1. Ash

Chapter One

ASH

R un.

My feet thrashed against the floor, broken glass and sharp stones piercing through the thin soles of my crumbling shoes. Sharp air tore through my throat, my pulse pounding in my ears, and my legs threatened to topple as I forced every muscle, organ, and bone to its limit.

Faster . Faster. Faster!

I was dizzy; my lungs were faltering, my oxygen scarce.

I could not give up.

Beaming crowded stores and bright beckoning streetlights flickered past in a blur of ignored sanctuary. I did not stop.

With shouting voices on my tail, I knew they were not far behind. No shop, nor well-lit street, would protect me. If they wanted me, they would take me regardless of the cameras or witnesses. Hiding was always my only option. But right now, that was not a choice. So, I did the only thing I could.

I ran.

An alleyway loomed on my left, and I took it. My shoes almost snapped at the sharp turn, making me stumble and stagger into the humid, haunting brick hallway. It dodged harshly right, and I bulldozed towards the end, trash and puddles torn beneath my feet as I surged forwards, hearing their chasing voices bouncing along the alleyway walls.

I turned, about to duck out of their sight as the corner crept up and—

Dread clogged my throat as I stared up at the towering brick wall blocking my exit.

“Shit,” I hissed with a panting breath, dull pain rippling along my scalp as I tugged at my wild hair. It did little to centre the growing panic making my fingers and toes numb as the sound of voices grew ever closer. The alleyway began to sway and lean towards me, the walls crawling closer and closer.

“This can’t be it!” I lunged towards the damp wall, hands searching along the cracked and jagged surface for anything—a foothold, a crack, a small gap I could press myself into. It was useless. Not a ledge, a roof, or even a dumpster to step foot onto. Just walls, walls, and more walls .

Blood ran over my red, raw palms as they dropped, leaden and shaky, to my aching sides. My legs, thin and brittle, rattled beneath me, beseeched of what scarce strength I had gathered, and my laboured breaths dissolved into the cold air.

There was nowhere left to run.

Nowhere left to hide.

I was trapped.

A sharp cackle had my heels spin, and a murky puddle of water splashed across the slick concrete. Droplets of moisture trickled into my shoe, soaking the fabric of my shabby socks and stinging the scratched skin beneath. I did not have the power to care.

Two men, not much taller than me but much stronger and sinister, stood shoulder to shoulder in the narrow alley, saccharine smiles pulling at their cheeks. They teetered on the edge of my poor vision, blurs clinging to the edges of their large and imposing masses.

“Now, now, princess,” one spoke, wiping an arm across his forehead, sweat trickling down and into the collar of their shirt. “I think we’ve had enough of playing mouse.”

“She ain’t no mouse.” The other laughed, and I pressed my back harder into the wall, feeling the grooves of the bricks etch themselves into my bony spine.

“She’s a cockroach.” He cackled, reaching one hand behind his back. It returned, and in his gnarled grip, a knife glinted under the transient glow of a nearby neon sign. The wicked pink parried off the edge as he twisted it back and forth under his gaze. “She just won’t stay dead.”

“Sounds like a payday to me.” The first one shrugged, stepping to the side to cut off any chance of escape.

“You do not know who you are messing with,” I growled, the harsh words stumbling out of my dry, cracked lips.

Laughing bounced around the dank walls of my trap, the sound surrounding me from all sides. The man with the knife stifled his with a hand over his mouth, breathing until the noise bated.

“Are you threatening me, princess?” He smiled, taking long strides to close the distance.

Stepping into my limited field of clear vision, he was bigger up close, and menacing—hulking shoulders, a slew of scars and tattered tattoos distorted by damage and time, none of which communicated his competency with a knife.

“Because the only thing you’d be able to do to me now”—he reached forwards, the blade resting on the exposed skin of my neck. It took purchase on my clavicle, the point indenting my cold, clammy skin—“is threaten me with a good time, if you catch what I’m saying.” The knife slipped farther down, a sharp sting slicing through the shivering cold at home in my bones.

I tasted bile on my tongue and felt the acid in my nose as his lecherous eyes followed the knife down. The blade butted against the hem of my collar and exposed a slither of my sloped, pale breasts. His hot, sweaty musk steeped into the damp air, and disgust dug its way deep into my mind. My sneer bent my mouth, and my hands balled into fists. Heat roiled over my chest in a flash, faster than I could contain.

From panic or fear, something took over me and, before I knew it, my claws were drawn, and I did the worst thing I could have.

My temper sprang.

My spit landed directly on his cheek, and the man went deadly cold.

“Fuck you,” I growled, the words registering in my ears before my brain had caught wind.

“You little bitch!” the man roared, pulling back the knife and raising his free hand.

Water splashed against my face, the hard concrete knocking into my temple and side, and the blazing burn of a handprint deepened across my cheek. Ringing deafened my ear as warmth spread in my mouth, and a numbness covered one half of my face.

