Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
MACKENZIE
FOURTEEN-YEARS-OLD
T he old chapel smells of candle wax, damp stone, and something metallic—something like blood. My footsteps echo against the hollowed-out walls as I follow my father down its endless corridors. The air is thick with mildew and secrets, and I know better than to break the silence. I keep my chin high, but my mind is spinning. I did my best tonight, but it wasn’t enough. Heath found us.
The intriguing boy I locked eyes with nearly a year ago is now a man. A predator. He didn’t hesitate. He hunted us down like he was born for it. My father always said Heath had promise, that he was one of the best young Guild members the Order has ever seen. So, what did I expect? That I could outrun him? Outsmart him?
Shame burns hot in my chest as I recall the way my father had gripped my hair, shoving me forward in front of everyone. A display. A lesson. A reminder.
Jenson. I wonder where he is, and what they’re doing to him. My stomach knots at the thought. I am stronger than he is. I would bear the brunt of his punishment if I could. But we all stand alone in this test.
I hear Heath’s voice in my head.
“The rules are simple: you’re going to run, and all you have to do is not get caught. If they catch you, the punishment is severe. If you make it past the hour, you’ve successfully been awakened.”
I threw my head back and laughed at him. Awakened? What a load of bullshit.
But now, with my father’s presence looming in front of me, I am afraid.
“What happens if we get caught?” I asked Heath, wanting to spit the words at him, wanting to kick him in the balls.
“You’re going to have to wait and see now, aren’t you, pretty thing?” Heath had snickered, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
I shiver now, recalling his words, but I don’t let my father see it.
He stops in front of a tall, wooden door, turning toward me with cold detachment. “Get in.”
I hesitate. “Dad. Please. Give me one more chance. I’ll do better.” My voice is steady, but I already know it won’t matter. This man is a monster. He doesn’t grant second chances.
“You owe the Guild a debt, and you’ll have to pay it.”
His shove between my shoulder blades sends me sprawling forward. The stone floor sends a sharp pain through my palms as I catch myself, but I scramble to my feet immediately. The room is large, windowless, lit only by candles. The walls are lined with shelves holding an assortment of tools. Sex toys. Weapons. Implements meant for breaking people. It’s hard to fathom that I have experienced one or more of those at one or other point in my life.
Ice slides down my spine. Then realization hits.
“We made it past the hour,” I say, standing taller. “That was the rule.” I look up at my father, scoffing as I shake my head. “That’s what you’re pissed about, isn’t it? That I succeeded and you can’t handle that, can you?”
His expression is unreadable, but I see the tick in his jaw. His hands flex.
Fuck this.
I move before I think, crossing the room in seconds. My fingers close around the handle of a knife, cool and firm in my grip.
My father laughs, deep and mocking. “What the hell are you going to do with that, little one?”
Little one.
The words make my skin burn, make the anger inside me curl and twist into something vicious. I tighten my grip, shifting my weight forward, ready to strike. But then the door bursts open. “What’s going on here?”
Heath Walker stands in the doorway, his dark eyes unreadable as he glances between me and my father.
My father growls. “What do you want, Walker? I told you not to disturb us.”
Heath doesn’t blink. “They made it past the hour. She can leave.”
My father’s jaw tightens. Then he looks at me, at the knife trembling in my hands. After a long moment, he exhales sharply and waves a dismissive hand. “You can go, Mackenzie. But I’ll see you at home.”
I don’t move until he turns away. Then I drop the knife, the clatter loud in the silence.
Defying my father has consequences. It always does. But tonight, I survived.
I follow Heath down the corridor, my arms wrapping around myself as the weight of the night settles over me. Shame, rage, adrenaline—they all fight for space in my chest. Heath didn’t have to step in. I don’t need any man standing up for me. He made me look weak.
I am not weak.
“You couldn’t have taken him, Yates,” Heath mutters without looking at me.
My head snaps toward him. “Yeah, I could have.”
I prove my point by shoving him hard against the wall, my elbow pressing into his throat. His breath hitches, his pulse thrumming beneath my arm. I expect him to push me off, to mock me, to do something—
But then he rips my hand away and kisses me.
It’s not sweet. It’s not gentle. It’s a claiming, a war, a desperate, violent thing that makes my blood roar in my veins. His hands tangle in my hair, pulling, burning, and I moan into his mouth, wanting more, wanting all of him.
And then, just as suddenly, he breaks away.
“If you want to end the fucker,” he says, catching his breath, his lips still brushing mine, “you plan, Mackenzie. You plan, and you don’t lose your fucking head.”
Then he turns and walks away, leaving me breathless, furious, and more determined than ever.
Heath Walker kissed me.
And he’s right.
If I’m going to end my father, I need to plan.