2. One

Dry corn stalks scraped at my exposed arms and legs as I ran. A spotlight swept across the cornfield, searching for me as I scrambled through the dark, and hounds bayed not far behind. I didn’t dare look behind me to see how close. I’d almost made it.

Just a little further, and I’d be at the highway. After that, all I had to do was get someone to stop, then I was home free.

A dog barked right behind me. I flinched and threw myself into the corn. My foot caught on one of the broken stalks, scraping the skin raw. I bit my tongue and squeezed my eyes closed tight to keep from screaming out in pain.

And I kept running.

Warm blood trickled from the scrape on my ankle, cuts on my arms and legs, and another on my cheek. Running half naked through a corn field at night probably wasn’t one of my smartest ideas, but I’d already tried every other direction. The soybean field to the east was too low and gave my captors a clear shot at my back while I was running. When I’d tried that way, Boone and his dogs had run me down faster than ever.

To the north was a rickety little ghost town rigged with tripwires and traps. Hell, Boone was crazy enough I wouldn’t put it past him to bury a bunch of landmines out there. Running through there would be suicide, and I planned to live long enough to enjoy freedom.

So I ran west with hopes that I’d stumble on a road and rescue before Boone and his dogs stumbled on me.

The rows curved ahead and I skidded to a painful stop, my bare feet digging into hard clumps of dirt. Which way should I go? Where was I? My lungs burned. I’d been running so long, I forgot whether I’d taken a right or left turn at the last junction, and I was out of time to decide.

A growl cut through the night behind me. I turned and found myself face to face with a black and white Pitbull terrier mix. I swear, Trixie must’ve had Great Dane in her too, because she was huge.

I held up my hands as she took a step closer, drool dripping from her massive jaws. “Hey, Trixie. Good girl. Nice puppy.”

It was pointless. Trixie was fiercely loyal to her master, and he’d ordered her to stop me. I couldn’t outrun her either. That didn’t stop me from backing away.

And bumping directly into her sister, Morticia. Morticia was even bigger, and she was right behind me. Dammit, I was so fucked.

Now you’ve done it, screamed the voice in my head. They’re going to eat you alive.

The two dogs backed me up while I kept my hands raised, hoping they wouldn’t pounce on me. Unfortunately for me, that was exactly what they did. Trixie threw back her head and let out an ear-splitting bark before she charged.

“Oof!” I grunted as she threw herself at my gut while Morticia bumped her shoulder against the back of my knees. I tumbled to the ground and they were both on me in an instant, plopping their heavy bodies across my shoulders and hips. No matter how I kicked, they were just too big for me to throw off, at least without having them snap their drooling jaws at me.

I didn’t think they’d bite me—at least not without a direct command from Boone—but I also didn’t want to chance it.

“Lookie what I caught. A naughty little puppy out for a midnight stroll.” The cornstalks parted and a short redhead with permanent stubble crawling down his neck stepped out, a shotgun on his shoulder. He paused to adjust his trusty faded blue trucker cap, letting some of his long, red hair spill out.

“I’m not your puppy, asshole!” I grabbed a handful of dirt and flung it at him. It didn’t even come close to hitting him. “Get your fucking dogs off of me!”

“Sure thing.” He grinned and winked. “But it’s going to cost ya.”

I grimaced and let my head fall back into the dirt. My arrangement with Boone was supposed to be simple. He gave me a place to stay and the opportunity to work off the debt I owed him for helping to spring me from the psych hospital, and I did the fucking work. Except I hated him, hated the work, and had never fucking planned to stay longer than one night. My whole plan had been to run as soon as I could and never work off a dime for this asshole. I never thought he’d actually hunt me down to make sure I did.

With a frustrated growl I let my fists relax. There was no point in fighting my capture. If I couldn’t get what I wanted one way, I’d just have to try another. I closed my eyes and forced my body to relax. “I surrender.”

Boone’s grin widened. “Go on, girls. Give him hell.”

I gagged as both dogs rolled and started licking me like crazy. Their breath smelled like they’d been eating shit-covered tires. Gross. I bit my lip, trying not to laugh as Trixie started licking my stomach. God dammit, why did I have to be ticklish?

Boone chuckled and stood before giving a sharp whistle. Morticia and Trixie immediately leapt up and went to his side, ears perked and ready to follow his next command.

Boone approached slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, and pulled me to my feet. His fingers lingered just a bit too long in mine, and his eyes were too soft. Not with pity. Boone didn’t have an ounce of that in him. No, there was desire behind those hazel eyes. He liked the chase, almost as much as I liked running.

