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PROLOGUE
THEO
Through the trees,I can make out his tall frame, his muscles bulging through his shirt and his big head. His stupid, big fucking head that’s blown with ego and secrets.
He swaggers towards the cars with what’s clearly an exaggerated limp, surrounded by his circle of bodyguards, the outline of his gun on show in the belt holder off his right hip.
The most notorious leader of them all: Carlo Rhivers. He runs the First District, overlooking the Second and Third like a king on his throne. Everyone within the Three Districts fears him.
Except for me.
Not anymore.
Which is why I’m going to kill him. Right here. Right now.
I grip the handle of my pistol until my knuckles go white, my palms slightly clammy, my knees desperate for relief to rise from the crouching position I’ve been in for roughly half an hour and get the blood flowing. I triple-check that the bullets are in place. I can’t fail at this. This is my only chance.
My only chance to murder the man who murdered my mother.
And I’ll be damned if he doesn’t feel my wrath.
1
THEO
Two years before
I scream.
The sound pierces the air, travelling over the hills and lakes that surround the Second District. Jumping into the bath, I hold my mother close, trying to will life back into her.
She’s submerged under the water, cold and shrivelled, her lips nearly completely blue.
Not the light blue painting the sky, or the blue in the ripples of a waterfall, but the pale blue that hints at a bruise on pale skin.
Who knows how long she’s been here.
When I got back to the house after being out all day, it was eerily quiet. All the lights were off. The only light was the flickering of a candle coming from under the bathroom door.
I assumed my mother was just taking a relaxing bath. I called out a hello and left her there, not waiting for a response. She deserves to relax. It’s hard enough work being the daughter of a district leader, let alone being married to one.
My father, Kennedy Harlow, a balding man with new wrinkles every day from the stress of his position, became the leader of the Second District when my grandfather passed. I was young at the time, and for as long as I can remember, my dad’s been the one in charge.
He’s not a bad father, but he’s nowhere near a good one either.
He loves two things in this world with his whole heart. His wife and his reputation. There isn’t time to care about me. It used to be hard to accept, but now I’m used to it.
It is what it is.
Walking through the open hallway,on the opposite end of the corridor where I left Mum relaxing in the bath, I push open my large white bedroom door and just like every day upon returning home from training with Emerson, I fall backwards and collapse on my bed.
Staring at the ceiling, my legs dangling off the other side of the mattress, I shut off my mind and trace the swirling patterns on the white ceiling.
White.
Everything is white.
The doors, ceilings, walls. The bannister leading up the staircase. The marble flooring in the kitchen and bathrooms. The carpet in all the rooms.
