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Prologue
Samara
A promise is a lie.
A vow is meaningless.
A haunting memory has more power than a happy recollection.
I know this because I’ve lived with mine for eight years. As far as I bury it, as deep down as I shove it into the dark depths of my subconscious, it has its way of worming up through the muddy images I hide.
As if I’m lying on the table.
As if I’m still in that cold room with its steel bars on the windows.
As if I’m still begging them to stop. Crying for him to save me. Pleading with someone, anyone who will listen, to break the chains and let me go.
Freedom is a fairytale, because even now, after all this time, I’m not free of them or what they did.
And I’m not free of him. The boy I gave my heart to.
For years, I trusted him, and for just as long, I loved him. We were meant to seek revenge for our best friend.
Our escape was planned. We knew how and when we’d do it.
Until we couldn’t.
Until they found out.
That wasn’t the first time I learned promises can be broken. That vows become meaningless, because my parents did it. And then he did. He left me, and he didn’t look back.
It was the last time I felt the agony of having my heart torn from my chest because I vowed something to myself. I promised I’d never allow anyone in again.
Trust nobody but yourself.
When I finally escaped on my own, I was still haunted by what I’d seen. What I’d experienced. I couldn’t un-see the vile images that haunted me since that night.
The dreams still came to me.
Blood.
Pools of crimson.
Always the same metallic-smelling liquid.
The room where they turned us into perfect creatures. Where we were taken as children and turned into their vision of what perfection is.
The night I lost my best friend still plays in my mind. She calls to me. Cries out. But I can’t save her because she’s already gone. They did that to her. She was perfect porcelain. I was what they called a broken toy.
All my plans for revenge were put on hold. Until I could fight. Until my body was ready to take the punishments again. It’s been eight years. I’m ready.
He was meant to be by my side. The night he left I broke. Now, I’ve finally put my pieces back together. I’m no longer broken.
Today, I’m the doll they wanted to create.
A killing machine.
Today, I’m the monster.
Chapter 1
Samara
The Warehouse is empty as a chilly breeze sweeps through. Then again, I’ve always been cold, so perhaps it’s just me. My sleeping pattern is still haphazard after eight years. The screams still ring in my ears. The smell of blood still stings my nostrils. And the ache in my chest still stifles my breathing.
Memories haunt me more than I care to admit. I try to appear calm, cold, but deep down, it hurts. It always will. The images of him leaving me, walking away. The memories of that place seem to grip me in a feral hold I just can’t release myself from.
Even after the horrors, it’s still him who haunts me. It’s him who visits me in my nightmares to remind me he left me there. The further I push him into my subconscious, the more he torments my mind. Archer will always be there. Taunting me with his promises. His sweet words that meant nothing.
Running my hand along my face, I tug at my dark hair, hoping the bite of pain will stifle the images of his smile, his eyes, and his face from my retinas. Only, it can’t. Why? Because I’m a girl who loved a boy. What a useless fucking emotion. Love.
Sighing, I push off the bunk bed and head into my bathroom to get freshened up. Today is my last day in The Warehouse. Tomorrow, I’ll be heading back to the place of my nightmares. The one town I swore I’d never return to. On the outskirts of Salem lies a house, a dark, nightmarish place where children were taken. Violated in repulsive, horrific ways. Once their minds were broken, they were killed.
The brick-and-mortar resounds with the screams and cries they would elicit from us. The state did nothing to stop them. The cops were paid off to shut their eyes and move along.
Orphans. Poor, innocent, parentless kids who were sent there. Most never made it out. Some, like Archer and me, were the lucky ones because we got out. Only, I’m not so sure I was lucky, because my escape came with a price.
People might say I am because I’m free, but what is freedom really? When your mind is still stuck in the horrors you faced. That’s not freedom. No, this is worse than death. That’s why I’ve made it my life’s mission to make sure each one of those bastards dies.
