Prologue
The animalistic cries on the other side of the door stopped.
The darkness closed in, suffocating Grif in inky blackness and despair.
Or maybe it was the rough fibers at his thin throat, the noose cinching tighter with every jerk of his wrists and ankles.
His father’s knots were like that, digging deeper into his skin and his soul the more he fought.
But this was the worst it had ever been.
“Raina? Can you hear me?” At nine planetary rotations old, his voice usually sounded like an awkward croak, but even that wasn’t possible now. It emerged only as a faint hiss of stolen air, his throat bruised by the rope, his lungs nearly empty.
No response.
“Raina!” Desperate, he knocked the back of his head into the flimsy closet door, his boney knees smashing together as he twisted and hurled, his weight not nearly enough.
Except everything about this latest filthy New Earth dwelling was broken or falling apart. Shouldn’t the doors be, too? He rammed his skull back again.
The leash at his neck tightened, his wrists and ankles rising upward. Black dots danced in front of his eyes. A match to the ones on his heart.
He didn’t stop.
The heavy, menacing tread that usually echoed through the walls was absent. He had no idea when his father would return.
“Raina!” He hissed out his sister’s name again.
“Grif?” The voice was faint, but it pierced the blackness like a ray of sunlight. “H-help me.”
Frenzied, gasping, he wriggled harder.
Help me. But he couldn’t.
For the millionth time, he wished he was stronger. Fiercer. More brutal and ruthless.
Strong enough to block his father’s blows. Fierce enough to have held tight to his mother’s hand the rotation she shrugged off his hold and ran. Brutal enough to put down the monster who made their lives a living hell.
Except wishing didn’t make it happen.
He threw his spine against the door. The trickle of blood at his throat coated the coils, giving him just enough slack to keep from breaking his neck. He did it again. And again.
The door splintered. The rope immobilizing his neck and wrists snapped. Precious air filled his lungs as he tumbled through the hole and landed on his back, the ropes still coiled around his throat, wrists, and ankles.
“Grif.”
The sudden brightness was jarring. He blinked hard, shoving to his palms. It took a moment to process what he was seeing. His sister, her dark hair and green eyes so similar to his own, was half on, half off the dirty couch. Her dress torn and pulled above her thighs.
The blackness returned, a thin film of horror and knowing that settled over his skin and crawled below the flesh.
This was new. This was something worse than the usual beatings that dotted their ribs and jaws. This was something too ugly to come back from.
“Grif,” her thin arm stretched toward him, her upper body rising off the couch before she sank back down, her gaze going flat. “H-he hurt me.”
Her words shook him from his daze. He shoved to his feet, not even bothering to shake off the ropes as he wobbled toward her. “We need to go.”
“No!” The sharp agony in her voice froze him in place, his arm halfway extended to pull her up. “Don’t touch me.”
He dropped his hand. She was his big sister. She was the one in charge. The one who’d always done all she could to protect him. But she wasn’t moving now.
“Raina,” he cast a fearful glance over his shoulder at the door. “You need to get up. Now.”
“C-can’t.” She didn’t even shake her head. “I-I thought you could save me, but you can’t. It’s too late. Y-you go.”
Fury and shock slammed through him. “I’m not going without you.”
No answer.
Panic seized him. Her chest rose and fell, but her lips were slack, her gaze focused on the ceiling.
“Raina? You need to get up. I-I can’t help you if you don’t get up.” Again, for the millionth time, he wished he was strong enough to just sweep her into his arms and carry her away.
But he wasn’t.
All he could do was wrap his hand around her wrist and tug at her arm, his eyes blurry as he begged. “Come on, Raina. Please.”
She slid further off the couch, her body jerking in time with each desperate yank, but it wasn’t enough. It never would be.
She didn’t respond. Or even acknowledge him.
Still, he kept trying. Pleading. Shouting.
Until the faint scuff of a boot hitting the rotted porch signaled it really was too late.
He’d failed to save her.
For Raina, he would never be enough.
1
“Talk or die.” Grif slammed his opponent’s back against the alley wall.
Red dust settled on their bare skin like splashes of blood. He cinched the hangman’s knot tighter against the male’s trachea and stepped back to scan the area.
His teammate Ryker should have been back with the weapon by now.
“Tell me what I need to know and there’ll be no unnecessary suffering. Otherwise,” Grif gripped the rope at the giant’s neck and continued with his usual script, “you won’t like what happens next.”
He’d laid out the threat so many times, he didn’t need to think about it anymore. After two planetary rotations in Dragath25’s prison mines, his skills as an interrogator and a killer were honed to brutal perfection.
This particular mission was supposed to have been a quick, uncomplicated grab and go. Enter 223’s gang territory without detection, steal the weapon, and depart without a trace. But, of course, it wasn’t working out like that. An all too familiar outcome on Dragath25.
With a flick of his wrist, Grif loosened the knot at the male’s throat. Not much. Just enough to allow for a small sip of air. “You get one chance. Where’s my crewmate?”
“Stop right there.” An unfamiliar voice sounded from behind.
Grif swiveled, his ax already raised—only to find empty air.
Not magic. Just the burned-out patchwork of twisted steel that served as the gang’s shelter distorting the sound, making it appear the speaker was close by, even though no one was in sight.
He scanned the perimeter. Had to be coming from one alley over on the other side of the building.
His captive bucked, attempting to call for help.
“Not happening.” Grif slammed his fist into the giant’s chin. The male’s eyes rolled back. Lights out.
Grif retrieved his rope.
No way was he leaving without it. It was probably his one and only favorite thing about this damn planet. The commander’s female, Ava, had discovered a plant that was shit for eating, but had silklike fibers ideal for making blankets, clothes, shoes, and—when weaved together—the strongest and softest rope he’d ever held. Braided and plaited it worked well as a lash. Twisted together it formed a nearly unbreakable cord.
Feeling the weight of it in his palms had been like coming home.
When he’d been a boy, rope had been a form of pain and torture, a means of stealing his control. He’d reclaimed it as he grew into a man, taking the instrument that had been used against him and turning it into his greatest strength.