I coughed, blood splattering into the puddle and dying the murky water red.

“No wonder no man wants you.” The man hacked and spat from high above my crumpled body. “Not even your father.”

I struggled to sense my surroundings as a throb drummed to life around my skull. His words meant little, but I heard him continue the depraved insults and swearing with great speed and little dictation.

Blinkers settled on my brain as I drowned out his drivel, eyes searching for anything helpful. The burning in my chest was simmering as the cold puddle leaked in and darkness swam like ghosts at the edges of my vision. The past lurked in that darkness, and I could almost hear her voice in the echo of his. The cold leeched in deeper.

No.

I’d listened to enough.

I rolled to my side, finding sparse strength in my arms to drag my head out of the puddle, grit and blood spilling from my lips. I reached my arm forwards to where my bag lay crumbled in the puddle, the dark water soaking through the thinning, worn material.

I reached for the side pocket, and a small flash of metal caught my eye. I barely got two fingers in the pouch before a weight slammed me back down.

My chin bounced off the concrete once again, water filling my mouth and nose, pain jolting through my skull. The noise rang in my ears, and I choked on a groan, water spluttering out of my mouth.

A hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled. The motion churned vomit in my stomach, head spinning and ears ringing as my back slammed into the hard ground and the blurred night sky stared back down at me. Water pooled around my hair, seeping into my scalp as hard concrete cupped my head.

“Don’t worry.” A familiar sharp prick pressed into the underside of my chin. “I won’t kill you. Not yet.” The man bent his knees into the ground on either side of my hips, washing me in his rancid scent. The crotch of his thick jeans pressed into my hips, a portion of his weight pinning me in place and embedding the grit of the concrete into my skin. “The bonus I’ll get when your father gets to see his little girl’s face once again makes me want to come all over you.”

I wished for the ringing to rise, to drown out the vile words coming from his lips. His face was too far to make out details, but I knew I wouldn’t need them. He was just another faceless mob in a crowd of carrion, pecking at my bruised and broken body.

“Hurry up, man,” the other jumped in. He had moved closer, the water in my ears sloshing at the touch of his boots. “We ain’t got all day.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jimmy.” The man above me seethed, his thighs clenching in a punishing grip around my frail frame.

“Once she starts screaming, the police will be here faster than your mother can unbutton her pants.”

“Keep my mother out of your mouth,” Knifeman growled, the pressure under my chin vanishing as pink light bounced across my vision. The neon light waved through the dark alley shadows as Knifeman manically waved the blade through the air. “I ain’t dragging this bag around with us.” His position shifted, his weight moving down to my thighs to better hold me in place. I groaned at the bow in my knees as they fought under the pressure. “Not in one piece, anyway.”

My skin turned frigid, my body a statue as the man grew still with calm. He moved his head up and down, perusing his prey with unnerving focus.

“Now,” he purred, “which bits do we need?”

Hot lines traced down my arm, the point of the knife digging into my flesh, a pebbling line of blood speckling over my skin.

My twisted muscles flexed as my nails dug into my fist. The small pocketknife burnt in my grip as the open blade wetted warm blood between my fingers.

Oblivious, the man reached the crook of my free wrist and pulled up my arm like a child with a doll. His slimy eyes admired the angry red line he had made. “Such pretty skin,” he mused. “Shame to waste it.”

I bit my cheek, eyes straining for an opening.

The chest?

It would be too hard. The man wore a layered leather jacket, the material zipped tight over his chest, and his bulked body would make it hard for my little knife to cause much damage.

The hand?

A hard-moving target, it’d be difficult to land a hit properly, and if I missed, I would be revealing my card with little to show for it.

The neck.

My assailant was hunched, chin tucked into his chest as he stared down at me. It was protected by the angle, but that meant little; angles could change, and if they did, I would have the element of surprise. The reach would be difficult, but if I played my cards right, it could be a deadly hit at best and, at worst, it would be a shock and might buy me the opportunity to get out of here. It was worth a shot.

“Ki—” I choked, the noise cut off as hot iron blood swelled in my mouth, a sharp split on the inside of my cheek rubbing against my teeth. I swallowed as much as I could, the metallic taste bitter. “Kiss me.”

The man looked surprised, as I was sure anyone would have been. He looked away from his knife, leering eyes glazing over me. “What was that, princess?”

“Kiss … me,” I struggled.

A lecherous leer overtook his face, drool coating his fat lips. “I knew you were just a loose bitch,” the man jeered, the bait sinking into his smooth brain.

He wiped his mouth against the back of his hand before leaning towards me. A finger and thumb grabbed my chin with a punishing grasp. Whatever wound was filling my mouth throbbed in retaliation.

He could not hide his greed as he leaned his body forwards, stale breath lathering my cheeks.

Time slowed down. I adjusted my grip, the pocketknife slippery between my bloodied fingers until the handle sat snug in the crook of my palm. I ignored the harrowing monster as he leaned closer, my eyes sliding past his face towards the thick, ropey neck moving within range.

