Chapter 1
Chapter One
Mikayla
There’s a strange sort of comfort that comes from only having to rely on yourself. No one interfering, trying to tell you how to act or what to do with your day. Unfortunately, there’s also a formidable sadness that comes with always being alone.
It’s been twelve years since I’ve had someone by my side that I could depend on.
Twelve years since I’ve been shown sincere compassion or love, without someone wanting something from me in return.
I’m alone, and although that’s preferable to the alternative of being their captive again, I sometimes—okay, a lot of times—yearn for companionship.
It’s been a long year of running. Ducking and dodging him.
I’ve changed my name, bounced between cities and states, and hid among the masses.
Never staying anywhere for too long—just in case—but I’m tired.
Exhaustion settles deep within my bones from the constant act of looking over my shoulder.
Watching my surroundings for any signs of danger and making sure the enemy isn’t lurking around every corner.
I don’t want to run anymore. It’s time to stand my ground, to finally fight my way out of this mess.
When my eyes open, they’re heavy, lumbered.
It feels as though someone has attacked me with a brick, and I forgot to defend myself.
My body is so incredibly sore, my eyes are a blur, and my head is spinning like a top.
The world around me is unfamiliar, but I’m in some sort of room.
A small and stagnant space with little in it.
The mattress underneath me smells like death itself and I’m starting to believe nothing in this space can be considered sanitary.
Sitting up and my eyes finally focusing, a small window along the far wall provides just enough daylight to illuminate the area. Or at least, the lack of area. This room can’t be any more than the size of a normal bathroom.
Peering out the foggy glass, a beach looking into endless water is all I can see.
Any other day it would be a beautiful sight, but today, it’s just a reminder that I’m alone.
My head is still dizzy, my brain unfocused, but memories are starting to come back to me.
The home invasion, the men in masks, weapons, my parents…
Oh, God. My parents.
Mom.
Dad.
They’re gone.
My breath chokes as my airways constrict. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real, it was all real. My mom… my dad… they’re really gone. Taken from me by the guy my father called Colt.
Tears are streaming down my face, hot and fast as I rush to the door. Pulling with all my might and kicking the frame in a feeble attempt to wretch it open. To no one’s surprise, it doesn’t budge. Locked from the outside. These four walls are my prison.
Shivers run down my spine recalling the tragic beginnings that brought me to where I am today. Waking up cold, alone, afraid. My family gone, my friends ripped away, and in a place I’d never been before. I often wonder what happened to everyone, what happened to our lives after I blacked out.
Did someone stage the house? Make it seem like we were all inside and then set it a blaze. Did they fake a report to say we skipped town? Or was nothing done, no explanations given, just a missing family and an empty home.
My own jobs usually fall to the latter. I never bother with making a spectacle out of the scene.
It’s kill or be killed in this life now, and I’m a deadly bitch.
That’s not to say those who made me this way, didn’t get what was coming to them.
Karma will always come back tenfold at the end of the day.
The same assholes who groomed me, taught me, tortured me until I got it right, were the first victims of the girl they turned ruthless.
Not many can say they trained their own personal reaper.
The cab pulls up to the dimly lit motel and I hop out, paying the driver before heading for the office. I’ve decided to start here, creating a little space of my own while I find something more stable and permanent. A single room in a sprawling city may not be much, but it’s my fresh start.
There’s no one behind the reception counter as I enter, the shiny little bell with a small “tap once” sign, is all that greets me. The sound chimes, sharp and shrill, and my head jerks at the noise. There at the very edge of my vision something flashes catching my attention.
On the far side of the office, next to the window and a plant in desperate need of some water, is a floor stand covered in keychains.
A single tear falls as my eyes hone in on a special piece.
With only one left, there sits a brightly colored metal box, with little fake diamonds surrounding the edges, declaring the sunshine state.
The last gift my father ever gave me—or at least a replica of it—directly in front of me.
A sign from Dad that this is the right choice.
Along with the keychain, I booked this room for the next eleven days, just to start.
Now that I’m here, in the one place that occupied every life dream I had as a child, my body feels at peace.
I don’t know why it took me this long to make it to Miami.
Fear more than likely. Scared I would get here only to have to leave again, worried that it didn’t live up to the images in my head.
Now, with my mind made up, and my body ready to fight back, this feels like the only place to make my stand.
Falling onto the bed, exhaustion is quick to consume me. I’ve been on the move for a full thirty hours. Criss-crossing, doubling-back, and never slowing down, to make sure I wasn’t followed. Old habits die hard, but at least it’s better to be safe than sorry.
My body protests, my bones practically creaking as I maneuver off the bed once more and dig for the cup of noodles in my bag. Sustenance is calling my name, and after it will be a night of rest. Tomorrow I can explore, see the sights and embrace my surroundings.
Eleven years I was under Colt’s thumb. Him and his gang controlled every aspect of my life, from the time I woke up to when my eyes closed at night.
The first three years were spent in a secluded cabin on some remote coast of New Zealand, while they “trained me.” I was to become their new weapon.
Assassin, seductress, stress relief; three roles wrapped into one bloodthirsty package.
I was beaten, tortured, assaulted, and violated.
The punishments kept getting more severe, until I got right whatever they were trying to teach me.
Failure brought unimaginable pain that never really went away, until I was no more than a hollow shell.
Beaten into complete submission and unable to fight back. That’s when the real jobs started.
In the dead of night, I was shipped off to a location in the middle of the Nevada desert.
Cleaned up, made presentable, and sent on mission after mission with little rest. I complied, biding my time and gathering as much information as I could.
My dad’s advice always lingering in the back of my head as I worked on my mental strength.
I waited. I endured. Until the time was right.
It took eight more long and painful years, but the time did come and I ran.
Fast and far, I got away from Colt and the Havoc Vipers, never looking back.
I’ve run for a full year, knowing that he’s still chasing me.
He’s even gotten close on a few occasions.
Too close. If I slip, if I make a mistake and he gets me, there’s no way he would ever let me go.
I know too much, have seen too much, and I’m their best—though only one guard ever openly admitted that.
No, I’m confident enough to say that if I were to return to the company of the Havoc Vipers… I would die there.
The sound of the kettle draws me back to reality. Its squeal ringing through my head, fueling the budding headache I already have thanks to the dark memories of my past.
Some days are harder than others, to remember I’m no longer part of that world. No longer having to listen to those bastards. I’m in control of my life now, and it’s time to start living it.
Full of noodles and clean from the shower, I curl up under the covers ready for unconsciousness to take me. Tomorrow I’m going to explore this city. Relish in the warmth of the sun, and the salty smell of the ocean. Tomorrow the running stops and I fight back, but tonight…
Tonight, I’ll sleep.