It wasn’t the same for me as it was for him. For me, running was necessary. I couldn’t stay trapped behind those walls with nothing but dogs and dirt for company. I’d spent too much time as a prisoner already.

But Boone… He wanted me. He’d wanted me the day he set eyes on me three months ago. Even though he’d never acted on that desire, it was there, and he hated himself for it.

He finally let me go and I winced when I put weight down on my left ankle.

Boone surged forward like he wanted to touch me again, but he stopped himself. “Where?”

“Ankle,” I hissed, exaggerating the pain slightly. I didn’t want his pity, but I’d fucking use it like a weapon if I had to.

“Come on now. Sit down before you hurt yourself worse, Pup.” He eased me into the dirt and picked up my cut ankle like he could fix it by staring at it.

A familiar engine rumbled, and the old Jeep pulled up on the narrow strip of grass between the cornfield and the trees. Church was at the wheel in his pajamas, his muscles making the buttons strain to stay shut. He gritted his teeth and glared at me, irritated that I’d interrupted his beauty sleep.

Meanwhile, Wattson, the unit’s doctor, half fell getting out of the Jeep, eyes wide. Boone stood and moved out of the way so Wattson could take over. Wattson helped me to my feet. I leaned on him more than I needed to. My ankle hurt, but not as bad as I was making it seem. I was going to milk that injury for all the sympathy I could.

Boone helped me into the back of the Jeep. “Easy, Pup. Don’t hurt yourself any worse.”

The gentle way Boone helped me into the back of the vehicle made the hateful fire in my belly burn stronger. I glared at him as he climbed in behind me, the dogs jumping at his heels. “Why do you even fucking care what happens to me?”

“You’re an investment, kid, and I intend to get my money’s worth.”

I huffed and crossed my arms. What a load of shit. I wasn’t worth anything to anybody, least of all him. Boone wanted the same thing from me as the orderly at Twin Valley Behavioral Health. I’d learned the hard way that once I gave in, once I let horny, older men have my body, they’d quickly throw me away without a care. To them, I was an object to be used, nothing more.

I closed my hands into fists. They all thought they’d gotten away with it, but not if I had anything to say about it. I didn’t care if it was the last thing I did; I was going to see them all dead.

The dogs leapt up into the front seat like the passenger princesses they were, and the Jeep lurched forward.

Wattson clicked on his pen light and used it to look me over. “Lucky son of a bitch,” he muttered.

Despite the dark and the bumpy ride, Wattson found every one of my scrapes and bruises. He tore open some wipes to clean them up. The worst was on my foot, which was throbbing and still bleeding. I winced as he drew the alcohol wipe over the open cut, my fist tightening around the seat.

“You know, if you wouldn’t run, you wouldn’t get hurt,” Church said in his stupid British accent.

I glared at the back of his head, visualizing it exploding into a wet, sticky mess. He wouldn’t be so jolly good then, would he?

“Fuck,” I hissed again as Wattson shifted my foot and pain shot up the side of my leg.

“Easy, Pup.” Boone’s hand was suddenly squeezing mine in some mock show of sympathy.

I fought the urge to jerk my hand away and instead squeezed back.

“I don’t think it’s sprained,” Wattson offered, still fucking with my ankle. He clicked off his pen light. “Rest, ice, and elevate.”

“Suck my dick, fucker.” It wasn’t my most creative insult, but I was in a lot of pain.

Wattson sighed and quit poking me. “Maybe a gag would do him some good too.”

“Naw, I like his creative Xion-isms,” Boone said, putting an arm around my shoulders. “By the way, this little outing of yours is gonna cost you. You must really like working for me.”

I crossed my arms and glared at the floor. While I didn’t mind the work, I sure as hell didn’t want to work for him in his stupid junkyard or his car repair shop. That was why I ran. I couldn’t stay there forever. I had places to be and people to kill.

The Jeep rumbled as we rolled onto the road, making a sharp left. My heart sped up and my throat tightened at the sight of the sign for Junkyard Dogs Salvage Yard. We went up the road a short distance before making the right turn into the junkyard and my home away from… Well, not a home away from home, considering I hadn’t had a proper home in years. But I’d slept in worse.

Lines of junked and repaired cars greeted us, the prices written in Boone’s messy hand on the windshields along with the words, “AS IS.” The office was beyond that, a large U-shaped building with an attached garage where they worked on cars. Behind it loomed steel towers of crushed cars, discarded appliances, and broken dreams crushed into square billets to be carried away and melted into something new.

