can you take another person's life?"
I smiled coldly. "It's supply and demand. If there was no demand for killing, there'd be no supply. I don't wish anyone ill, but others do. I only carry out other people's bad intentions."
She shifted position again, tense, disapproving. I didn't have to smell it to sense it and it made me uncomfortable. I shifted the subject away from me. "The Family had standards." She gave me a disbelieving look. "No. really. Before two years ago, did you ever see a drive-by shooting of a little kid? Or graffiti sprayed on street signs?"
She thought briefly and shook her head. "Not really."
"Exactly!" I held a finger in the air to accentuate my words. "We kept our business internal. Our fights stayed within our factions. The general public saw few, if any, signs of our presence. These new gangs have no respect for anything or anybody. Before, if someone was killed, there was a reason. Now it's open season on little kids and the elderly. The gangs are scavengers; they take down the weakest. Anyone they can get. We allowed the weak and the innocent to pass by unharmed. We concentrated on our equals. It was the Family that kept the gangs under control. They feared us; respected us." I leaned forward in my chair again, my gaze intent on her.
"I know that most people wanted them out of town. But right or wrong, they were my people. I'm sorry they went to jail. They're family. You stand by them even when they do wrong. I'll stand by them again when they get out."
She nodded, accepting that without question. "I wish I had family that would stand by me. I want them to like me, to love me. But they just don't."
"Oh, I doubt that. I'm sure they love you."
"No," she disagreed, "they really don't! They have no respect for me. No empathy for me; no desire to know about me or my life. You can't feel love for someone if you're not even interested in them." She said it very matter-of-factly. "They don't care. All my life they've told me I'm worthless. Not smart enough, not talented enough, not pretty enough. I'm apparently just not enough of anything to make them love me. My only purpose in life is what they can use me for."
Tears glittered again in her eyes and she stood and walked to the bar. Even without the wolf senses, I could feel her hurt at saying those words. She made herself another drink, ignoring the one from earlier. I watched her in the mirror as she took a healthy swallow. I didn't feel pity for her. She intrigued me, even broken like this.
Then she abruptly began talking again. "It was hard when Robert left me. Harder still when it was Becky he left me for." That made my eyebrows climb.
"He said he was sorry but he just wasn't attracted to me anymore. It was understandable, of course." Her voice trembled. There was a sing-song quality to it as though she'd repeated the justifications over and over, trying to believe. "Given the choice, why would he pick me over her? I'm just absolutely insignificant. She's breezy and funny and gorgeous. But it still hurts that he would believe Mom's lies."
No. I stood and walked up behind her.
"I'll never be anyone that a man lusts after. I know that." She took a deep, quavering breath. "But every time I see him, the few times I can't avoid it, he feels so guilty that he has to remind me. He apologizes and then says he hopes that we can be friends."
She picked up her glass again just as I stopped behind her. This close, I could hear the catch in her voice.
She raised the glass to her lips once more. "I always wonder— if I had been prettier, would he be married to me instead? I'm rich now. I could have plastic surgery." She turned and found me standing there nearly touching. There was pain in her face that didn't need to be there.
I met her eyes and said softly, "I think you're just fine." She didn't speak but just looked at me.
I breathed in the tang of fear's hot and sour soup. The smell made my jaw tighten. It rolled over the summer forest of her own
I smiled coldly. "It's supply and demand. If there was no demand for killing, there'd be no supply. I don't wish anyone ill, but others do. I only carry out other people's bad intentions."
She shifted position again, tense, disapproving. I didn't have to smell it to sense it and it made me uncomfortable. I shifted the subject away from me. "The Family had standards." She gave me a disbelieving look. "No. really. Before two years ago, did you ever see a drive-by shooting of a little kid? Or graffiti sprayed on street signs?"
She thought briefly and shook her head. "Not really."
"Exactly!" I held a finger in the air to accentuate my words. "We kept our business internal. Our fights stayed within our factions. The general public saw few, if any, signs of our presence. These new gangs have no respect for anything or anybody. Before, if someone was killed, there was a reason. Now it's open season on little kids and the elderly. The gangs are scavengers; they take down the weakest. Anyone they can get. We allowed the weak and the innocent to pass by unharmed. We concentrated on our equals. It was the Family that kept the gangs under control. They feared us; respected us." I leaned forward in my chair again, my gaze intent on her.
"I know that most people wanted them out of town. But right or wrong, they were my people. I'm sorry they went to jail. They're family. You stand by them even when they do wrong. I'll stand by them again when they get out."
She nodded, accepting that without question. "I wish I had family that would stand by me. I want them to like me, to love me. But they just don't."
"Oh, I doubt that. I'm sure they love you."
"No," she disagreed, "they really don't! They have no respect for me. No empathy for me; no desire to know about me or my life. You can't feel love for someone if you're not even interested in them." She said it very matter-of-factly. "They don't care. All my life they've told me I'm worthless. Not smart enough, not talented enough, not pretty enough. I'm apparently just not enough of anything to make them love me. My only purpose in life is what they can use me for."
Tears glittered again in her eyes and she stood and walked to the bar. Even without the wolf senses, I could feel her hurt at saying those words. She made herself another drink, ignoring the one from earlier. I watched her in the mirror as she took a healthy swallow. I didn't feel pity for her. She intrigued me, even broken like this.
Then she abruptly began talking again. "It was hard when Robert left me. Harder still when it was Becky he left me for." That made my eyebrows climb.
"He said he was sorry but he just wasn't attracted to me anymore. It was understandable, of course." Her voice trembled. There was a sing-song quality to it as though she'd repeated the justifications over and over, trying to believe. "Given the choice, why would he pick me over her? I'm just absolutely insignificant. She's breezy and funny and gorgeous. But it still hurts that he would believe Mom's lies."
No. I stood and walked up behind her.
"I'll never be anyone that a man lusts after. I know that." She took a deep, quavering breath. "But every time I see him, the few times I can't avoid it, he feels so guilty that he has to remind me. He apologizes and then says he hopes that we can be friends."
She picked up her glass again just as I stopped behind her. This close, I could hear the catch in her voice.
She raised the glass to her lips once more. "I always wonder— if I had been prettier, would he be married to me instead? I'm rich now. I could have plastic surgery." She turned and found me standing there nearly touching. There was pain in her face that didn't need to be there.
I met her eyes and said softly, "I think you're just fine." She didn't speak but just looked at me.
I breathed in the tang of fear's hot and sour soup. The smell made my jaw tighten. It rolled over the summer forest of her own
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