CHAPTER 1
If someone had told me a month ago that I’d be returning to my childhood home, back into the thrall of drama that was my family, and end up employed in my father’s criminal empire, I’d have laughed in their face and returned home to Tom, my cheating ex-boyfriend. Not that I'd known he was unfaithful at that time or that he'd been sleeping with my best friend, Tina—both of whom were hopefully rotting in hell.
But all that had happened. And more.
“I love you, Jamie,” I said into the phone before shots whizzed past my head. Dropping the phone, I threw my body over Rourke, who lay unconscious on the floor, bleeding from where he'd been shot. The gunfire stopped and was followed by the sound of grunting and rustling behind me.
“Maura, behind you!” Dean yelled out.
I leapt over Rourke’s body, twisted around on my knees, and came face-to-face with a man sporting a pale blond mohawk. I only had a moment to take him in and the scene going on behind him. He was wearing tight jeans and a black hoodie and was holding a silver Glock. My attention caught on the red ribbon forming the letter A with a black swastika shadowing it, tattooed on his neck. Only members of the Aryans—a white supremacist gang—had that tattoo.
Glancing past him, I could see Asher fighting off a man, another Aryan I assumed, holding a knife. Dean had his back against the door that led to the stairwell. He was struggling to keep it closed. Shooting me a worried look, he seemed torn as to what he should do. Hold the door? Or come save me? Our eyes locked and I shook my head, making the decision for him. If he came to help me, more of them would get inside.
The Aryan standing before me lifted his Glock and aimed it at me. I frantically scooted backward until my back hit a wall.
“Hold still, Princess. I’ll make it quick,” he said, smiling evilly as his finger hovered over the trigger.
I didn’t blink.
I didn’t breathe.
I watched as his finger curled around the trigger. My heart skipped a beat when the gun fired, but not before a giant blur tackled the Aryan to the floor.
The giant part was my first clue that Asher had been my savior. The two wrestled on the ground. Asher moved fluidly to maneuver himself behind the Aryan, putting him in a headlock. He yanked the Aryan’s gun out of his hand, sending it flying. My eyes followed as it skidded across the floor and I dove for it. My fingers closed around its grip and I pushed myself to my feet.
They both looked up at me as I aimed the gun in their direction. I didn’t hesitate in pulling the trigger. The Aryan’s head jerked backward, and blood poured from his eye. Shoving the lifeless Aryan off of him, Asher took a moment to ease his labored breathing before getting back on his feet. He appeared more banged up now than when we had all crawled from the wrecked Escalade upstairs. The side of his face was beginning to swell, and he was hugging his ribs on his left side.
His eyes dropped to my abdomen before narrowing. “Were you shot?”
I glanced at my canary yellow blouse that was drenched with red and saw I had a steady drip of blood flowing from the hem to the floor. I was bleeding more profusely. Probably due to all the jolting around I’d just done. I didn’t let my concern show as my gaze lifted back to Asher.
The sound of banging and Dean grunting pulled our attention to the door. His feet were sliding on the floor, slowly losing purchase as he struggled to keep the enemy out.
I held out the Glock. “I’m fine. Go help Dean.”
Asher took the gun and ran to help hold the door closed. I’d intended to return to Rourke’s side but could barely put one foot in front of the other. I felt weak. The act of breathing was a chore and all I wanted to do was lie down.
Pain flared at my knees. Looking down, I realized I had fallen to them. Then the room started to spin. I closed my eyes, attempting to blink the dizziness away, but once they were closed, I found it impossible to open them. The urge to let go and fall into oblivion was as strong as a siren’s song.
I could feel my body falling. My already pain riddled head hitting the ground was the jolt I needed to snap my eyes open once more. The lights on the ceiling were sliding back and forth, making it difficult to focus on any one thing.
Why is it so cold?
“Maura!”
Jamie?
Warm arms cradled my body and I was slightly lifted off the freezing floor. For only a second, I saw beautiful hazel eyes until the urge to close my own won and everything ceased to exist.
My nightmare was always the same. Or should I say, was always of the same person. I could never see her face fully, but that didn’t seem to matter because I had a sinking feeling I knew who she was.
I walked through the halls of Quinn Manor late at night. Glancing in the mirror hanging in the hall as I passed, I saw that I was the child version of myself. I appeared to be seven or eight years old. My red hair was twisted into two braids that barely passed my shoulders, a large cluster of freckles dotted the tops of my cheeks, and my green eyes were large, doe-like, and filled with fear.
The sound of a woman screaming had woken me and pulled me to my father’s study. As I quietly approached it, I could see that the door was slightly ajar. The screaming had stopped, only to be replaced by a man and a woman shouting. The man sounded like my father. I found that strange because my father never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. His presence alone was enough to capture everyone’s attention.
Creeping silently to peek through the slightly open door, my entire body jumped and froze when two shots rang out.
The woman had let out another blood curdling scream, before yelling, “What have you done?”
Taking the last step forward, I peered into the dimly lit room to find my father standing over a bleeding man. The man was dead. I could tell by his vacant, unblinking eyes. A woman was draped over his body, crying into his chest. Her hair was fanned out like a wild mane. The tangled strands looked like they had been dipped in black ink because her roots were red as blood.
The light reflecting off the gun in my father’s hand drew my attention, and the realization that it was him who had killed this man made me gasp. My father’s head whipped in my direction. His eyes found me right away. The feral anger carving his expression cemented my feet to the floor. I had never seen him so mad, but he quickly smothered it with an emotionless mask. All I could do was watch as he came toward me with such poise—like the ruthless king I’d always thought him to be. It was equally reassuring as it was frightening, given who he was and what he had just done.
Opening the door all the way, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into the room. My father ushered me to stand before the sobbing woman and the dead man. My bare feet stepped into something wet and my eyes dropped to the floor. To my horror, I was standing in the dead man’s blood. The thick liquid squished up between my toes and covered my sparkly nail polish. It was such a terrifying sight that I barely even noticed that my father had taken my hand and placed his gun in my palm.
My fingers instinctively closed around its grip and he guided my hand to point the barrel at the sobbing woman. I looked up at him, questioningly. His forest green eyes locked with mine. There was such an intensity to his stare that I thought I could see pain, sadness, and rage waging war against his self-control behind those eyes. Then he blinked and was back to revealing nothing. “Pull the trigger, Maura.”