A tiny sliver of a lonely moon hung like a fishhook in the black sky. It was cool enough that a few white fingers of frost appeared in the shadows, but outside the shadows, it was just warm enough to be tolerable.

On nights like this, my brothers and I used to sneak out our bedroom window. We’d curl up arm in arm on the sloped roof, fingers intertwined, and just lie there in our special silence. A lot of people seemed to believe multiples had some sort of telepathic connection, but Xander, Xavier, and me didn’t. We just understood each other so well that we didn’t need words to communicate. I knew what every twitch and tic in my brothers’ faces meant. Glances contained whole sentences, and we could tell stories to each other from across the room with simple gestures.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

Then something happened when I was fourteen that drove us apart. The voices started filling the place where my brothers used to be, slowly pushing them away. Hearing voices that they couldn’t was scary enough, but losing my connection with Xander and Xavier… It was like losing my own limbs. I couldn’t even explain to my brothers why I suddenly had jumbled thoughts where they used to be.

Back then, I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t have the words or the tools to cope with my psychosis, let alone to explain it to others. By the time I did, it was too late. The damage was done, and my brothers were gone. They were dead to me now. Sometimes, it felt like I had died with them. On days like today, I certainly felt like a corpse.

Stop looking at it. He’s looking at it. Why are you so stupid?

They’re going to poison you.

I winced and closed my eyes against the assault of foreign voices, all talking over one another. They weren’t real, even if they felt like they were. If I turned my head, there’d be a woman sitting next to me whispering in my ear and an angry man telling me to stop and start various tasks without rhyme or reason.

Sometimes they were quiet, but never long even with medication.

When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer in the Jeep but standing in the doorway to the trailer I shared with Boone. It was tucked in the back of the junkyard alongside half a dozen others, all belonging to the men who worked for him. I didn’t remember getting out of the car, but it also wasn’t unusual for me to lose chunks of time when I was stressed out.

To call Boone’s guys mercenaries was a stretch. They did odd jobs for money and ran the junkyard on the side. I suspected they laundered money through the car repair garage, but I didn’t have proof. Most of their work consisted of going places and doing things that were either borderline illegal or flat out dangerous. They were like the A-Team on steroids.

Time stuttered, reversed, and I saw myself walking up the stairs into the trailer, leaning on Boone’s shoulder because the cut on my ankle hurt. Then I was back in the present, watching him move a newspaper aside to pick up his cigarettes.

The words on the newspaper morphed and changed before my eyes, certain words and letters standing out in bold. Put together, it was gibberish that meant nothing to most people, but to me, it was a secret coded message sent from my handler in the shadow government. He was warning me about the cameras the secret service had placed in Trixie and Morticia’s eyes. My identity was compromised, and I had to get out of there.

But it was all a lie. There were no cameras, no shadow government, no coded messages in the newspaper for me. That was just another delusion, even if it felt real. I knew it was false, and I knew it was true at the same time, which only made the tightness in my chest worse.

My heart sped up and I wrapped my arms tightly around myself, afraid to move, afraid to stay still. People were coming for me. They were coming and they were going to kill me. I needed to get out. To run. To—

“Look at me.” Boone’s voice cut through the myriad of voices crowding my mind. His hands were on me, holding my face, thumbs cool against my cheeks. “You’re safe here, Pup. Nobody’s coming to get you. And if anybody tried, they’d have to go through me first.”

I wasn’t safe; not there or anywhere, but I knew Boone was right. He wouldn’t let anyone take me. If anyone could protect me, it’d be Boone.

The acrid smell of cigarette smoke was strong in my nose, grounding me temporarily. I wanted more of it, wanted it inside me. Boone and that cigarette were the only things I could be sure were real.

As if he could somehow read my mind, Boone plucked the cigarette from between his lips and offered it to me.

Despite the voice whispering it was poison, I took it and put the cigarette to my lips. The first inhale of deadly smoke was heaven. My insides melted, letting my shoulders relax.

“Better?” Boone asked, drawing a thumb over my cheek.

Eyes closed, I nodded. His hand retreated and the door latched shut behind me.

We’re trapped. We have to leave. Now. Leave!

Before panic could overtake me, Trixie and Morticia were there, nipping at my fingers, guiding me toward Boone’s favorite chair. The smoke was in my lungs, burning the raw skin of my nose.

I plopped down in Boone’s chair. “What’s for dinner?”

“You missed it.” He gestured for me to get up, but I didn’t move.

“My foot hurts,” I said.

