My eyes sweep over the outside of the house, and I don’t see a camera or security system.
Walking to one of the back windows, I stand back and ascertain the size. It’s small enough to hopefully be unlocked, since it appears to be a bathroom window. I twist my shirt around and use a clean spot to lift the sash window, letting out a sob when it gives way and slides up. Shimmying into the bathroom, I’m met with my reflection for the first time.
Blood.
Everywhere.
I do what I need to do–gulping water from the sink and then stepping into the large shower. I wash the blood from my hair and body, shampooing everything–every crevice, every inch of my skin, watching as it slides down the drain. Using one of the towels on the towel rack, I dry myself and then use it to dry the shower completely.
I set it in a pile next to my clothes, and then I go through the cabinets for anything useful.
Scissors.
Hair bleach.
Before I can change my mind, I begin cutting my long, brown hair as tears stream down my face. When it’s a short pixie-style cut, I open the box of bleach with shaking hands, mixing the ingredients quickly.
While I let it sit on my head, I flush all of my hair down the toilet, bit by bit.
And when I rinse the bleach out, I hardly recognize myself.
Wrapping the towel around myself, I quickly walk into one of the bedrooms. I can’t take anything that will be noticed, so I soak my clothes in the sink, scrubbing the blood out of my pajamas as much as I can. I find a pair of old boots with caked on mud in the back of the bedroom wardrobe, so I pull those on, hopingthe owners don’t notice and don’t report anything. They’re about five sizes too big, but I don’t have any other choice.
When I get back to the bathroom, I replace the used towel with a fresh one, and add the bleach products to the pile of things I’ll need to burn. Gathering it all into my arms, I throw it out the window before hoisting myself out after it.
And then I run–as fast as I can in the boots.
I’m crying.
Hungry.
Shaking.
I have no idea where I’m going to go, but I do know one thing…
One day, I am going to make the Lords pay.
I am going to kill them all for what they did, for everything they took from me.
And I’m going to enjoy every single fucking second of it.
CHAPTER 1
Lachlan
Present
I lift the brass skull and crown knocker and rap it against the door three times. Standing back, I smooth my trousers and run a hand through my hair. The sun is beating against the back of my neck relentlessly, so I place one hand there, massaging the sore muscles just as light footsteps sound on the other side of the door. When it opens, I’m surprised to find a little girl with long, black hair looking up at me.
“Hello,” I tell her, brows furrowed. “Am I at the right house?”
She shrugs. “Are you looking for Mum or one of my dads?”
“Any adult is fine,” I say, skeptical.
“Who are you?” she asks confidently.
This kid can’t be older than five, and yet the intensity of her stare makes me clear my throat before speaking.