I can do this.

His fat lips pressed against mine, cigarettes and stale beer overpowering, mixing with my blood as his grip tightened on my chin and the back of my head burrowed into the concrete behind it. I could not decide whether it was bile or more blood that filled my throat as I swallowed hard to force it back down.

I can do this.

I lifted my hand, cautious to keep it obscured from view of my target’s accomplice.

His tongue pushed through, and my gasp of protest was smothered beneath his sloppy lips. The man delighted in my struggle and growled into my mouth.

I can do this!

I reached up, arm aching and shaking as I poised the knife where I needed it, the blade finding aim towards his throat.

3 … 2 …

“Monster …”

The words raced into my head, and the concrete disappeared beneath me. Ice swept into my soul, and darkness swallowed me whole.

A different dizzying and disorientating void took hold, but it was one I had never forgotten. My eyes burned, and chemicals filled my nose. Pain flashed across my face, my muscles aching and exhausted, but my grip on the blade was tight, my knuckles white. I could feel her chest quaking beneath me, felt the shiver of the blade and heard the gargle of blood in my ears. “ You … monster .”

BANG.

I was startled, the scream of a man filling my ears. Concrete pinched at my skin, and the hallucination vanished.

Knifeman stilled above me, his eyes bulged as wide as a frog, his face contorted with frozen rage. It did not last. The arm holding him aloft collapsed, his body falling rigid, like a felled tree, down onto my side, crushing my arm and knife beneath his titan mass.

I cried out, my bones being crushed into the uneven concrete. I curled towards him to find relief, pushing against his stiff chest, trying desperately to pull my limb free, but it was impossible. He weighed too much, and I was too weak.

His scream still rang in my ears as panic began to writhe in my chest and cortisone surged through my veins. I needed this man off.

The bile I tried to hold back, projected out of me and onto the still body of the man now lying motionless on my arm. His eyes remained wide open, pink neon light glinting lifelessly across his stark features. The acid burned my throat, and tears well in my eyes, as a cold reality dawned on me.

The man screaming was not this man.

The searing pain only grew; no adrenaline or shock comforted me, no numbness or cold, no blissful unconsciousness.

Even still, it could not distract me. Not as my body racked with tremors, not as I fought to stop myself from turning.

Don’t look.

Don’t look.

I looked.

At first, I could see the accomplice doubled over on the floor. His knees were soaked with dark red blood, hands clutching his waist, the handle of a hunting knife pressed between his knuckles. His yelling began to dull as more blood sunk into his shirt, and he began to sway. It was less than a second before he collapsed onto his side, hands falling limp on the ground.

The blood continued to spill, the thick puddle growing across the concrete, reaching towards a pair of expensive black dress shoes.

It cannot be …

My eyes climbed. The shoes were attached to a pair of slender, tailored suit trousers, the black colour untouched by blood, grime, or dirt. I rose higher, to the red silk shirt and the black suit jacket, the matching red silk handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket.

I knew this man.

Both neon and moonlight vanished as dark shadows swept across the hallway. I could not see well.

Beyond my poor vision and the crippling pain burrowing deeper into my arm and mind, he stood as an abstract blur—nothing more than shapes and soft edges. But even if I could not see him, I knew how the suit would cling to his frame, the sharp slope of his shoulders, the long length of his neck, and the cut of his languid lean legs.

He stood with one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers, the other with a silver pistol hooked around one finger, swinging loosely at his side. Smoke rose in ribbons from the barrel as he stared down at the injured man curled on the floor. He watched with a neutral, unchanging expression as the withering slowed and his gargled groans ceased.

The shadows swooped closer, dancing across the edges of my vision as my lids grew heavy. My blood thickened in my veins, and my arm numbed beneath the weight as even the pain began to grow distant and dull.

He turned, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he grew closer with every step until even the puddle began to ripple with his presence.

I knew by now my vision should have been able to focus, but instead, he remained a blurred, formless shadow as my eyes fluttered no more than a sliver from closed.

“I warned you.” His words burrowed under my skin. His voice, even from afar, was like a whisper deep in the shell of my ear. “I told you to never stop running.” He paused, and I was incoherent enough to believe it almost sounded pained as he muttered his next words . “This was your last chance to escape.”

A warmth gripped my chin, my body wanting to jerk away, but my strength had been sapped, and I was prey to his touch. Unlike the bruising grip before, his was tender, almost humanly gentle.

Do you know what will happen if I catch you …?

His distant voice replayed from a not-so-distant past in my head. I could feel the ghost of his breath on my skin from all those months ago and felt the same shiver of fear and anticipation crawling over my skin.

I won’t ever let you go.

His fingers travelled, slipping beneath my jaw, stretching until his fingers fit snugly against my neck. My neck rubbed against his firm, calloused palms, and his hand shivered.

“I’ve caught you.”