1. PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

Damien

Twenty-three years ago

For months and months on end, I’ve been stuck inside a never-ending nightmare.

One that finally came to an end this last weekend.

And I can’t wait to share the good news with my two best friends.

“Rome,” I call out to one of them, the first one I see at the school gates.

There’s no mistaking his light brown hair that’s buzzed close to his head. Even beneath the oversized hoodie and jeans swallowing up his small frame.

Even with a bunch of kids separating us on the way past the school gates, I see him. He doesn’t hear me, though.

“Hey, Rome. Wait up,” I keep calling him anyway.

I have to catch up to him before he disappears. I have to. I can’t hold on to the good news a second longer. I couldn’t talk to him throughout the weekend, couldn’t get in touch with our other best friend, Liam Frost, either.

Rex and Harlow Palmer—or as I like to call them, my shithead foster parents—haven’t been home from Friday evening until late night yesterday. Without those assholes around, it should’ve been easier to go visit my friends. The guilt about bailing on my younger step-siblings, Jagger and Laurel, wouldn’t hurt as much.

Except our foster parents were in the mood for punishing us before they went to spend the weekend at Rex’s parents’.

This time, it wasn’t as bad, though. They just locked us in. Disconnected the phones so we won’t call social services.

Leaving a child under fourteen alone in Illinois is illegal. I’m the oldest and I’m eleven. I learned that from reading up about laws online. Started last year in the school’s library. They would’ve been fucked if the police found us alone there.

That’s what I’ve been able to pick up so far. I would’ve probably found a way to get us the fuck out of there, or get the couple arrested.

After this weekend, I won’t need it. Not with the Palmers anyway. Hopefully with no other foster home ever.

When the monsters came back on Sunday night, they announced the best news. We’ve been saved.

“Hey, Rome!”

He’s about to go past the wrought iron gates. Kids around and between us talk and laugh and yell, but I finally realize this isn’t why he can’t hear me.

He’s focused on something else. On ignoring his hunger, no doubt. My guess, by the way my shouts go up and over his head? A full weekend of it.

He probably couldn’t escape to Liam’s like he does sometimes. He would’ve heard me otherwise.

Motherfuckers.

My gut twists. Shame burns through me. Look at me, so fucking happy when my friend is in pain. Unlike me, Rome and his sister won’t be saved. They’re stuck with their parents until they turn eighteen.

Watching him hurt wipes the smile off my face. Most days, I’m able to stick to my fake smile, at least. Not today.

Seeing Rome like this kills me. I hate this for him. I hate that he suffers so bad—that he focuses so hard on survival—that he tunes out the world. We’ve been friends since the first grade.

His parents’ fridge is full to the brim, and there he is. Starved. Again.

Sure, our counselor asks him why his cheeks are hollowed. Why his collarbone sticks out. Why he’s always furious.

He sticks to the same lie every time. The lie his dad demands he tell them.

Rome is a picky eater. Nothing our personal chef does is good enough for him.

That’s why he goes to a public school instead of private. His family is wealthy, but his dad sent him here.

They’re understaffed and don’t have the budget to care about you . He laughed at Rome one day. He wasn’t wrong.

No one goes to check up on their home.

His mom is okay with what his dad does.

Another monster.

They have a way to keep him in line. Joseph Langford threatens Rome that if he ever says anything, he’ll starve Rome’s three-year-old sister, Anne, worse than he does now. Maybe even to death.

Yeah. I’ll keep the good news for later.

After I give him my sandwich, the last I’ve ever made at Rex’s house. After I see my friend sort of smiling. His dark, harsh version of a smile, anyway.

Then Liam will help him get food for Anne. His parents are great like that. They don’t lock him up. They do their best to make up for what happened to their kid last year.

I wedge myself between the other kids. They don’t grunt or yell at me, even though I elbow my way past them. The opposite.

They want my attention.

“Hey, Damien! How are you?”

“Want to play ball after school?”

