Empress of Ruin (Vicious Vendettas #2)

Chapter One

Lyra

“Idon’t know what to tell you. If your options are between selling your stocks and starving, I think the answer is quite obvious.”

Except it isn’t. What the holier-than-thou gentleman who handles my financials fails to understand is that any financial transaction at the scale I need to get some cash will doubtlessly get tracked by Killian.

While I’ve become quite adept at maneuvering my way around the world to avoid Killian King tracking me down and taking his vengeance—most likely in a way that ends up with my death—I don’t have the money for another move.

And, without getting the money, I can’t move.

There have been too many near-misses for me to get sloppy. Killian nearly got me in Portugal just a month ago. It was Mexico a month before that. I’ve learned to only settle in a place as long as it takes me to realize that he’s getting close again, then make a dash for freedom again.

I have to change identities every time, which takes connections and money.

Then comes the cost of plane, or boat, or train tickets—usually a mix of all three—which again, money.

I’ve drained my savings almost to the point of exhausting them completely, and I have completely exhausted myself in between moving countries every five minutes, not sleeping, and stuffing down the grief that overcomes me every time I have a second to think.

I’m not completely without options just yet, I have enough stowed away to support me for a few more months, but after that, I’ll be fucked.

“Are you still there?”

Right, my advisor’s still waiting for a response.

“I’ll get back to you.” I hang up on him. I will not get back to him, at least not from this same phone number. I have to consider this phone—a cheap burner I bought at a market—officially burned.

It’s not like I’m completely without levers to pull, but I have no levers that won’t endanger the people I care about.

I can’t reach out to Annalise, because Killian would be stupid not to have eyes and ears on her.

The last time I reached out to Tommy, two months ago, he said I couldn’t talk to him for a while because he was being watched.

I stare at the old calendar pinned to the mold-covered wall. Another market purchase, paid in cash that I could barely spare. A date next week is circled and underlined. My heart clenches as I gaze at it.

I’ve been tired before. Exhausted.

No exhaustion quite measures up to this feeling. Nothing has ever quite made the world seem so… bleak.

My hand travels down to my stomach. Memories skate through my mind; the pain, the snippets of grief, the fever that nearly killed me, the small clinic I stumbled into just in time to be diagnosed with sepsis and informed there was a 50-50 chance I’d die.

Moving before I could fully recover because I felt Killian getting too close. Then again, and again, and again, and fuck—when will this end? Is there a version of reality that exists where I can finally settle?

I’m capable of a life on the run, but I am not built for it.

The sensible thing would be to move once again—not far, and not somewhere that requires a new identity.

I’ve been careful with my most recent scene change, so I don’t think it’s pinged on Killian’s radar just yet.

What I need to do is move villages, go somewhere even more rural, and find whatever job I can.

What I want to do is book a flight back to the U.S.

I’ve never once missed my tradition of visiting Zara on her birthday, and with the new round of grief I’ve experienced, I’m more determined to go than ever.

She’s buried in the same cemetery as our grandma, and I was too sick to visit Grandma on her birthday this year.

I briefly engage in a battle between my emotions and my logic. Logically, I don’t take the risk or spend the money on a plane ticket back to the U.S. Being in the same country as Killian, even if he has no way of knowing I’m there, terrifies me.

Logically, I don’t risk going back to a country where I was briefly famous on porn sites, even though that lasted less than 24 hours and was oddly discredited as AI.

For a while, I assumed that Killian leaked the tape, but that assumption was dismantled by simple logic.

Killian would have no gains from leaking the tape, so he must’ve given access to someone else.

That’s almost as bad as pulling the trigger himself; he exposed me to an unknown person who turned around and exposed me to the world.

Even as I tell myself that I should take the logical course of action, I drift over to the sagging desk, open my laptop, fire it up, and purchase two plane tickets.

When the option to make them refundable arises, I wince at the idea of spending even more money on this, and don’t select it.

Two clicks later, and I’m locked in. I’ll go to the states, if only briefly. I’ll do what needs to be done. The next morning, I’m on a flight out of the country—and there’s no telling if or when I’ll be back.

It’s a stupid, reckless decision. But it’s the only one I can live with.