“That’s your own damn fault.”

Morticia trotted over and hopped into my lap like she was half the size she was. Curling into a tight ball, she looked up at Boone as if she were challenging him. He might’ve kicked me out of his chair, but he didn’t have the heart to kick his dog out.

Boone rolled his eyes and walked over to kick the lever down. The chair reclined and my legs popped up on the leg rest. Trixie slinked under the leg rest to sleep.

Boone banged around in the kitchen for a little while before coming back with a glass of amber liquid and a paper plate containing a bologna sandwich. “Here.” He grunted and shoved the sandwich at me.

I took it because I was hungry.

He plopped onto the worn sofa next to the recliner, drink in hand, and turned on the TV, immediately switching it over to one of his classic movies channels to watch Dirty Harry for the millionth time. I didn’t mind. The way Eastwood delivered his one liners was growing on me.

“Don’t fall asleep in my chair,” Boone said, lighting a cigarette.

I grunted in response and puffed on the cigarette, turning my attention to Morticia and scratching behind her ears. She was a good dog, even if she did run me down every time I tried to get away. There was a part of me that would miss this if I ever succeeded in one of my escape attempts. It was stupid, but I liked knowing that if I ran, someone cared enough to chase me.

When my adoptive brothers Warrick and Shepherd broke me out of that psych hospital, I thought about contacting the rest of my family, just to let them know I was alive. But what would be the point? They’d made their intentions clear. My adoptive family had barely come to see me while I was locked up. I wasn’t that upset that my brother, River, and my dad, Yuri, hadn’t come—I never was that close to either of them—but for Annie to abandon me hurt. She was supposed to be my mother.

As far as Warrick went, I wasn’t surprised he’d forgotten about me as soon as I was free. He’d always had a one-track mind, and he’d seemed distracted. I heard he had a new fiancée and kids. Good for him. He was probably just busy and didn’t want a troublemaker like me around his family. I couldn’t blame him for that.

And I might’ve shared a womb with Xander and Xavier, but we weren’t close anymore. Not like triplets should be. Xavier had come to see me a few times while I was in the hospital, but Xander… He’d kept his distance. After what I’d done, though, I wouldn’t want to see me either.

They weren’t my family. Not anymore. From the moment they left me with Boone, I was alone.

Good riddance.

That gave me more time to focus on finding the people who’d taken advantage of me while I was at my lowest. Finding them, killing them… Thoughts of it consumed me. I knew it wasn’t healthy, but neither was smoking.

Life was always one hundred percent fatal, so I figured I should live while I was alive.

Boone sighed and muted the TV.

Here we go, I thought. Another lecture.

“What’ll it take to get you to stop running?” he asked.

“Blow me,” I spat.

He removed his hat and scrubbed his hands over his coppery ponytail. “Believe me, kid, if I thought it’d work, I’d try it.”

I bet you fucking would, I thought and glanced over at him, frowning as I watched him take his hair down. I definitely didn’t want to run my fingers through the glossy copper threads to see if it was as soft as it looked. I hated his stupid face, and his stupid hair, and the way that cigarette looked between his pursed lips.

“I’m at my wits end,” Boone said. “I know you don’t want to be here, but you can’t be out there. What’s your plan anyway? You’ve got no ID, no bank account, no money.”

I lowered my head and looked away, knowing he’d think I was crazy if I told him. Well, crazier. Boone already thought I was batshit, even though he never said it. I could see it in his face when he looked at me, hear it in his voice when he spoke to me.

Or that could be my paranoia talking.

“What the fuck do you think you’re gonna do once you finally escape, huh?” Boone pressed, sounding genuinely annoyed.

So I fucking told him. I looked him straight in the eyes and said, “I’m going to find the people who fucked me up while I was helpless and kill them.”

The crease in Boone’s brow only deepened. “How are you going to do that with no money, no car, and no help?”

“Like you’d fucking help me,” I scoffed.

“Xion, you can’t just murder people.”

“Even if they deserve it?” I spat back. “Isn’t that what you do? Isn’t that what the fucking Laskins do?”

He sighed again and rubbed his eyes. “That’s different.”

“It wouldn’t be different if I had money.”

“It ain’t about the money, kid, and this conversation is over. I’m not going to kill people for you. Period.”

We’ll see about that, I thought and brought my cigarette to my lips. I might not have a six-figure offshore bank account, but money wasn’t the only currency that mattered. I knew about Boone’s secret weakness—he wanted me. All it would take was a little teasing, and soon, he’d be begging for the honor of killing in my name.