“No, he’s not going to hang with you. He’s coming over to my place. Right, Dame?”

The responses I give them are a shake of my head and, “Tomorrow. For sure, tomorrow.”

I won’t. I hardly ever go meet anyone other than my two best friends after school. But it’s fine. No one cares, really. They like that I remember their names. The fake smile on my lips. The grin I perfected to reach my blue eyes.

They see the fake me, and they like it. They’re drawn to it.

No one other than Rome and Liam know about my mask. That I had to learn to have one on and now I can’t take it off.

Being passed around from one foster home to another is why I am the way I am. It’s a survival mechanism. No matter what’s going on in my head, I need everyone to like me.

Murderous on the inside, everyone’s favorite person on the outside. Well, I wasn’t always murderous.

Before the Palmers, I had decent foster parents. The other kids were okay too, I guess. I did my best to make them like me and it worked.

When I was passed to the Palmers, that’s when shit got bad.

Over the last year, a little after Liam’s accident and the shit I’ve been through at my foster home, I became vengeful. Hateful. No one would ever want to be around the real me.

Someone who dreams about revenge in the form of cutting up a particular married couple. Who has plans that would make it happen. Who smiles while he dreams of their hearts in his hands.

Blood everywhere.

Yeah, no one would want a friend like that. No one other than Liam and Rome.

Other than Jagger and Laurel, my foster siblings, who turn to me to protect them. I try. My God, I try. The healing wound on my left forearm is proof of that. It’s a shallow cut. Wouldn’t leave scars like those I have on my abdomen.

But I’ll remember.

Three rows of kids separate Rome and me. I shrug the left strap of my old backpack off my shoulder as I push through them. Swing the bag to the front so I can fish out my PB & J sandwich and have it ready for him.

“Rome!” I try again.

Another kid beats me to him. Puts a hand on his shoulder. Offers him a tiny smile when Rome turns his head to face him.

Liam, with his unruly, wavy dark hair over his forehead, his amber eyes. He can sneak up on you without you ever noticing. The genius who skipped two classes.

I watch as Rome blinks when he realizes it’s him. Something that resembles a smile appears on Rome’s lips too. He can never stay angry when Liam’s around.

“Black called you,” he refers to me by my last name. Jerks his head in my direction.

I’m almost there, only one girl standing between me and them.

“Hey, Scar Face.” Ginne, the redhead asshole from my class, laughs as she points at Liam.

Her evil green eyes squint as they zone in on Liam. On the scar tissue that starts on his jaw, runs across his cheek, and ends below his earlobe.

“Why don’t you pull your hood over?” She laughs again. Fucking laughs at him. “Gross. No one wants to see that thing.”

Liam’s eyes widen. His fingers flex at this side, itching to cover himself up, if I had to guess. Rome and I swore him not to do that. Never hide his scars. There’s no shame in surviving a nightmare. Fucking none.

Ginnie doesn’t agree with us. She hasn’t ever since Liam was released from the hospital.

I’m never an asshole to anyone in school.

I am an asshole to her. Keep telling her to shut up about it. That I’ll ruin her social life.

The bitch just won’t listen.

One asshole coming right up, Ginnie.

Except Rome’s already there. Already serving her order.

My friend throws himself at her, his hand balled into a fist. His knuckles are red and raw from never having his gloves on when he takes his anger out on walls and punching bags.

And soon they’ll be red from destroying Ginnie.

His dark blue eyes are furious. Lips curled in a snarl.

Bam!

That first blow connects to Ginnie’s stomach. She doubles over, folding her arms over her stomach.

Stifling a laugh is hard. So I don’t. That bitch has earned it. I hope there’ll be more where that one came from.

“Dame has been nice to you this past year.” Rome looms over her, ignoring the growing crowd around us. He grabs her by the hair and yanks her head up to meet his furious gaze. “I’m not nice. Next time you even look at Liam, I’ll ruin you.”

Silence.

Boys don’t beat girls up around here.

