Prologue

PROLOGUE

CAGE

22 YEARS AGO

I f it weren’t for the stench of body odor, mildew, and urine, plus the constant shouting, this jail cell wouldn’t be so bad. In fact, I’d consider it one of the best homes I’ve ever had. I can’t count how many times I’ve been here, but every time I walk through those heavy metal doors in handcuffs, I know I’m going to get three meals a day, and no one is going to lay a finger on me.There will be no abuse, no starving, and no sleeping on the floor in a closet.

“You have a visitor.”

One of the juvenile detention officers stares at me through the bars, his round stomach hanging over the waistband of his pants. He chomps loudly on a piece of gum, waiting until I rise from my thin, uncomfortable mattress. It doesn’t matter how crappy it is, though. It’s my own bed and it can’t be taken away from me.

I don’t even glance up from the book I’m reading. “Not interested.”

Whoever is here to see me, I can guarantee I don’t want to see them. It’s either someone from the state or my most recent foster family. Either one can fuck off. My social worker has continued to place me in abusive, neglectful homes even though she knows they aren’t safe. My most recent foster parents are no exception. And it’s a wonder why I’m always running away and getting into trouble.

“Not a choice, kid. Let’s go,” he demands, sliding open the metal door with a loud clank.

Irritation prickles down the back of my neck. This asshole thinks he’s the top cop or something—when in reality, he probably failed the academy, which is why he’s stuck here babysitting a bunch of fucked-up kids who can’t stay out of trouble.

I toss my book aside and follow him toward the visitors’ area. It’s always depressing as hell. Parents sobbing because their precious kid did something stupid and ended up here. Boys crying because they want to go home with their families once they realize they aren’t cut out for being locked up. Guess they think their parents aren’t so bad after being in here for a night or two. At least they have people who give a shit about them.

Instead of going to the large room at the end of a long hallway, we stop in front of a door on the right. The officer opens it, then motions for me to go in.I eye him warily as I slowly approach.

What the fuck? I’ve never seen anyone go in here before. I assumed it was a supply closet.

My stomach twists when I cross the threshold, glancing back as the officer closes the door behind me. A second later, the heavy lock slides into place.

White-painted cinderblock walls that are filthy and cold create the small space. Smack dab in the middle of it is a wobbly laminate table that looks like it was in a school back in the eighties. Dusty flickering fluorescent lights hang above it from the stained ceiling panels that look like they could fall at any second. No cameras or windows. It’s damp in here, a copper smell lingering in the air. Blood. I’d know that smell from anywhere. Is this some kind of interrogation room? Fuck, is that blood splatter on the wall? When I finish scanning it, the hairs on my arms rise as I glance at the person waiting for me.

I have no idea who he is, but sweat gathers at the back of my neck as I take him in.I’d guess he’s in his fifties, but he’s exceptionally fit for his age. His salt-and-pepper hair is the only thing giving away the fact that he’s older. A huge scar running from his temple to his chin adds to his intimidating appearance. Add in the black cargo pants, boots, and a black T-shirt that hugs his muscles; he looks like a soldier. A deadly one.

“Sit,” he instructs sternly.

Swallowing heavily, I lower myself onto one of the chairs across from him. I don’t say anything. It’s obvious he’s here to do the talking since I have no clue who he is.

“My name is Deke Black. I’m here to make you an offer.” His voice is cold and direct. I can’t imagine this guy cracking a joke or laughing.

When I don’t reply, he opens the thick file folder in front of him.

“All of your tests over the past five years track you as exceptionally gifted. On top of that, you’re also violent and carry several traits of a psychopath, though I’m not convinced you actually are one.”

What. The. Fuck. Who is this guy? A psychopath?

“I can see you think I’m an asshole, and you’re correct about that. I’m also your only lifeline to get out of this world you’ve been living. I’m giving you a chance to start over. To be able to use your abilities without ending up here repeatedly.”

I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms over my chest. “My abilities,” I repeat with a huff. “Who the fuck are you?” I slam my fists down onto the wobbly table.

His expression stays relaxed. He’s not the least bit bothered by my outburst. I’m not used to that. I might barely even be a teenager, but I’m bigger than most kids my age. I’ve always been tall, and in the past couple of years, I’ve built some muscle, making me look menacing to most. This guy isn’t fazed.

“I work for an organization called The Agency. Specifically, I’m building a group called The Elite Team. It’s a team of young men like yourself who are recruited the same way I am now. Once they join, they start a whole new life. A new identity. No more foster homes. And eventually, endless amounts of cash in their pockets.”

I narrow my gaze. “I might be young, but I’m not dumb enough to believe you’re some magic fairy coming to grant me three wishes. There’s a catch.”

Deke Black smiles, and it looks like it pains him to do so. “Smart boy. There is a catch. In exchange for all of that, you would become a lifetime employee of The Agency. Once you’re in, you can never get out.”

“What the fuck? Like ownership?”

He studies me for a second. “No. Like family. The Elite Team would be your family. And unlike the social services system, family is forever at The Agency.”

