Page 5 of Fractured Memories

I nod, soaking in her words. It’s what everyone has been telling me for days. The mafia used to be the scum of society. They used to be the ones you never trusted. And somehow, along the way, they were the ones that rose to power. Maybe because they had the skills or the manpower or knew how to manipulate already broken people.

Parker has even hinted that they somehow keep the air toxic so that only the rich survive.

And his theory makes sense. It all makes sense when I look around. New scars have popped up along my arms, and everyone in the camp is covered in them. My lungs burn constantly, and my body feels weak. I keep having flashes of feeling like this has happened to me before.

And still, my brain is screaming that I need to know more.

I just don’t think I’m asking the right people.

The sky is turning a deep shade of blue, and I know that soon, I’ll need to go back to the tent. Damian will want to know that I have eaten, that I’m sleeping. They want me to become more involved with the camp now that I’ve recovered, and I’m hoping that settles the ache that seems to be constant in my chest.

I’m just about to stand and tell Raya I have to find Damian when a soft whir catches my attention. I’m up in an instant, my eyes scanning the trees for the familiar noise I can’t place, a low hum and an occasional crunch.

Raya rises slowly, and I crouch down, picking up a rock. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up, and my heart starts to beat a little faster. I swear that I can feel the anticipation in the air as my eyes land on the shadows between the trees.

And I realize they are moving.

I can’t even shout before figures pour into the camp, dressed in black and holding weapons that I swear are familiar to me. But I won’t be lingering to find out if there’s a reason why.

Instead, I turn and bolt toward the trees. I’m already on the edge of the camp since I was behind my tent, and most of the guards—which I am assuming are who they are—are fighting those in the camp or going after people scattering like me.

I curse myself for not having found any weapons yet. All I have is a fucking rock to fight off their guns, and I know that’s not going to last me long. My best bet is to get into the forest and climb, hoping they won’t be able to find me in their sweeps.

The setting sun, though, doesn’t work in my advantage as I trip over rocks hidden in overgrown grass. Still, I keep running, trying not to let my stumble be the reason I’m caught.

I’m about to clear the tree line, where I’ll at least have obstacles to hide behind if I need them, when a hand closes around my wrist. A yank swings my momentum around, but I’m already raising my rock, arcing my arm to slam into my attacker’s head.

But he dodges it with ease.

My hand misses him altogether, but I’m already shifting, getting ready to swing again. He doesn’t even have a weapon up and ready as I bring my hand up.

“Eden, wait!” His accented voice makes me freeze.

My heart stutters as he reaches up to the mask covering his face—one that I realize is filtering his air. He pulls it off without hesitation, still holding me in place so I can’t run before I take him in.

The man in front of me is gorgeous, with dark brown hair that has soft waves and light green eyes that feel like they are piercing into my soul. A cut runs through his right eyebrow and down to his cheekbone, narrowly missing his eye.

I couldn’t look away if I tried.

Hand still circling my wrist, he tugs me closer, dropping his mask so he can reach up to touch my face. My heart ceases to beat as his gloved fingertips brush across my skin.

In a low, rough voice, he whispers, “Mo chuisle, it’s me.”

CHAPTER 3

KIERAN

Eighteen months before Eden went missing…

The cages are loud and chaotic as always. And I love it.

There is no better breeding ground in the city for violence. It’s why I like to come down here. I feed off the energy, the bloodlust that runs rampant. Here, people are fighting for their lives—either literally or to gain a better one. Win the challenge, ascend to a higher class. Lose a challenge, you often lose your life, too.

Jude, however, is not impressed. He leans in close, his voice low. “You do know that these events are broadcasted, yeah?”

I chuckle. “Live a little, Jude. It’s more fun to be down here. I like to hear their screams in person.”

His nose wrinkles as we pass by a group of rowdy men pressed up against one of the chain-link barriers. There’s chanting and screaming as they watch the fight within, no doubt having bet on the event. Something I’ll get a cut of.