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Chapter1
Tori
Clumps of chestnut brown and platinum blond hair littered the sink and floor of the gas station bathroom in the middle of backwoods Pennsylvania. The place was filthy—not that it had been clean when I’d arrived, but the hacked-off hair scattered around my feet made it worse.
I lifted my gaze to the dingy, pock-marked mirror and turned my head to the right, then left, admiring my new shoulder-length haircut and dye job. Given the tools I had to work with, my amateur color and cut didn’t look half-bad. My natural brown hair was now bleached blond with dark streaks. The shorter length gave my curls definition and transformed them into spirals of color. Gone was the usual frizz.
I had a fresh look.
I liked it.
Living life on the run, being hunted like prey, meant learning to survive with limited resources. Without buckets of money at my command, I had to rely on my imagination and whatever I could find on drugstore shelves to change my appearance. I had no choice but to become my own stylist. I took a last, critical glance in the mirror and surveyed myself from one side to the other, and probably would have tried to stand on my head to check the look if this place wasn’t so disgusting. This new do would have to suffice for now, whether I wanted it to or not.
It was time to get moving. I couldn’t afford to stay in one place for very long. I’d made that mistake in the beginning, four years ago, when the hunters had cornered me in an alleyway of a dilapidated urban city neighborhood. If not for the convenience store on the corner being robbed, I never would’ve escaped. I managed to disappear amid the chaos of first responders and gunshots, but from then on out, I tried to be on the move every few weeks.
Quickly but carefully, I gathered the hair clippings and turned on the faucet, watching my hair circle down the drain. I sprayed the surfaces with watered-down bleach from the small bottle I kept in my bag for just this reason and meticulously went over every inch. Hell, the bathroom was twice as clean as it had been when I got here, and nary a fingerprint or any DNA would survive for whoever came looking.
Wiping away all traces of my identity was crucial if I wanted even a remote chance for a clean escape. There was no such thing as being overly cautious when my life hung so deep in the balance. I had to have any edge possible to have a chance of remaining a step ahead. I could never be too careful.
Taking one last look to make sure I hadn’t left behind a wayward hair or some other piece of me, I stuffed everything into my deceptively small bag and slowly opened the door. In the far corner, the greased-up dirty gas attendant was busy restocking the fridge with a limited supply of merchandise. He had Pepsi and Mountain Dew, some bottles of Starbucks coffee, and candy that wasn’t meant to be refrigerated, but people preferred it that way.
The rest of the place was bare. This wasn’t one of the big-name convenience stores but the kind of gas station that got very little traffic. That had its advantages and disadvantages. Pro: No one cared how long I occupied the stanky little bathroom. I probably could have set up camp in there if I could tolerate it. The con to that pro, however, was that there were fewer faces to blur mine, which meant I’d be more memorable. I prayed my skills hadn’t failed me and nobody would be able to trace me to this hole in the wall.
With my sweat-stained ball cap slung low over my eyes and my head down, I tossed some cash on the counter. I didn’t have much, certainly not enough to cover the cost of the security camera I’d smashed, but I gave what I could afford. I wasn’t usually the kind of gal who committed vandalism, but I’d acted out of desperation. I did what needed to be done. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean my guilt differentiated between sins I was forced to commit and those I enjoyed. There was no absolution for either.
I’d only narrowly escaped the hunters on my last encounter with them. Their skills were nothing to laugh at, and they acted more like mercenaries with the amount of training they endured. I had to do what was necessary to maintain my freedom, no matter how far over the line it took me. It was essential to stay one step ahead of them at all times. The hunters had an organization, equipment, and money on their side. I was just lonely, little ol’ me. Although I was learning, and that meant something.
Sometimes, when the white noise died down, when true quiet descended over me, I was proud of how far I had come. Four years ago, I’d been a regular high school student who knew nothing about secret societies or life-and-death situations. That felt like a lifetime ago. Back then, I’d cared about my hair for a whole other reason. I’d worn makeup not to disguise but to enhance. But I was learning as I went along, and so far, I had survived. For now, though, there was no rest, no time to reflect. I had to keep moving.
