watched as they drug her into an abandoned storage building.
            He could hear his father’s voice screaming at him as he had done when he did anything wrong or out of line. He remembered the abuse and torment he received from making just one tiny mistake and, right now, he was going against everything he had ever learned and done. “Follow my instructions and only my instructions. If I tell you to trip, you trip. If I tell you to get shot, get shot. If I tell you to kill them without asking questions, you kill them without asking questions,” his father had always told him and he learned very quickly that his father was never bluffing when he said that.
            He was truly like a robot, like a loyal mutt, only following the orders given to him and feared the consequences if he didn’t follow through. He never did anything on his own or for himself without being told to do so, that is what made Frank so annoyed with him. Atom didn’t know how to be apart of the club if he was not given direct orders on what to do, it was simply how he was raised and conditioned.                 However, this, this was a different feeling, taking control of his life for the very first time had left his heart pounding and his body on edge. He took out the two men standing outside and stood close to the cracked door to the storage room they had taken her, listening intently.
            "Now, Emerald,” spoke the man he recognized as Drew. “I’m not going to ask again, who was that man the other night?”
            "What man?” she said. “Oh, you mean the one that promptly knocked you on your drunken ass?”
            Atom glanced through the door, watching as Drew struck her face, her head snapping to the side from the force. His blood boiled but he remained there, waiting, and watching.
            "Who was he?!”
            "Don’t know.”
            He struck her again, blood dripping from her nose.
            "I ain’t gonna ask again.”
            "You’ve asked about twenty times this week so I think you will.”
            He struck her twice this time, her head falling as she spit out blood.
            "Give me a name Emerald and your debt is paid for,” he offered, her head lifting slowly.
            "Is this another one of your deals?” she scoffed. “Count me out, you never follow through.”
            "Oh, but look,” he snapped his fingers and one of the men appeared beside him, opening a suitcase filled with money.
            She stared at the green paper. Just by looking at it, she knew it was enough to pay her debt and leave her plenty. She could travel like she wanted; she could leave this town like she’d always dreamed. The answer to her dreams and end to her suffering sat right before her eyes.
            Atom waited and watched. He was waiting for her to say his name and take the money. The money was what she needed to set herself free. Her freedom was right in front of her and all she had to do was say his name. He wouldn’t be surprised if she did, as a matter of fact, a big part of him wanted her to. She deserved her freedom more than he did.
            "I don’t know his name.”
            His eyes widened and for the first time, he was shocked. A woman he’d hardly known for a week was covering for him instead of taking her freedom and running. She was going to be beaten or killed, she could save herself and tell them, but she didn’t. The suitcase shut and Drew sighed heavily.
            "Your freedom is right here,” he said, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. She flinched. “You just have to tell me his name.”
            "I don’t know his name.”
            He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her head back. “What’s his fucking name?!” he screamed it right in her face, blood still dripping from her nose.
            "Why don’t you ask him?” she choked out, seeing Atom stand right behind Drew.
            The men behind her gasped but it was too late, Atom shot Drew in the back and he fell in a puddle of his own blood. In a flash, he shot the other two men, the room returning to its deathly silent state. Atom stood before her, extremely still, his eyes looking right at hers.             She smiled, even with the blood and bruises on her face.
            "I knew you heard me.”
            "Why didn’t you just tell them my name?”
            Her eyes widened. “Why would I?”
            "So you could leave here. So you could be free.”
            She smiled once again. “I have a reason to stay now.”
            An emotion washed over him, it was a new and foreign feeling that overwhelmed him. It crashed over him like a wave and swirled in his chest like a hurricane. His chest felt tight and his eyes burned. “You hardly know me.”
            "But you saved me.”
            "I did what anyone else would.”
            "No, not that night and not even now,” she said, tears pouring down her cheeks. “Our conversations saved me.”
            He lowered his head and shut his eyes, shoving his gun in its holster, and removing the ties around her wrists and ankles. He soon realized that his eyes burnt because he wanted to cry.
            "Il y a beaucoup de douleur derrière ce sourire,” he repeated for her as he helped her to her feet.
            "Oh, yeah. What does that mean? You never got the chance to tell me,” she still smiled, like she was the happiest person in the world right now.
            "There is a lot of pain behind that smile.”
            Her eyes slightly widened, tears pooling and falling down her cheeks almost instantly. “There is a good man behind that mask you wear,” she rebutted, catching him off guard once again.
            Before he could react, she hugged him. She wrapped her arms around him, her face buried in his chest. It reminded him of when he met his mom for the first time. The first thing she did when she met him was hug him and it was the only type of affection he’d ever received before. She gifted him his second hug in his entire life and his mind went from darkness to light.
            He was happy.