There are a hundred names for what I do, but I only know it by one.
I was taught how to properly hold a gun at the age of ten, and by eleven a moving target a mile away was as good as dead. They taught me it all. Knives, swords, spears, any weapon that was available was in my hands, blood and certain death attached to the other end.
Dirty dealings and spilled blood is what we are known for best. Everyone in their right mind knows that you do not cross a Sinclair and live to see the light of day. From my siblings to cousins that I didn't even know the names of. Father made sure that we were all lethal killers. He made sure they wouldn't be able to find us, to track us down. He made sure that if they did-
they would end up dead.
The only thing he cared about was bringing the Capitol to an end. His goal in life was to make them suffer just as much as he did when they took Mother. They came in the night and took her, pried her baby from her arms and drug her by hands to the street. All I can remember is a gunshot through the silence of the night.
And Mom never came back in to tuck me in and kiss me goodnight.
Not ever again.
Ever since that day Father swore vengeance. We were expendable to him, anything and anyone was fair game as long as he could meet his goal. Sinclair became a household name. One that brought joy to the rebels, but one that set fear into the heart's of the loyalists. They always knew that if one of us came knocking at their door it was time to say their last goodbyes.
When I wasn't on the front line they sent me out to gather information. Intel that was vital to our cause. Papa always said "whatever it takes", but would ask no more questions, as if he was ashamed of what I had to do.
I would find them and seduce them physically, mentally, whatever their heart desired, and they would tell me everything. Their life stories, their first love and their heartbreaks, their biggest regrets, and eventually they would tell me exactly what I wanted to hear. In the middle of the night I would stand their, dagger in my hand and in a split second I would plunge it into their heart, taking all of their troubles away.
Whatever it takes.
I've met countless people, and not one of them has a name or a face.
The last began to sting more than it should have. I am not the fools, they are if they believe that it couldn't work, if they believe that love won't prosper. It's a fickle thing, love. Some don't believe in first sight, others do. Your love can be next to you your whole life, or it can come in the blink of an eye. It is uncertain, it is scary. You can chance it your whole life and still never find it. But one thing is for certain-
Love is unpredictable.
In the beginning, he was just a mission, nothing more nothing less. Kol was the Head Peacekeeper in our region, and he held information that was vital for a siege we were planning on executing within the next week. Papa said that this had to be quick and decisive, but I reminded him that you can not put a price on perfection. The man fell for my regular tricks, he fell hard and fast.
Just as every boy does.
We stayed up and talked all night about anything and everything. Something as small as his favorite time to admire the sky to his biggest fear as a child. Eventually he spilled, like they all do and my mission was complete. Late that night when I heard a continuous pattern in his breathing, I climbed over him with my dagger in my hand. My muscles tensed, and I was about to plunge the knife deep into his heart I stopped. I could not do it.
For the first time, this face had a name.
He had a name, and a life, and a family. A life that he was allowing me to be a part of, even if it was in secret. We kept things quiet for as long as we could, but eventually there were whispers. No one was certain on what was happening, but every now and then when I walked the streets a glare would be turned my way or a careless foot left for me to trip over.
But I didn't care.
We had rendezvous's at night, stolen glances in the streets, and encrypted notes left on windowsills. Soon, I was the one who fell hard and way too fast. My sisters warned me that this would not end well, and if Father found out it would mean my life, but I ignored them. Things were going to well to ever turn poorly.
That was until the day of the raid.
The war was finally over and we lost greatly. More than half our forces were dead and the others were being rounded up for slaughter or to be tossed in a cell for the rest of their lives. We were certain we would be safe, we were discreet, never too loud. There was no way they could know we were involved.
Then there was a knock on our door. Kol stood in front me, he did not let an ounce of recognition cross his eyes. The other Peacekeepers stormed the house, looking for family members, but most importantly my father. I was on my knees, begging and pleading for mine and my sisters lives. That if I ever meant anything to him he would walk away. He would pretend that none of this ever happened.
That we never happened.
He took the butt of his gun and jabbed it into my ribs so hard I swear I heard a crack. His eyes did a final glance around the room, and once he made sure no one was watching he took the back of his hand and caressed my cheek. The softness of his eyes that I have come to love returned just one last time. Then he looked away.
One last time.
They were all right, I was nothing but foolish to think this could end well. My name should no longer be Harley.
It should be fool.
Once they had left father ran back in and gathered us all in our arms as I let the tears roll silently down my cheeks. He must have bribed the other officers to let him go.
Everyone has a price.
There was nothing from Kol. Not a word, not a glance. I begged and begged to see him just one last time. To feel his arms around me again, and then maybe I could let go.
I didn't even see him again until that day they rounded us all up and put a glass bowl in front of us, filled with all of our names. Filled with doom.The world went silent when my name was called, when they took my arms behind my back. I knew I was screaming, but there wasn't a single sound.
And the whole time he stared at me, his gaze never wavered. Pity? Hatred? I am not sure, but one thing I am sure of is that this is his doing. Something tells me that my name was the only one in that bowl, that he made sure of it.
I had begged him for a sign and he gave me the ultimate one.