…some defects we hide in our hearts…
The heartwarming ‘coming of age’ story of a young woman’s journey from outcast teenager to government assassin. Millicent Abigail Willard, labeled ‘Skank’ by her bully classmates, believes that joining the army is her only option, after the devastating death of her father.
Millicent Abigail Willard was pulled out of the college math class she was failing to be told that her father killed himself after losing his job. When she returns home she is attacked by two men who steal her father's computer. Now she knows that her father was murdered.
With no place to live, no job, and no skills, she joins the military. Leave it to the Army to find something she's good at. Soon she finds herself living in the shadow world of black ops counter terrorism. But she never gives up trying to find out who killed her father and why.
Heart of the Assassin - Excerpt of Chapter 1
I was sitting in a squeaky wooden chair in the hallway next to a spindly, doily-topped table. While through the double doors in front of me lawyers decided my fate. It wasn’t that they were specifically talking about me or cared at all that I existed; no, if I couldn’t be sold for money, either whole or cut up for spare parts, I was useless. They were cutting up those pieces of what was left of my father’s life, weighing the value of houses and cars against what was owed to the bank. What was clear was that my life would be forever changed.
I stood up and stared into my face in an oval Victorian styled mirror that hung over the small table. In high school I was labeled “Skank” because my single parent father could not teach me to look and act as a proper girl. I was voted most likely to be locked away in a mental institution. Staring back at me through plain grey eyes was a nineteen year old girl with a thin short nose, small mouth with thin lips and a pointed chin that was a bit too small. All of my workouts hadn’t added any woman like shape, just slightly more muscle definition, making me look more like a boy in B cups. I fussed with my straight mouse brown hair trying to get the top layer to stay in the clip that tied it back.
The sound of chairs grating against the wooden floor startled me back to reality signaling the end of the meeting in the next room. A hand grasped the door handle with much more force than necessary, rattling the frosted glass before yanking it open in a show of masculine strength. The smell of cologne preceded the troop of money-eating vultures out of the room, each in their dark grey suits and power ties that draped from their necks like the throbbing penis display of a male baboon. They didn’t say a word as they marched from the room, jaws clenched, muscles rippling on clean-shaven manly faces, not even looking in my direction. I watched the procession go down the steps and out the side door before I looked towards the open door of the meeting room. Markus Philter, a short, round, balding man who was the lawyer for my father’s estate, was standing there gazing at my breasts. “You can come in now, Millicent,” he said.
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