It didn’t matter that I was across the country or how sure I was that I’d thrown them off my trail. I had to be completely vigilant at all times. All it would take was one minor slip-up—a scent, a stray hair, something that would clue them in—and the hunters would be on me in no time. Since I valued breathing, and torture wasn’t a picnic I wanted to be the guest of honor at, I couldnotafford to be complacent.
They were out for my blood, and these hunters weren’t the type to pack it in and go home without their prize. They wouldn’t give up until they had me. Orders were orders, and the hunters were trained to keep the organization’s secrets and follow the chain of command with no question—there was no democracy there.
Right now, the hunters didn’t know what look I was modeling, and that was one of the best defenses I had. My hair had been every natural shade imaginable, but I also had to keep it simple so I didn’t stand out. It wouldn’t be wise to have blond hair with hot pink tips—learned that one the hard way.
Warm summer air smacked me in the chest as soon as I set foot outside. The thick humidity enveloped me in its sticky embrace, making sweat trickle down my spine. One thing the gas station had going for it was a kick-ass cooling system. I wondered if that was where its profits went because the cleanliness and stock weren’t of the highest caliber. Who was I to judge, though? I would have picked the A/C as well.
The lush green landscape surrounding the gas station should have had houses and kids playing outside. There should have been a town here instead of a semi-deserted gas station on a stretch of road no one used. I scanned the area for any threats but saw only one car fueling up—an older, rusted Honda that had spent more years taking a beating than it had belonged to the average-looking couple gassing it up. It was probably the most dependable car they could afford. The wife, dressed in a cute yellow daisy top with white capris, walked around the parking lot, apparently stretching her legs after a long drive.
Our eyes caught, and a soft, calm smile formed on her face. I hadn’t meant to stare, certainly hadn’t meant to be caught doing it.
“Hi, there.” She waved with one hand, blocking the sun from her eyes with the other. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a low ponytail over one shoulder, and she beamed at me as if competing to outshine the sun.
“Hi.” I didn’t want to be rude, but I always hesitated to have too much contact with others. My aim was to be a ghost in their lives, for them not to recall anything about me. Unfortunately, this location voided that goal because apart from the gas station attendant, I was the only one here. I was now part of her memory whether I wanted to be or not. I was the girl at the gas station who’d stared at her. I’d made myself memorable.
“It’s a hot one, isn’t it?” She did a few lunges, and I held back a grin.
I tipped my head in agreement and turned my attention to her husband. He was on the shorter side with a lean frame and wavy brown hair. As he pulled the nozzle from the tank and tapped it against the rim, he nodded once at me. The tapping sound was hollow and familiar. I often traveled from gas station to gas station, sometimes finding shelter in the spaces between. Sometimes I found comfort. Seldom happiness.
It was starting to wear on me.
I walked up to the dead, pothole-ridden road surrounded by a dense forest of trees. These back-channel roads were great for hiding out but made it impossible to hitch a ride with a truck driver. They gave the most comfortable rides and didn’t pay much mind to a hitchhiker once they dropped them off.
Chewing my bottom lip, I studied the couple. They didn’t give off any obvious warning signals, and my gut was shockingly quiet. If even the slightest thing seemed off, the clawing sensation deep in my belly would have sent me running in the opposite direction. Fast.
I took a deep breath and headed toward the car. They’d already seen me. There was no point risking another person being able to remember me if they were questioned. The fewer people who saw me, the safer I would be.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think you could give me a ride to the next town?” I kept my voice soft and unassuming. I needed to make myself look as small and unthreatening as possible, which wasn’t difficult. I didn’t eat regularly and was below average height, which I’d learned over time to use to my advantage since it helped me blend into crowds easier.
