Prologue

DAEGAN

"Another day...another scar unless you have a breaking point." He slices the side of my face again with a thick, unsharpened blade. It's incredibly dull, which forces my captors to press down harder. The knife cuts through the side of my brow down to the bottom of my eye.A stinging, burning sensation ripples as it breaks through my skin. My teeth grind hard to stop myself from giving in to what they want.

No grunts. No emotions tethered from pain. I won't give them anything. Information. Intelligence. My name. They're going to be sorely disappointed...I don't have a breaking point.

A roar of laughter escapes my dry throat as he cuts me. My captor goes rigid, and he stops, gripping the handle tight in his hand and adjusting his posture. His eyes widen like he just saw something that scares him.

My blood drips down my face and onto my chest. I'm showered in red. I hum as the blood glides down onto my abdomen. My favorite color.

His wicked smile fades into a menacing frown. He narrows his brows at me, flaring his nostrils, and slices the same side of my face again, but this time it's fast and less torturous. "You think this is funny, Creature?"

I laugh harder, leaning against the pillar I'm tied to. I rest my head, chuckling softly. I'm naked, cold, and beaten to shit. So yes, I think it is pretty funny how they think I'm scared about having a few scars on my face. They just made me more deliciously handsome.

"It is funny, actually," I tell him, with a grand smile curving onto my bruised face.

He punches me in my stomach, the impact forcing my lungs to give out, and I scrunch over as far as my body lets me. I cough as I struggle to breathe the air that was forced out, the chains around my wrist grinding against the metal. Damn, he got me good. I'll give him that. Still, he's weak, and I'll show just how funny his tragic undoing will be once I get myself free.

"Why is that?" He leans down, getting into my face. One of my eyes is closed shut, and I'll be a lucky bastard if I can still see from it after all this is over. Eh, I guess I only need one eye to snipe, so I should be fine. I shrug my shoulders, tilting my head to the side as I talk to myself. I regain my strength and focus on the dead man standing before me and smile, flashing my bloody mouth. He's puzzled, but then I spit onto his face.

He flinches as he gets sprayed with red, closing his eyes, and I smirk.

"Because I don't have a breaking point, dipshit. Oh look, you've got a little something on your nose...if you let me out of these chains, I can get that for you." I purse my lips. One of the captors in the corner behind him breaks into a roar of laughter. The man I spit on whips his gaze from me to him and glares. This causes the laughing man to clear his throat and look at the floor.

He wipes his face clean with his hand, pouting like a child who got their favorite toy taken away. He walks to a table full of weapons laid out a couple of feet from where I am. Walking up and down, he smiles with satisfaction because he's found another tool he wants to use for his sick pleasure of hoping to break me. He grabs a machete and holds it to my throat…

I jolt up, panting hard, escaping the nightmare I dream about every fucking night since I escaped being a prisoner of war. The alarm I have scheduled on my phone rings loud, dragging me out of the shadows I endure when I close my eyes.

I'm covered in sweat, and my bed sheets are damp. My chest heaves up and down, desperately to flush out the darkness I was trapped in. I rub my hand through my dark hair as another attempt to drag myself out of the dreadful memories. I never sleep well. I'm always in and out of sleep. I'm used to this. But after being tortured and suffering life-lasting injuries…it's worse.

Sweat drips down my chest hair onto my stomach. I have the bedroom fan off because I dislike seeing it before falling asleep. The wings remind me of a helicopter, and it takes me back to Iraq. I can't sleep without the lights because it reminds me of the dark bedroom I stayed in when I was captured.

I look over to the clock on my nightstand, and the time shines bright. It's one in the morning, and I'm still trying to catch my breath. I passed out after a long day at work and the gym. I clear my throat and sit up, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed. My heart skips a beat at the thought of one person who has driven me to the point of no return.

ALESSIA

A brush of cold air wakes me up from my heavy sleep. I hum, squinting through heavy eyelids, sleep slowly fading as my muscles come alive. That's when I noticed I had fallen asleep listening to the storm outside. I left the window open because I like the white noise it provides. Rain is peaceful to me. Something about the sound of water falling, winds blowing, and thunder striking that has me relaxed. I do this every time a storm rolls by, even if it is only for a couple of minutes.

My arm stretches out in hopes that I will find my boyfriend and ask him to close the door for me. But the bed is cold, and my fingers meet nothing but more blankets, and I groan in familiar disappointment.

He's probably out drinking again with his friends.

I turn to my side, trying to muster up the strength to stand up and shut the window. There's barely any visibility in my dark bedroom, and the moonlight from the storm that's plagued the sky slightly creates dim lighting.

I open my eyes, ready to pull the blankets off me, and my heart falls to my stomach. Thunder strikes and my blood runs cold when I see a tall, massive figure dressed in a skull mask standing in the doorway.

He doesn't look panicked. His hands are at his side, and he tilts his head amusedly.

My mind instantly eliminates the possibility that my boyfriend is the one in the cryptic mask standing there, because Jack is only 5'8 and lean, but this person is well over six feet tall, and he's taller than the door frame.

I scream, a short gasp of a scream, and adrenaline kicks in as my eyes widen. I scramble for my nightstand, headed for the lamp, tearing my eyes from the intruder.

I find the switch and fall off my bed when it turns on. My body lands with a short-lived thud. I spring towards my firearm, grabbing my Glock that's hidden underneath my bed. I point it at my door with a tight grip, switching off the safety.

But the man isn't there anymore. He's gone. Just as fast as I noticed him watching me, he disappeared like an actual ghost. I'm left with a heaving chest, one hand clawing at my blankets, questioning if it was just a bad dream or an actual invasion.