“I thought you said she was a fucking virgin, Bryce! It was your job to watch her.” Dean throws out the accusation, his voice low and venom-laced.
“She should be! The only people she’s been around were our kids...”The words hang for a beat—then realization slams into both of them. “One of the boys got to her.” Bryce lets out a low, furious growl, frustration crackling beneath the surface.
“The agreement was clear—you take Reign, I take Berkley,” Dean snaps, his voice tight with anger. “I kept my end. So, tell me—how exactly do you plan to fix this mess?” Dean’s tyrant comes and goes with my hearing but refocuses quickly when a sudden pressure pushes against me, followed by Dean grunting. “Damn, she’s still plenty tight enough.” The pressure jostles me against the sheets, the soft cotton, the worst feeling in the world.
The next thing I register is the sting of cold linoleum against my skin as my body hits the floor with a sickening thud. My bare flesh squeaks across the surface as I slide to a stop.
I blink slowly, lashes flutter, struggling against the heaviness weighing them down.
Voices blur above me—deep, distorted murmurs that twist and tumble through the haze in my mind. Their words make no sense, but their silhouettes flicker in the light, harsh and detached.
Then comes warmth. At first, it feels like comfort—like safety. I almost sink into it, grateful for anything other than the chill.
A soft sound escapes my throat, a broken whimper that betrays the fact I’m still here, still fighting my way back to consciousness.
“She’s waking up,” one voice says, sharper than the other.
Another follows, colder. “Then we’ll let the flames finish what we started.”
A moment later, a white-hot sting rips across my left forearm, sharp and blinding. The pain is instant and searing, dragging me further out of the fog—but not enough. My limbs are still heavy, useless, like they’re filled with molten lead. I try to move, to cry out, to shield myself, but my body doesn’t listen.
The warmth that once felt like a fleeting comfort now turns suffocating—thick, oppressive, wrong. It coils around me like a predator, licking my skin until I’m desperate for the icy touch of the floor beneath me.
But even that minor relief slips away as the heat rises, blistering against the silence I can’t break, while panic claws at the inside of my chest.
“Motherfucker!” The word cracks through the haze like a gunshot, just as a rush of cool water splashes over my burning skin. Relief is instant, but it only dulls the edges of the fire clawing at my body. “Hang on, B. I’ve got you.” Jay’s voice—steady, grounded—cuts through the chaos. My dad’s head of security.
His powerful arms sweep me off the floor like I weigh nothing, cradling me against his chest. My eyes flutter open, the world swimming in and out of focus. And then I see them—flames, licking up the walls and crawling across the ceiling like they’re hungry for more.
My head lolls to the side, too heavy to hold up on its own, and that’s when he comes into view.
My dad.
Lying still.
Blood spreads beneath him, soaking into the linoleum like spilled ink.
A scream coils in my chest, but it doesn’t come. Whatever poison clings to my system, it robs me of sound, movement, even tears. But my heart—weeps. It wails in mourning, broken, even if no one can hear it.
“What did those motherfuckers do to you?” Jay’s deep voice wavers, cracking just enough to tell me I must look worse than I feel.
“Da... Da...” It’s hardly a breath, barely formed—but he hears it. Understands.
Jay clears his throat, voice thick. “They got him too, B.” His arms tighten around me as he rushes toward the exit. “We have to leave him. The fire’s already taken too much—we don’t have time. I barely got to you in time.”
His eyes flick down to my arm, and his jaw clenches. “Your arm... damn it.” The words are low, raw—more to himself than to me.
With pain tearing through every piece of me—body, mind, and soul—something deep inside fractures. Shatters. But just before the darkness swallows me whole, a spark ignites in the rubble of what’s left. The warrior buried deep inside me rises, lifts her chin, bares her teeth—and makes a vow, forged in pain and fire, etched in blood and ash.
They’ll pay. Every single one of them.
Chapter One
Berkley
The roar of the crowd penetrates the shell-shock images that narrow my vision. One hard blink and the sea of spectators comes rushing back to the forefront, where my focus should have been, but I sized up my opponent weeks ago.
The announcer’s weaselly voice blares over the intercom, salivating at the mouth, calling our fighting names to the stage—Cupcake and The Janitor.