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Chapter 1
Addie
He was going to kill me. Of that, I was sure. He was going to kill me and enjoy it, like the twisted psychopath he was.
I leveled a kick at his stomach, but he easily sidestepped it. It felt almost like a dance. Each one of us performed a separate part, a separate move, utterly in sync with one another. Okay, so he was in sync with me. I was floundering in too deep water trying my hardest to keep my head above. Unlike him, Ididn’tknow the moves to this dance. I tried, I failed, but I tried again, ever persistent.
He grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back, and I let out a grunt of pain. He really was going to kill me. Before I could scream, he flipped me over his shoulder. My back thumped painfully against the grass, and I stared up into my attacker’s dark eyes.
“I am going to kill you in your sleep. No, better than that, I’m going to cut off your balls, feed them to you, then kill you in your sleep,” I said from my spot sprawled on the ground.
The bastard in question merely stood over me with an amused tilt to his lips.
I was only going to refer to him as Bastard. I had made up my mind about that yesterday, when we had first began. He didn’t deserve a first name.
Or a sexy nickname.
Not that he was sexy or anything - well, I mean he was - but…
Bastard’s smile had grown, hinting that I may have spoken aloud.
Oops.
“Sarge!” Ronan, bless his soul, called from the doorway. “We need you for a sec.”
Bastard, aka Sarge (or Fallon, but it was whatever), offered me a hand. Over his broad shoulders, I could just make out the dusting of sunlight slowly disappearing behind the boughs of trees.
“Get your dumbass hand away from me,” I hissed. “I’m content to just stay here.”
He raised an eyebrow at me.
“Let me die in peace, please,” I added. He smirked but obediently jogged towards the back porch where Ronan was waiting impatiently.
The bastard decided I needed to “train”. Apparently, getting kidnapped by one of my boyfriends’ psycho ex-girlfriend brought into picture how weak and frail I actually was. Thus, Bastard decided to put me on a strict diet and even stricter training regiment.
I had argued profusely when he had first suggested it. I had to get to Atlanta ASAP to see my little brother, Nikolai. I haven’t heard from him since the world went to hell, and worry constantly niggled me.
But we weren’t able to leave. The boys insisted that we had to collect more supplies - most of ours were lost in an earthquake - and Ryder needed time to heal. I hadn’t argued after that, especially when I considered Ryder’s empty gaze.
Yes, he most definitely needed time to heal.
I myself hadn’t fared any better from the kidnapping. My face would always hold a reminder of what that bitch did to us. The scar sliced down my cheek, starting just below my eye and ending near the top of my lip. I didn’t know how I felt about it.
I had always paid tribute to my various scars. They were a reminder of all I had conquered and all that I wanted to conquer. This one was no different, yet I could see Ryder’s haunted expression whenever he stared at the line disfiguring my face.
Blame. Guilt. Shame. Something akin to embarrassment.
I understood the expressions he wore all too well. I tried telling him what Liz had done wasn’t his fault, but he always pushed the subject away with a stupid joke or a sarcastic remark.
He was like me in that way: using wit to hide his pain.
A large figure stood above me, effectively cutting out the sunlight once again. His silhouette would’ve almost been ominous if I didn’t know who he was.
Only one person was that big
“Is this what death feels like?” I asked dramatically, flinging my arms out on either side of me for emphasis.
Calax snorted.
