Pampered By The Assassin Family

Ava's eyes snapped open.

The harsh, chemical stench of bleach flooded her nostrils. She gasped, her small chest heaving as her lungs fought to process oxygen.

She looked down at her hands. They were tiny. The skin was pale, dotted with faded, thin scratches that belonged to an eight-year-old child.

The memory of freezing pool water rushing into her throat hit her. Christin's mocking laughter echoed in her skull. Ava clamped her hands over her ears, her fingers trembling so violently she could barely feel her own skin.

A low, heavy rumble vibrated through the thin walls of the infirmary.

Ava threw off the scratchy blanket. Her bare feet hit the freezing linoleum floor. Her knees shook, but she forced herself to walk toward the window, her breath fogging the glass.

Through the gaps in the cheap plastic blinds, she saw them. Three black Cadillac Escalades rolled to a slow, menacing stop outside the foster center's main gate.

On the license plate frame of the lead vehicle, the silver lion and shield gleamed. The Savage family crest.

A cold sweat broke out across the back of Ava's neck. Her heart hammered against her ribs, beating so fast it made her vision blur. Her pupils constricted into tiny pinpricks.

Out in the hallway, the sharp clack of high heels echoed. It was Eleanor, the center's director, her voice dripping with sickening sweetness as she greeted the arrivals. Heavy, synchronized footsteps followed her. They were getting closer.

Ava's brain screamed. She could not go back to that hell. She would rather die right here than return to the Savage family.

She spun around, grabbed a frayed denim jacket off the back of a chair, and shoved the infirmary's rear door open.

The back hallway was dim, illuminated only by flickering fluorescent bulbs. Ava pressed her back against the peeling wallpaper and ran. She moved like a terrified animal, her bare feet slapping softly against the floorboards.

She rounded the corner too fast.

A tall figure in a baggy jacket stepped out from the intersecting corridor.

Ava couldn't stop. She slammed hard into a broad chest that smelled faintly of motor oil and stale coffee.

The impact knocked the wind out of her. She stumbled backward, her arms flailing as gravity pulled her toward the hard floor.

Before she could fall, a large hand shot out, clumsily grabbing the back of her collar. The movement was a frantic, desperate lunge of a startled bystander, but the large, rough fingers managed to snag the fabric just in time, yanking her upright with an awkward jerk.

Ava looked up. She saw a man with a thick, unkempt beard and heavy black-rimmed glasses. His eyes looked tired, almost dull behind the thick lenses.

She scanned him in a fraction of a second. A cheap flannel shirt. Frayed, faded jeans. He looked like a nobody. A bottom-tier, struggling suburban dad.

The static hiss of a bodyguard's earpiece echoed from the other end of the hall. The heavy footsteps were turning the corner.

Panic seized Ava's throat. She grabbed the hem of the man's flannel shirt, her knuckles turning stark white.

"Please," Ava whispered, her voice cracking with raw, desperate tears. "Take me with you. Please."

Jerimiah blinked. He looked down at the tiny, shivering girl gripping his shirt. His thick eyebrows pulled together in mild confusion.

The static from the radio grew louder. Ava's entire body convulsed with a violent shudder.

Jerimiah saw the absolute, primal terror in the little girl's eyes. Behind his thick glasses, his dull gaze widened in alarm, holding the expression of a completely ordinary man caught off guard.

He shifted his weight. With a fluid, silent step, he turned his broad shoulders, completely enveloping Ava in the shadow of his large frame.

Three men in tailored black suits walked briskly past the intersection behind them. They didn't even turn their heads.

Ava held her breath until her lungs burned. Once the sound of their footsteps faded down the corridor, her knees buckled.

Jerimiah let out a long, heavy sigh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled, slightly gray handkerchief, handing it to her.

He scratched the back of his neck, thinking of his wife, Carrie. She had been complaining for months about wanting a daughter.

"Come with me, kid," Jerimiah said, his voice a lazy, low drawl. He turned and started walking toward the director's office.

Jerimiah pushed the heavy wooden door open.

Eleanor sat behind her cluttered desk, flipping through a stack of manila folders.

She looked up. When she saw Jerimiah standing there with Ava trailing behind him, her face twisted into a deep scowl.

"You are not on the appointment list," Eleanor snapped, pointing a manicured finger at the door. "Leave."

Jerimiah didn't move. He slowly pulled a chair out and sat down. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a folded, wrinkled application form, and slid it across the desk.

Eleanor pinched the paper between two fingers as if it were covered in disease. She scanned the background information.

"Independent server farm maintenance worker?" Eleanor let out a harsh, mocking laugh.

She dropped the paper. "Do you even have a stable income? Raising a child requires actual money, Mr. Fitzgerald."

Jerimiah pushed his heavy glasses up the bridge of his nose. He stuttered slightly as he recited a perfectly memorized, utterly mundane tax history.

Ava stood beside his chair. She watched him fumble over his words. Her chest loosened slightly. He was a nobody. A weak, powerless man. Exactly what she needed.

Eleanor kept reading. She frowned. "Your credit history is completely blank. No loans. No debt. Nothing. In this day and age, that is highly suspicious."

Jerimiah slumped his shoulders, looking deeply embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his head. "I'm just a tech guy, ma'am. I don't trust banks much."

"And your wife?" Eleanor asked, her tone dripping with disdain.

"She teaches women's self-defense at the community center," Jerimiah mumbled.

