Prologue
30 kilometers outside of Budapest, 23 Years Earlier
Publisher’s Note: If you’ve read the prequel novella Sweeter Than Hate, you may wish to go directly to Part III.
“Mommy.” The little girl tugs on her mother’s sleeve from the backseat. “Mommy, can I have a cookie?”
She’s bored and hungry. It’s getting dark, and all she can see through the car window are trees and snow. They’re taking the scenic route, Daddy said, a pretty route. But it’s a longer route, and she doesn’t find it all that pretty. She’d much rather they took the train to Grandma Hanna’s place, like always.
“No, my darling. We’ll be having dinner soon.” Her mother turns around in the passenger seat to glance at her. The corners of her blue eyes crinkle with a warm smile, her white-blond hair waving softly around her face as she says, “Just wait a little longer, okay?”
“Okay.” The girl sighs and looks out the window. Trees, snow, trees. The black ribbon of the asphalt winding through the forest. All boring, boring, boring. But she’s a good girl, and she knows better than to whine.
Proper meals are important. Listening to parents is important. And if her mother says there will be dinner soon, she trusts that it is so.
She’s zoning out, half-dozing, when her father suddenly slams on the brakes, bad words she’s only heard on TV flying from his mouth. Her small body jerks forward, kept in place only by the seatbelt cutting into her as the car screeches to a halt.
“Ow!” She rubs her forehead where it hit the hard cushion of the back seat. “Daddy, that hurt!”
“Hush, Mina.” Her father’s voice is strangely tight as he stares straight ahead. “Just be quiet, okay, sweetheart?”
Blinking, the little girl lowers her hand and follows his gaze. Two men are standing in front of the car. Where did they come from? Were they just standing on the road like that?
Is that why Daddy hit the brakes so hard?
One man approaches and knocks on the driver’s window with something hard and pointy.
Her stomach swoops down like a bird, and she suddenly feels cold and dizzy. Because the hard, pointy thing is a gun. And the other man, the one in front of the car, is also aiming a gun at the windshield. Both weapons are black and dangerous-looking, like the ones they show in movies, not bright blue like the toy gun Daddy got her for playing soldiers-and-captives with the neighborhood boys. She’s really good at those types of games, fast and strong despite her tiny build. She can beat all the boys, but she doesn’t have her blue gun with her. And these aren’t boys.
She can hear her father’s breathing. It’s fast and ragged as he presses the button to lower the window. The stranger leans down, and her mother chokes back a sob as he presses the gun—the scary-looking black gun—to her father’s temple.
“Get out.” The stranger’s voice is low and mean. “We need the fucking car.”
“P-please.” Her mother’s voice is thin and high, as shaky as her breathing. “Please, don’t do this. W-we have a daughter.”
The stranger’s eyes cut to the girl in the backseat, his cold, cruel stare slicing through her like a knife before he returns his attention to her father. “I said, get the fuck out.”
“Okay, okay. Just a sec.” Her father sounds out of breath as he unlatches his seatbelt. “Come on, honey. Let’s just… let’s go.”
He opens the door and the man yanks him out of the car, causing him to sprawl on the asphalt. Crying audibly, the girl’s mother scrambles out of the car on her own and jerks open the back door, reaching for her daughter’s seatbelt.
The little girl is also crying. She’s never been so scared. It’s freezing outside, and the icy wind bites into her as her mother pulls her out, then reaches back in to grab her coat. She doesn’t understand what’s happening, why these bad men are allowed to do this. Why Daddy doesn’t have a gun of his own so he can stop them. If she had hers, she’d try, even though it’s bright blue and doesn’t look dangerous at all.
The other man, the one in front of the car, comes toward them. Up close, he’s even more terrifying than his partner, his face unshaven and his darting eyes filled with a kind of madness.
“Stop dicking around,” he hisses, his gaze bouncing from his buddy to the girl’s crying mother, who’s putting the coat on the girl with shaking hands, to the girl’s father, who’s hurrying around the car toward his wife and daughter. “We need to go.”
The cold-eyed man gets behind the wheel. “Then let’s go. Get in.” He slams the door shut.
The terrifying man’s gaze darts to him, then again to the girl’s parents—who are now in front of her, shielding her with their bodies.
“Please.” Her father’s voice quavers as he pushes the little girl farther behind him. “Please, you have the car now. Please, go. We won’t tell, I swear. Just… go.”
The terrifying man smiles, the madness in his eyes glowing brighter. “Sorry, no witnesses allowed.” And he lifts the gun.
Pop! Pop!
The gunshots punch the girl’s ears like a blow. Dazed, she stumbles back as her parents crumple in front of her and a sharp, burning smell fills the air, mixing with something coppery and metallic.
“What the fuck?” The other man sticks his head out the window. “That wasn’t the plan!”
“Wait,” the killer says, taking aim at the little girl, but she’s already running. She might be small, but she’s fast, so fast she darts behind the trees before the next shot rings out. Behind her, she can hear the hijackers arguing, but she keeps running, her heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.
She doesn’t run far into the forest. Instead, she finds a clump of above-ground roots and hides there, all the while telling herself it’s just a game she’s playing. The tears freezing on her face and the tremors wracking her tiny body belie that story, but she ignores them.
She’s strong and fast. She can beat all the boys. Even the adult ones with black, scary-looking guns that make her ears hurt. So what if she’s hungry and so cold she can barely feel her nose and toes? She’s going to wait for the bad men to leave, then go back and find her parents. And they’ll hug her and tell her what a good girl she is. Then they’ll all go and have dinner.
So she waits and waits, shivering in the coat her mother put on her. By the time she climbs out of her hiding place, it’s completely dark, with only the full moon lighting her way, and she’s afraid something will jump out at her from the trees. A wolf or a bear or a monster. At six, she’s still young enough to believe in monsters of the non-human kind.
Choking down her fear, she retraces her steps, like she would in a game of soldiers-and-captives. The car and the bad men are gone, but her parents are there, lying by the side of the road in the exact same way as when they fell: her mother on her side, white-blond hair covering her face, and her father on his back, his face turned the other way.
The girl’s heart skips a beat, then starts racing so fast it hurts. She feels dizzy again, and cold. But it’s not her nose or hands or toes that are freezing now; it’s something deep inside her. Trembling, she kneels by her mother and tugs on her sleeve. “Mommy. Mommy, please. Let’s go.”