Then again, not too many people I know are as overprotective as Rome. None of them have been gearing up to murder people when they’re older, like the three of us.

“You’re hurting me,” she grits out.

The crowd stays silent and at a safe distance from her and Rome. They won’t come to help her. They won’t run inside to call a teacher.

They’re scared to mess with Rome and me.

Ginnie’s on her own.

Serves her right.

This is a lesson that’s been a long time coming.

“Do I look like I care?” Rome spits out, then turns to Liam. “L, you have something to add?”

By add , Rome means, kick her . He means, I know I’ll get detention for this plus a few days of no-food at home. But she bullied you, and it’ll be worth it.

Liam doesn’t say a word. Slides a hand into the pocket of his jeans and takes his Zippo out.

“No.” Ginnie starts crying big, fat tears.

My chuckle sounds evil. She has to have heard it since I’ve moved close to the three of them.

Rome nods at Liam. “Do it.”

The lighter flicks open. Liam still hasn’t had his growth spurt. He has to lift his arm until the gold Zippo reaches Ginnie’s eyes. He keeps it on him always, a way to calm himself when his memories get the best of him. To remind himself what a badass he is, holding the thing that’s partially responsible for his scar.

Flicking it open and shut like he owns it.

Flick. Snap. Flick. Snap.

“D-don’t, please.”

Liam squints at Ginnie. His mouth pinches into a straight line. When he closes the lid on the Zippo, she screams at the abrupt sound. His expression doesn’t change. He flicks it open again, rolling his finger over the wheel.

The blue-red flame flares before her eyes.

The rest happens fast. So fast.

He grabs a strand of her hair that’s escaped from Rome’s grip. Brings the fire to it.

Burns two inches of her hair before killing the flame between two fingers.

The big bully’s face is as red as her hair as she sobs. Weeps harder when he slaps the top of her head to put out the fire.

Yes. That’s what I’m talking about.

“Go, Liam,” I say.

I bet Rex would scream louder than Ginnie when I take my revenge on him. Once the three of us are all grown up, I’ll make him scream. Oh, man, will I fucking ever.

Rome’s attention doesn’t waver from Liam. Neither does mine. Not even when our friend takes a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. The shame has disappeared from his face.

He owns the fire. When he controls the fire, it doesn’t control him.

This big dumb bully doesn’t control him either.

“L, you done?” Rome watches him. “I can hold her down some more. As much as you need.”

“I’m fine.” Two words. That’s it.

Those two words are the order Rome needs to release Ginnie from his grasp. She stumbles to the side, landing on me, of all people.

“Gross, Gin. All that snot. No one wants to see that.” I push her to the ground, throwing her words back at her.

Too easily, she tumbles to the ground.

Reminds me of how Jagger tripped over himself when Rex shoved him on the kitchen floor a few months ago.

He won’t be doing that anymore.

We were saved. Who could’ve believed that a tiny newborn would save Jagger, Laurel, and me from Rex and Harlow’s abuse? Not me for sure.

The bell rings, cutting into my thoughts. Into my relief.

Since the show is over, everyone rushes inside.

Everyone but the three of us. Oh yeah, and the useless guard who’s been snoring in his booth for the last ten minutes.

We don’t ask each other if we’re okay. It’s a given we aren’t.

“Are we adding her to the list?” I break the silence first, going for humor. I usually do.

“No.” Liam pockets his Zippo. “She’s an idiot. Not her fault.”

I want to argue that she’s an idiot who hurt our friend. Rome’s icy blue eyes slice to mine, silencing me. It’s the glare he gives me. It’s the black circles under them, too. How hollow they look.

The fucking sandwich. My PB & J is in Rome’s hand before he can tell me I should be the one eating it.

“I made two,” I lie. “Eat up.”

Normally, Rome demands to see the second sandwich. Today, he doesn’t. Today, he chows half of it down. I was right back then. This shit has been going on since lunch on Friday.

Rome’s shaky fingers move to wrap what’s left of the sandwich. “Anne.”

