PROLOGUE
KAGE
“Did you brush your teeth?” I ask frantically, darting around our ragged apartment. “Yes.”
“Did you lay out your clothes for school tomorrow?” I force a smile, trying to cheer Beck up, but the sadness in his eyes speaks louder than his words.
“Yes. Stop worrying about me… I’ll be fine.” He stares down at the filthy carpet beneath his bare feet. “I’m always okay when you’re gone.”
“I know,” I sigh, glancing at the clock on the stove. Fifteen minutes late already. Dammit.
I throw on my clothes, drag my fingers through my hair, and brace myself for the hell waiting to consume the next eight hours of my life.
“By the way,” I call out, “I grabbed Mom’s favorite flowers from the market today. Can you put them in some water and set them on the table?” I pause, feeling the tears that threaten to break free. “It feels like a little piece of her is still here with us when I smell them in the kitchen…”
His face falls as he struggles to hold it together. “I… I will…” I step closer and press a kiss to his forehead. “Ich liebe dich. Lock the door behind me.”
I tilt his chin until his eyes meet mine. “I love you too,” he whispers. “Be careful, please.” He looks away, not meeting my eyes. “I’m scared I’m gonna lose you the way we lost Mom.”
I cup his jaw, trying to soothe his fear even though I can’t promise him that my fate won’t end the same way as Mom’s, because deep down, I don’t know if I’ll make it back.
“I’ll be home in the morning,” I lie, with a shaky smile.
God, I wish I didn’t have to leave him. I wish I could curl up with him on the couch and shield him from the cruelty waiting outside our door. But wishes don’t keep the lights on or put food on the table.
I close the door behind me, sealing him in, and pray that the rusty chain will keep the predators out.
He’s just a boy. My boy. With so much life left to live… a life that doesn’t involve Volkov and his men.
I sigh, hoping he’ll be okay tonight. A glance at my watch tells me I’m already twenty minutes late.
Shit!
The dingy walls blur as I take off running, trying to salvage the time I've lost. I fling the stairwell door open and race down until my feet hit the concrete of the bottom floor.
It has been a year since he murdered Mom, and I took her place. Since then, our lives have been anything but easy.
The night we lost her was the same night I lost my virginity to Emily… and it destroyed me. I didn’t just lose Mom that night, I lost myself. Whatever humanity I had vanished and never came back.
That twisted, sick woman made my body react, but even when the blood rushed to my dick, I didn’t want it. I didn’t want any of it. She smirked like my hard-on was proof, like I couldn’t deny her.
I wasn’t turned on.
I was scared. I had no choice.
And I didn’t want her.
But she kept pressing closer, her voice dripping in my ear, telling me I wanted it, telling me my body was craving her touch.
My own body became my worst enemy. I hated that I couldn’t stop it.
I hated that she made me question myself.
Made me wonder if maybe she was right. If maybe… I really did want it.
The shame burned hotter than the blood in my veins, and I knew I’d never be clean again.
I didn’t want my first time to be like that.
I wanted it to be special.
But who the hell would want me now? I’m disgusting.
I repulse myself.
Mom always said to wait until you’re ready, to give a hundred percent of yourself to the right person, but I can’t even give one percent after the men and women I’ve been with.
None of it was by choice.
How pathetic.
That night, I came back to the apartment with my clothes drenched in sweat, sex, and the stench of other bodies. All I could do was scream. Not quiet sobs, but guttural cries that tore out of me like the sound you make when your best friend’s murdered right in front of you.
Beck woke up and, of course, asked what was wrong, forcing me to relive the memory of watching Volkov kill my mother again and again.
And thanks to him, we barely get by now. We live off ramen and whatever I can scrounge from the trash behind local restaurants.
Beck doesn’t know what I do for work, only that it leaves me hollow in every way.
When I drag myself home at six thirty in the morning, he always has breakfast waiting and the shower running, like he’s trying to wash away the weight I carry.
One day, he’ll put it together. He’ll see it the way I did with Mom. But if he never has to do what I do, then maybe breaking myself to save him is the only thing that makes this life worth living.