Prologue

PROLOGUE

Ash

Y ou hear stories about people returning from the dead, their lives turning around, happy that they got a second chance on this earth.

This is not one of those stories.

The moment my father shot six bullets into my body, I died.

My blood pooled on the floor, and my body grew cold as my last moments faded from my grasp. I stared up at the ceiling of a rusty old warehouse as darkness crept into the corners of my vision, and I felt relieved. There was no panic nor distress. Not even an ounce of fear. Having lived a cruel, unforgiving life that had cut my ankles at every turn and burned my hands whenever I had wished for something more, death was a blessing. One I welcomed. One that brought me peace in a way life never did.

Darkness consumed me, and my senses failed one by one until not even the distant shouts of people around me filtered into my ears. It was still, and quiet, and weightless. It was a vast void of nothing. Nothing to feel. Nothing to hurt.

Finally, it was over.

I was free.

U nfortunately, I lived.

I had opened my eyes from a coma and been told by doctors, surgeons, and the people who had gathered around me that I was lucky.

I felt everything but.

Surviving being shot six times was nothing but a cruel joke. The gift I had longed for had been snatched from me and, once more, I was thrown back into life with a few more scars than I had left with.

My enemy was still alive. I had put my one friend in jeopardy. And a man I wanted nothing to do with was hot on my tail.

With nothing but a fake name and fake identity, my safety was only a ticking time bomb. Soon, my father would find me again, and all I could do was hope that a seventh bullet would do the trick and pray that my survival had only been beginner’s luck. Because more than anything, I knew that I was not afraid to die.

I was afraid to live.