Chapter Three
Ember (Callsign: Viper)
The undercover assassin yanks me out of the backroom with such staggering force, he nearly pops my shoulder out of its socket.
My thoughts are a collection of, oh fuck oh God I’m going to get killed and then she’ll die… but my actions, drilled into me from years of living through repeated trials by pain and fire, are far more composed.
I send an elbow into the assassin’s gut just as he starts pulling me through the chaos-filled casino. People are running and screaming after hearing the gunshots; guards from all around are unholstering their weapons and pointing them at the man holding me hostage.
The asshole doesn’t seem to feel my hit, just like he didn’t feel the bullet I buried into his chest. Except it didn’t bury; it slid off.
Bullets start sailing at us from all sides, and alarm bells rip through the casino, hurting my ears. I try to jerk away from the killer and leave him to die, but his grip’s too strong. Is he taking me as leverage against Dagon?
I have news for him: it won’t work. Dagon doesn’t care what happens to me so long as I don’t get killed. He’s handed me over to his men more than once; in fact, that’s precisely what made me into who I am today.
It’s also what robbed me of about 18 years’ worth of memories, give or take.
“Duck!” The assassin shouts, shielding me with his body.
Is he trying to… protect me? Does he think I’m some damsel in distress?
I aim a kick to the back of his knee; it hurts me more than it hurts him. A bullet clips my arm, another grazes my shoulder. Dagon’s men are shooting indiscriminately. They don’t care if they kill me. Dagon doesn’t care if they kill me; for all I know, this is another one of his tests.
But if I die, so does someone very important to me, which is the reason I’ve kept myself alive and survived five years of being under my boss’s control.
The assassin pulls me into a back corridor.
“Let me the fuck go!” I screech. “You’ll get us killed!”
He spins around and flattens me against the wall, knocking the breath from my lungs, just as a hail of bullets zooms towards us.
At the end of the hall, the emergency exit flashes.
The assassin stares into my eyes, brows drawn, auburn-red hair tussled from his run and fight.
He’s good—very good. He killed two of Dagon’s best men.
“Ember,” he growls. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Shock blasts through me. How does he know my name?
Who the hell is he?
Do I… know him from somewhere?
His eyes tickle at the back of my mind. Sound, sight, and color fade away as we stare at each other. There’s something familiar about him—a sense of déjà vu washes over me.
“Ember,” he repeats. “It’s me. Max”
He thinks he knows me, that much is beyond doubt. It doesn’t change the fact that I have no goddamn clue he is, aside from the man making the mistake of using me as a hostage against Dagon. My life isn’t worth that much to my boss—I’m simply a source of amusement and a weapon to Dagon.
I drive my knee up into Max’s groin—he shifts positions to block it, fists the back of my hair, and starts dragging me down the hall.
He grunts and jerks as one of the bullets presumably makes contact, before once again sliding right off and clattering to the ground; I take the opportunity to try to jerk out of his hold, but he doesn’t release me.
His grip might as well be welded from iron.
I fight, I struggle, I screech, but he pulls me out of the back door and into the chilly night air.
Footsteps pound pavement in the distance. Dagon’s men are coming for us—an army might be coming for us, and Max—the idiot assassin—has put me square in the crossfire. “Let me go!” I scream.
“Shut up.” He drags me down the alleyway, away from the crowded road. I dig my heels into the pavement, but all that results in is my ankles nearly getting broken. Max growls in irritation, turns around, and yanks me into his chest.
His fingers press down on my carotid artery.
“No!” I screech. I claw my fingernails across his face; he releases me with a hiss, but the pressure on my carotid has already dazed me and taken the wind out of me.
Max lets out a growl of irritation under his breath and lifts me over his shoulder. At the end of the alleyway is a car, hidden from view by dumpsters.
“I don’t know who you are, but you have to let me go!” I yell. “Max—whoever you are—he’ll kill both of us!”
He ducks behind a dumpster as more bullets fly and pulls me down beside him, then wraps his hand around my neck and reapplies pressure on my carotid.
“You shouldn’t be worried about him right now,” he hisses. “You should be worried about me. Dagon is no one to you anymore, understand, Ember? As soon as I get us out of this shitstorm, we’re going to have a nice, long chat.”
I claw weakly at his hands, cursing him, myself, my waning strength, Dagon… everything that’s brought me to this moment in time.
And then, I succumb to the pressure of his hand on my carotid, and get pulled into a sea of darkness. My last thought: both her and I are dead.