His three-year-old sister.

“My parents prepared food for both of you in the fridge. Swing by after school.” Liam pushes back a black strand of hair that fell into his eyes. It’s back there. “You had something to say. That’s why you called Rome over.”

“Yes.” Of course he’d know I meant to talk to both of them. There are no secrets between us. None. It’s just that I didn’t see him. “Never mind, though. We’re gonna be late for class.

“Fuck class.” Rome wipes the last of the crumbs off his mouth. “You’re holding out good news on us, aren’t you?”

The smile on my face is gone, and I shrug. I can’t tell them. Rome’s been suffering the whole weekend. Liam was just ridiculed for his scar.

Later.

“Rome, finish the sandwich.” Liam nudges him. “I’ll help you hide the food in your backpack for Anne. Swear.”

“Okay. Talk, Damien.” He unwraps the sandwich, tearing into it. “Before Mr. Hicks notices we’re missing.”

His cold eyes tell me he won’t drop the subject. “I’m leaving the Palmers. Or more like, the Palmers are dropping us. The three of us.”

Both of them gape at me.

Rome swallows the last bite of the sandwich. Coughs. “You’re shitting me.”

“What happened? Are they dying?” The corner of Liam’s lips ticks to the side. A small smile before he shuffles through his backpack. “Should we take them off the list?”

“They’re not getting off that easy. They’re alive.” The healed knife wounds in my abdomen burn the more I talk about the bastard. “Someone saved us. She saved us.”

“She?” Liam stops, the brown notebook in his hand.

The notebook that holds the names of the people we’re going to kill. Our revenge plans.

Justice.

One day, we’ll be rich. One day, we’ll have the money to hire people to help us. Spies to hunt them down. People to cover up our tracks. We’re not sure how, but we will.

“Thought Rex doesn’t let the social worker see the scars and open wounds.” Rome’s brows lower. “You said he threatened to kill the three of you if you told.”

“He still does. She is Quinlan.” I stand a little taller. My heart gets this strange, warm and fuzzy feeling. Weird. “Rex’s new sister.”

“Isn’t he too old to have a baby sister?” Rome’s face twists. “What is he like? Twenty-three?”

“His dad’s new wife wanted a baby,” I repeat Rex’s words, the ones he said to Maeve. I overheard them one night. He actually sounded happy, the bastard. “Anyway, she is real. Quinlan is real. When Rex came back from his weekend there, he said we’re out. He wants Quinlan and her parents to visit him at his place and he doesn’t trust us little shits around her. So, bye, bye fuckers.”

Quinlan. Repeating her name, even in my own head, is like saying God’s name. I whispered it a million times last night. Each time, it tasted just as sweet.

I haven’t even seen the baby, and I love her. Thanks to her, Jagger, Laurel, and I are getting out of that hellhole.

She’ll be fine. The way Rex talked about her, he loves her. He’ll be nice to her.

To my savior.

I’ll keep an eye on her anyway. To protect her.

Because I can’t help it.

Hell, maybe I’ll use her as part of my revenge against Rex one of these days.

No.

Or maybe I will? I could. I won’t hurt her. I’ll give her everything, but Rex won’t have her and that will hurt him. He’ll suffer before I kill him.

Yes.

I snatch the notebook from Liam, shoving it in my backpack. I’ll add that part there over lunch break.

“You’re getting a new foster home and that’s it.” The look on Liam’s face is his thinking look. “What if they move you out of Chicago? Or to another part of town? What if the next one’s worse?”

“Worse than cutting me?” I smirk, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “They’ll go onto the list. And about schools, don’t worry. I’ll find a way to stay. I’m not going anywhere.”

I’ll suck up to teachers, social care workers, whoever I need. I’ll convince them to keep me here.

I’m staying right here next to my brothers. Next to Jagger and Laurel.

For life.

And in the meantime, I’ll watch over Quinlan.

When she’s older, I’ll even thank her. I’ll spoil her.

Then I’ll get back at the Palmers through her.