PROLOGUE

Heat swelled in the wet earth at our feet, attempting to swallow our shoes. We stepped through it slowly. The hum of insects chirped through the humid Florida grassland. We were reaching the Everglades.

I reached out for Daddy's hand. He was in front of me, leading us to safety. My hand covered in blood. It wasn't mine; it was never mine.

"You ok, baby?" he asked in a hushed tone. "The ground is getting wetter; we should be closer to the river. Are you listening for gators?"

I nodded. We were on alert. The strum of adrenaline throbbed through me like a pinched nerve, putting all my senses on edge. "I have my lighter. I'll fuck one up if it tries to get you."

He tried to keep his laughter down, but I knew I made him smile when I talked about being violent. It wasn't so much that he didn't think I was, because I'd killed, obviously. It was more because he was an assassin—well, an ex-assassin—and he could protect himself as well as me.

"They're more scared of us," he said. "But if you hear one or see one, don't freak out, and don't start any fires." He stopped me, placing his hands on my shoulders. He stared deep into my eyes, as much of them as he could see in the dark. "They'll see us."

Right. This wasn't some midnight exploration or training session. We were on the run for our life and freedom. The moment we could make it to the boat, we'd be on the next stop out of here. I dreamed of a peaceful beach island where we could get married. My dangerous Daddy had always promised me once we retired from this life, we'd settle down. He promised he'd only kill if it was necessary and not because he was paid. And I'd only light fires if we got cold, and not because I liked the way the pretty colors looked when they burned different things. Blue propane flames were my favorite.

We continued to walk in the direction of the river. We couldn't take a path or road. We had to go through the fields with enough grass to obscure us from view.

"It's my fault," I said. "You had it all planned out, and I went and ruined it." I hummed, stomping a foot in the wet squelch of land. "You know, I'm sorry. Right?"

This time, he couldn't control his laughter. "Baby." He picked me up and carried me over his shoulder. "You've never said you're sorry before," he whispered as I let my body go limp over his shoulders, pretending I was lifeless. "And no, you didn't ruin anything. You pushed the timeline up. It couldn't be avoided."

I inhaled his sweet cologne. It was strong, like cigarette smoke, with just a couple dabs of something flammable. It was divine. "I'm sad I won't get to say bye to Gen. She was so sweet to me," I sighed, my voice groaning out with vocal fry. "The way she knocked on our door all the time. She wanted to be my friend."

"Baby, Genette was like eighty years old. And she hated being called Gen. Plus, she was knocking on our door with noise complaints." he snickered. "She wasn't your friend."

"Yes, she was," I snapped. "She invited me to go with to that big house. And I refused because—because they weren't serving food."

"That was a court date, babe," he said. "Well, a summons."

I batted a hand at his chest. "Put me down." I wiped the sticky blood residue on him. "Next you'll tell me Steve at the 7-Eleven didn't like me either."

On my feet, I looked up at Daddy Atlas's face as it caught the moonlight. He had a beaming, smug smile. "Steve was scared," he said. "You threatened to burn his house down because he told you they were out of blue slushie."

A little growl rolled out from the back of my throat. "Oh, oh, ok. Steve will pay for that. We had to drive like ten minutes to find another store."

Stroking the back of my head, he encouraged me to keep forward. "We're not going back," he said. "So, Steve can thank his lucky stars and sleep well at night. Plus, you know we're not killers, baby."

I sighed. He was right. He'd been a contract killer, and I'd only killed killers, or people who intended on killing me, so future would-be killers. I was a good person; I even had my Blubby and he— "Where's Blubby?"

"He's going to be sent with the rest of our things," he said, stroking his hand down my forearm and tugging it. "Keep walking my little energizer bunny. We're almost there."

Blubby was my stuffed teddy bear. I'd had him since I was a blubby. It was my first word, so my mom and grandma used to call me that. Plus, I used to be on the blubby side thanks to grandma's Colombian cooking. "If he doesn't make it, I will make hell," I said behind gritted teeth.

"You're too adorable to make hell," he said. "You'd probably throw a tantrum and be a little brat, but then you'd ask for cuddles, and you'd blame someone else. So, in future, we'll skip your tantrums and go straight for sex."

I huffed, storming off ahead. "How can you mention sex at a time like this?"

He chased after me, our feet plodding through the wet dirt.

"You know I'm impressionable," I said. "You said the S-word, and now I just want to be in bed while you do that thing inside me."

He grabbed my hand. "You need a nap."

"Yeah," I said, pouting and pulling my hand away. "I need a nap—and some dick." Holding my hand out, I gestured for him to hand it over. "Where's it at?"

He pressed my hand against his crotch. "It's in here, and it's staying in here until we're on that boat," he said. "Now let's—"

A crack echoed out, like a branch snapping in two.

Immediately, we lulled our heads. The fun was over. We'd become too comfortable when we should've been focused on getting as close to the river as possible. There was a boat set up for us in the boatyard.

We were close. The ground around our feet was wetter.

We rushed forward.

A blinding spotlight popped.

It was searching for us.

We knew it we'd be cutting it close. Someone had told them about our escape plan—and that someone might've been me, but only because I didn't know it was an escape plan. I thought it was a vacation.

The spotlight hit us.

We were close to the grassy bank of a river.

Two men appeared through the field, shoving handguns in our faces. They were unrecognizable with the blinding white of the spotlight in our eyes.

"Gotcha," they said.

I held Daddy's hand tight.

"Which one of you killed him?" they asked.

"Their hands," I heard them whisper.

We both had blood on our hands from today.

"Boss said kill him."

"It was me," Daddy said.

"Atlas, the kill was messy. We know it wasn't you."

"Because it was—" he grabbed me, placing his bloody hand over my mouth.

"We were in a rush," he said. "So, you're gonna kill me?"

He was my world. My protector. My light in the dark. He'd do anything for me, but I couldn't let him die.

I kicked forward, my foot colliding with one of their guns, removing it from their possession as it somersaulted up into the air.

We went backward, closer to the river. I didn't know what our play was now, but I knew Daddy, and he'd want to continue.

"There's five other men out here," they called out, snapping their fingers. "Don't do anything stupid."

It was too late for that.

"Go," Daddy said. "Run."

"No, no, not without you."

"Baby, baby, baby," he said, giving my hand a squeeze. "Listen. Run. Go. I'll come for you."

I trusted him. My biggest flaw was my trust in him. I'd do anything he said.

I ran through the weeds and grass, letting the wet mud beneath my feet drag my shoes and socks off. I made it to the dirt path. That's where I saw the car with the spotlight. And then the men. Three of them, facing me, camouflaged in the darkness.

Behind me, a gunshot whipped through the air.

Turning, I attempted to run back. Instead, my knees buckled. I dropped to the ground in tears. My heartbeat obscured all noise in favor of the fuzzy throbbing from within.

My body was plucked from the ground, voices clamoring over each other for attention. I knew I was next to go.

"He knows where Atlas's money is," a voice penetrated the fuzzy barrier.

"The boss wants him alive."

But I wished they'd killed me.