Eleanor rolled her eyes. She picked up her heavy red 'REJECTED' stamp. This family was a dead end.

Just as the rubber stamp hovered over the paper, Ava stepped forward. She wrapped both of her small arms tightly around Jerimiah's thick bicep.

Ava tilted her head up. She forced tears to pool in her eyes, letting her lower lip tremble just enough. "I just want this daddy," she whispered, her voice thick with practiced vulnerability.

Eleanor froze. The sheer emotional weight of the broken little girl caught her off guard.

Jerimiah looked down at the girl clinging to him. A brief, almost invisible flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes.

He raised his large hand and awkwardly patted Ava's back, playing the role of the devoted, helpless father.

Out in the hallway, a deep voice echoed. "Check the nurse's station." It was a Savage family bodyguard.

Ava's spine went rigid. Her fingers dug into Jerimiah's arm with bruising force.

Jerimiah felt the spike in her heart rate. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his worn leather wallet. He extracted a crumpled wad of bills of various denominations-twenties, fifties, and a few hundreds, all worn and folded unevenly. He smoothed them out with clumsy fingers, trying to make the messy pile look presentable.

He slid the cash under the application form and pushed it toward Eleanor. "A donation. For the center's good work."

Eleanor's eyes locked onto the green paper. Her demeanor shifted instantly. She slammed the red stamp down on an ink pad, then pressed it firmly onto the approval line.

A loud click echoed in the room. The paperwork was finalized. From this second on, she was Ava Fitzgerald.

Jerimiah stood up. He scooped Ava off the floor with one arm, holding her against his chest, and walked out of the office with long, rapid strides.

He didn't take the main hallway. He pushed through the heavy metal doors of the fire escape, perfectly bypassing the Savage family members entering through the front lobby.

They stepped out into the freezing parking lot. Ava saw a dull gray Dodge minivan parked in the corner.

Jerimiah opened the sliding door. Ava climbed into the back seat. The cheap vanilla air freshener hit her nose, and for the first time in two lifetimes, her muscles completely relaxed.

The Dodge minivan rolled smoothly down a quiet, tree-lined street in suburban Illinois.

Ava pressed her face against the cold window. She watched the neat lawns and white picket fences pass by. The absolute normalcy of it all made her chest ache with relief.

The van turned into a cul-de-sac and pulled into the driveway of a plain, two-story house with a double garage.

Jerimiah turned the key, killing the engine. He looked over his shoulder and gave Ava a goofy, wide smile.

Ava grabbed her small, worn backpack. She stepped out of the van and followed him up the concrete steps to the porch.

Jerimiah slid his key into the deadbolt. Before he could turn it, the front door was violently yanked open from the inside.

A beautiful woman with wavy blonde hair and a floral apron stood in the doorway. It was Carrie.

Carrie's eyes bypassed Jerimiah and locked instantly onto Ava. The air around her seemed to drop ten degrees. Her pupils dilated.

Carrie grabbed Jerimiah by the collar of his flannel shirt. With terrifying, unnatural strength, she jerked the large man into the hallway. Ava couldn't even process the movement.

The front door slammed shut behind Ava. Carrie shoved Jerimiah against the wall, her voice a lethal, low hiss.

"Are you out of your mind?" Carrie snarled, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper that barely carried over the threshold. "You brought an unvetted variable directly to our front door? We don't run a daycare for strays!"

Carrie's right hand instinctively dropped to the deep pocket of her apron. The distinct, sharp outline of a ceramic tactical knife pressed against the fabric.

Ava stood frozen on the welcome mat. The harsh, unwelcoming tone hit her ears. Her backpack slipped from her fingers, hitting the hardwood floor with a loud thud.

Jerimiah threw both hands in the air, pressing himself flat against the wallpaper. "It's an adoption! It's legal!" he hissed back, frantic.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the stamped paperwork, holding it out like a shield.

Carrie snatched the papers. Her eyes darted across the ink, scanning the signatures and the state seal with mechanical precision.

The second she verified the document, the suffocating, murderous aura vanishing completely.

Carrie spun around. Her face broke into a massive, glowing, overly enthusiastic smile.

She lunged forward. Before Ava could flinch, Carrie wrapped her arms around her, crushing her in a bone-snapping hug.

Ava's face was smashed against Carrie's chest. She couldn't breathe, but the intense, radiating warmth of the woman's body made her stomach flutter.

Carrie cupped Ava's cheeks, kissing her forehead repeatedly. "My sweet little angel!" she cooed, her voice dripping with sugar.

Ava's cheeks burned hot. "Mom," she whispered awkwardly.

Carrie let out a high-pitched squeal of pure joy.

Before she could hug Ava again, a faint, almost imperceptible sound came from the stairs.

Ava looked up. A boy, maybe ten years old, stood on the landing. He had pale skin and pitch-black, dead eyes. He casually tossed a heavy steel ball bearing in his hand, catching it without looking.

Carrie turned. "Cody, come down here and say hello to your sister," she ordered. Her tone was soft, but it carried an edge of absolute authority.

Cody walked down the stairs. His footsteps made zero sound. He stopped in front of Ava, his eyes scanning her from head to toe like a barcode reader.

"Her bone density is below average," Cody stated, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "She is a liability."

Ava blinked, her mouth falling open. She assumed it was just a weird, mean-kid insult.

Carrie's hand shot out and slapped the back of Cody's head with a loud smack. "Stop analyzing her," Carrie scolded, grabbing Ava's hand and pulling her toward the living room.