Page 13 of Nyx

I stand to the side, waiting for Kincaid and Shadow to finish their conversation before approaching.

"The women's shelter," I begin when they acknowledge me.

"Oracle will have all the information you need," Shadow says.

"Is it penance for what happened when I was younger?" I ask.

Kincaid’s brow draws closer together, age lines forming down his face.

He gives his head a slight shake. I know he doesn't have to think hard about what I'm talking about. The man is like a sponge, soaking up information, and his recall has never faltered.

"No," he assures me. "Everyone works security at the women's shelter."

I look back at the new guys, recalling that one wasn't added to the list.

"Signal was a Navy medic attached to the Marine Corps. We have to get him trained better for combat before he's added," Shadow says, reading my silent question.

"We're adding you guys in because a lot of the other guys are working on building the houses," Kincaid adds.

I dip my head in understanding, a million other questions swirling through my head, but I won't ask them. I don't want to nag them or complain. I've been lucky enough to have gotten a second chance in Cerberus, and the idea of not being in the club, not being around men who have faced the devil and survived, makes me feel a little insane.

My goal was always to be a Marine. It was structured. I got to do what I was good at. I never thought about what I was going to do after the Marine Corps. I had no plans because it wasn't in my immediate future.

Cerberus reached out to me before I could reenlist. If they hadn't, I'd still be in the Corps.

"Thank you," I tell them, hoping they can see how grateful I am not only for the explanation but the second chance they've given me.

They both nod at me before I turn and walk out of the room.

My first instinct is to head to my room or out to the shop to work on my bike, because isolating myself has always been my go-to behavior, but I notice everyone else gathering in the massive open area of the clubhouse.

I grab a beer from the refrigerator on the far side and stand on the outskirts of the group.

I don't know if I’m socially awkward, an introvert, or just someone so skeptical of all the happiness, but no matter the label, I've just never been comfortable inserting myself into conversations or approaching people just to chat.

I know it started when I was a small child. I didn't play with other kids on the playground during recess because I was afraid one of them would notice my bruises. I was raised to hate police and authority. According to my father, it wasn't okay for outsiders to get in the middle of family business, so I did all I could to keep the attention off myself.

Kids are observant, however, and that isolation drew more attention than joining them would have, something I didn't learn until about middle school, when I heard rumors floating around about me.

Classmates thought I was crazy.

That's when the sneer started.

Then they were terrified of me.

It's almost as if they could see the monster I would later become.

Chapter 4

Juliet

I stand in the middle of the tiny apartment, hating that all they had available was one on the first floor. I've had them add my name to the list to get one on the second floor when one becomes available, but there's always a chance I'll move before that happens. Plus, apartment managers historically would rather move a new person into a second-floor apartment than move me and prep the one I leave for a new person.

The living area is tiny, and the kitchenette is even smaller, but the size doesn't really matter. I don't need much, and I don't take up much space.

Once I have a job, I'll spend more time there than anywhere else, and practically only use this space to sleep.

I pull in a breath, feeling more than a little exhausted with my most recent move.