Family. It’s a common word. People say it all the time. Most of them never think twice about it. I’m not most people, though. I’ve never had anyone to call Mom or Dad. I’ve never had any siblings. The only life I know is being passed around from one foster home to another. And I still long for something, anything resembling a real family. The kind I see on TV. The ones who sit around the dinner table every night and talk or fight but still love each other afterward. It’s something people tend to take for granted when some of us want someone to actually love us.

I lean back and stare at the man in front of me, the weight of the world suddenly weighing me down. “So I’d be exchanging one sentence for another; only your sentence lasts forever.”

“Yes, but my sentence also gives you everything you’ve never had. Security, family, money, and the opportunity to use your abilities.”

“My abilities. There you go with that again. What does The Elite Team do exactly?”

“The short explanation is they do special operations for different organizations. It’s dark ops, meaning it’s all done in secrecy. We are who the CIA or the FBI calls when they need a problem handling that they can’t do without bringing negative attention to themselves. Most of the time, it’s all for the greater good of the world. We also take contracts with different mafia syndicates and anyone else who offers enough cash.”

That sounds like some kind of movie shit. Stuff that doesn’t actually happen in real life.

“The CIA and FBI have you do jobs for them, but you also do stuff for the mafia? So you’re a crime organization, but why would government agencies work with you, especially if they know you work with criminals?” I ask, glaring at him in disbelief.

“Believe it or not, we’re not a crime organization. We do bad things, but we have the clearance to do so. The letter agencies depend on the mafia, and the mafia depends on the agencies. All of it is meant to keep peace in the world and our country safe.”

“I’m confused. I’m only thirteen.”

Deke nods and looks down at the papers in front of him. “Yes, but on paper you’re a genius. Well beyond your years in that respect. I’ve watched you on the streets, and with training, you’d be ready to start doing missions within the next three years.”

“Wait, so I’d have to train for three years?”

“Yes. We put our guys through rigorous training. Twelve hours a day of physical, mental, and emotional conditioning, two hours of technical, an hour for each meal, and seven hours of sleep. It’s grueling but rewarding. By the time you go on your first mission, you will be a deadly trained machine able to handle any situation that could arise.”

Part of me wants to laugh, and the other part wonders if I’ve gone insane. This isn’t real. It can’t be.

“Where would I live? Would I have to kill people? Could I get killed doing these so-called missions? And what if I want to have a life of my own someday? Maybe I want a wife or kids at some point. Are you saying I couldn’t have any of that?”

“You would live in a compound, on a secure piece of land, with the young men who would become your brothers. You would train together, eat together, live together, and be a family together. As far as killing people, I think the question is, would that really sway your decision? Because the guy in the alley, who bled out from his throat, was pretty dead by the time you’d finished with him.”

My heart pounds so hard I’m afraid it might break a rib. My hand closes into a tight fist. “That piece of shit was raping a woman at knifepoint. I don’t regret killing him even if I spend the rest of my life in here. He deserved it. It’s even better that he was killed with his own fucking knife.”

Deke smiles again. He appears relaxed, but everything about him is in control. “Which is why you’d be a great asset for The Elite Team. You don’t hurt people for the sake of it. You do it because they deserve it. To answer your question, there are no rules against having a family. However, you would still be on the team, and you would still live with your brothers; your future wife and kids would live safely on the compound.”

This guy is really serious.The detention center wouldn’t have allowed him to be here if he wasn’t who he says he is.

“You’re smart enough to know if you keep living like this, you’ll be dead or in prison by the time you’re twenty-five. Statistics don’t lie. So the question you have to ask yourself is, do you want a lifetime of bouncing from place to place, prison to prison until you finally end up six feet under, or do you want to have a family while being able to help make the world a better place.”

How is it possible for someone like me to make the world a better place? Most of the time, I think it would be better if I weren’t on this earth anymore.

“You keep saying brothers . Are these guys already on the team?”

“Over the next six months, I’ll be recruiting agents. The Elite Team is a new unit so you would all grow together.”

I narrow my eyes. “And you? You’re on the team?”

Deke’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he lifts his mouth into a smirk. “No. I’m on The Elect Team. It’s the same format as The Elite. The Elect Team is taking a step back as we’re getting older. Once trained, The Elite Team will take over the fieldwork, but we will remain active as a resource for you guys. I would be your guardian and handler within The Agency.”

“Did you get recruited in the same way?” Now I’m curious about Deke Black.Who is he? How did he get here? How did he find me?

“I did. I was a little older than you when I was recruited. I didn’t have a family, I was pissed off at the world, and I was already committing crimes that could have put me away for a long time. I was a lot like you. Then, a man showed up at the juvenile detention center and made me an offer. The same one I’m giving you.”

“And do you regret it?”

He smiles, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Not for a second. I’d be dead by now if I’d turned him down. Either on the streets or in prison. The Agency saved my life, and I’m proud to serve for them.”

“You have a family and all that?”

“I have a Little girl. And my brothers. It’s all I need.”

I’m not sure why he emphasized the word Little. I guess it doesn’t matter. I don’t know this man, but for some reason, I trust him. He came here to change my life. What do I have to lose?

“You really think I can do this?” I ask.

“Yes.” It’s all he says. Just yes. As if he doesn’t have a single doubt about it.

“I’ll do it.”

Deke rises from his seat, and is even taller than I expected, then holds out his hand. “Welcome to The Agency.”