Chapter 1

1

T he scent of wet dirt fills my nostrils, causing a fit of coughs. I attempt to open my eyes, but the throb in my head stabs me behind my eyelids. I slam them shut again, and darkness closes in around me. I squeeze my eyes closed tighter, wishing this to be a bad dream I really want to wake up from. Only a scraping sound that reminds me of nails on a chalkboard causes my breath to hitch, and I know this isn't good.

The shovel scrapes along the rocks again, and the wind is knocked out of me as pile after pile of dirt is dumped on my limp body.

The impulse to jump up and run is strong. If I did, I wouldn't make it very far, my body is still and numb.

Even the creatures of the night have fallen silent, not a single chirp from a night bird or a cricket. I'm alone—no one to save me.

Voices flow through the cold breeze, my body shakes, and I'm not sure if it's from the cold air or fear, most likely a mix of both, but leaning more toward fear.

I attempt to listen to the unfamiliar, deep, manly voices argue. "Why did you do this?" one hisses out, and the shovel pauses.

Thank goodness.

I strain my ears to hear the reply.

"Her death is payment, she must die, her family owes it to yours," the other man growls out.

Payment? For what? I don't owe money to anyone.

"But she's done nothing wrong." His voice is firm and unwavering, while the other man bellows with such power and strength it would make anyone fear him.

"Her family broke the rules, and now I've been left to clean up the mess."

Family? For as long as I can remember, I've had no one close enough to resemble anything close to that. Growing up in the streets is not my idea of family. Trying to find my next meal or a warm place to sleep is no life for anyone, but it was mine.

A cough rips up my dirt-coated throat. I gag on it, dry retching.

"She's alive. We have to get out of here now," the gentle but firm voice says with urgency.

"No. She must die," the other persists.

What could I have done to him to owe a death penalty?

"She is a nobody. Leave her alone." The coldness in his tone sends chills down my spine.

There's grunting, a cry of pain, followed by a shout. Then, a shot rings through the air, causing me to jump. The noise is so deafening my ears begin to ring, and I cower into myself, finally moving my arms to cover my ears.

A silence follows the obvious gunshot, and I take the chance to move a little more. Who shot who? I could be next.

My muscles slowly unclench as I raise my body from the cold, damp dirt. I try to wipe it away from my clothes, but it doesn't work. The filth has permeated my shirt and pants and soaked through, sending a chill over my body and causing goose bumps to rise over my skin.

Luckily, the grave intended for my lifeless body is shallow, but I'm so cold my fingers are numb, and my entire body trembles. No matter how hard I try, grasping the grave's edge to get myself out is difficult. Still, somehow, I manage.

Eventually, after slipping back a few times, I hoist my exhausted body up and roll out onto the ground above my attempted early grave. With each movement, searing pain shoots through my skull, causing my stomach to roll. I clutch my arms around my stomach and groan.

A deep, throaty voice causes me to freeze. Panic claws at my chest.

"Are you all right?" Alarm bells are ringing loudly, and the urge to run is still strong.

I need to get up and out of this dirt if I'm going to survive. With slow movements, I manage to stand on my own, but not before strong hands touch my arms. I flinch, turning to defend myself and raise my hand, prepared to fight. He's quick, lashing out and gripping my wrist.

As I stare into his dark, haunting eyes, he places my hand at my side and hovers his hands at my shoulders.

His eyes roam over me, and I stand guarded, knowing I don't have the strength to move fast enough.

What is he looking for?

When his eyes stop at mine, I drop my gaze and focus on my mud-covered feet to avoid the hardness of his stare. It's like a weight holding me in place.

The darkness surrounding us makes it hard for me to see him clearly. From what I can tell, he has clean, shiny shoes, and it appears he's wearing suit pants.

He drops his hands to his sides and has yet to say a word, making the air heavy with tension.

Do I run?

Lifting his hand, it lands on my head, where he starts brushing away the leaves and picking out sticks and dirt that have found their way locked in my now matted hair. I recoil from his touch, my head remaining down. A cough pushes up my throat. "Please leave me alone. I didn't do anything wrong. I don't have any family, so I don't know why I'm being punished."

Tears sting my dirt-filled eyes, and I quickly try to rub it out, only to make it worse.

"Here." The man shoves something in front of my face.

Staring at it through blurry eyes, it looks like a piece of folded-up paper and a roll of cash. I stand there, biting my lip, unsure of what to do. When I don't move to take what he's shoved at me, he reaches down, takes my hand, presses it into my palm, and closes my numb fingers around it.

My body trembles as I await my death sentence. He could be setting me up.

"Get out of here!" he yells.

I jump, gripping the paper and money tightly. I glance down to the shallow grave one last time—a place I would never have been found.

Would I have been missed? Probably not. I don't have anyone—well, no one close to me. I've learned to keep my distance and not rely on others.

Without hesitation, I turn and run as fast as my legs will carry me through the trees. My breath is tight in my chest, but I push through the pain. Survival is an instinct I know well. Sticks stab into my bare feet, causing sharp pain to shoot up my legs.

Who was the man who killed my would-be killer? Do I really want to know? Possibly not. It might be dangerous, and instead of only running from one man's accomplices, I might be hiding from two. I need to hide and never be found. With this money, I should be able to start a new life.

I'm not sure where I'm going. I only know that I need to get away from here and hide. That man was so hell-bent on killing me, and I'm left wondering if he has others who will soon follow.

I can't stop.

I need to live.

To survive.