PROLOGUE
SADIE
Aruba
I always thought death would be loud. Sirens and screaming. A crescendo of strings while the heroine bleeds out in a designer gown. Tonight, death is a whisper pressed against the tinted glass of a limousine, and I am the heroine with the bad timing.
The island’s engagement party ended not too long ago. Just long enough for the glitter to settle and the gossip to harden into pearls. I should be tipsy on champagne, giggling to myself about the bridesmaid who danced worst to the salsa band. Instead, after shepherding each of them safely back to their bungalows, I let myself wander off alone into the quiet night. Now, I carry the echo of gunfire in my ears. Instead of champagne bubbles I taste copper on my tongue, a reminder of how quickly a night of love and laughter can sour into terror.
The contrast slams into my senses, like a staccato chord. One minute the night smelled of perfume and spilled champagne, the next it tastes of metal and ozone. The limo’s chassis hums with a high, metallic note that sets my teeth on edge; vents hiss, chrome sings against the road, and the tires rasp on tarmac like a filing of metal. Shadows stop being shapes and become smallfactories of menace. My breath comes quick and shallow; the skin along my arms prickles as if static is crawling under my shirt. Every tiny vibration—a pebble grinding under a tire, the soft click of a buckle—is magnified until it rings in my head.
The luxury leather and tinted glass press around me like a sealed vault; the car hums with a cold, clinical quiet that magnifies every small sound instead of soothing it. It's only a reminder that I am being carried deeper into someone else’s plan. The shift is dizzying, a nightmare rising up from the edges of paradise, and the fear winds tighter with every heartbeat.
The limo glides through the darkness like a predator. My pulse is still hammering from the chase, my lungs raw with fear, and now the man behind the wheel hums as if he’s driving me to a gala instead of my own execution. I press against the locked door, my fingers curling uselessly around the chrome handle.
“Where are we going?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intend. A brittle defense.
His eyes flick to the rearview mirror, lips curling as a click comes over the speaker, static letting me know he can hear and speak with me even though the partition is rolled up. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You won’t be late for your party.”
I force a laugh, brittle but cutting. “Oh, good. I’d hate to miss the hors d’oeuvres. Do kidnappers cater? Or is it more of a bring-your-own-shovel kind of event?”
His smile twitches. Good. If I’m going down, I’ll make him work for it.
The drive is a blur of palms and moonlight, my mind spinning through possibilities. None are good. My heart seizes when the limo slows. A checkpoint. Armed guards in black shirts step forward. Police? Doubtful. Mercenaries most likely or some kind of cartel thugs. Are there cartels in Aruba? Mafia? They lean in, one flashing a grin that’s all teeth and no warmth. I swallow hard.
“Pretty passenger you’ve got there,” one of them says.
The driver smirks. “Pretty and curious. Curiosity killed the cop.”
The man with the smirk pats the trunk then flips open a compact case with a soft click — inside, a slim satellite uplink and a burnished comms rig I wouldn’t expect on local muscle. He taps it almost casually, and his whisper is meant for ears not mine: “The backer wants it tight.”
Laughter. A hand slaps the trunk. Then the barrier lifts, and we roll on.
By the time we reach the airstrip, cold sweat slicks my skin, each breath shallow and ragged. A private jet waits, engines humming like some kind of primordial beast stretching its wings.
The limo door jerks open, and rough hands seize me, dragging me onto the floodlit tarmac. My heels skid and scrape as I thrash, panic giving me strength. I twist, lashing out with a sharp kick that connects with someone’s shin, the jolt of impact rattling up my leg.
“Little bitch!” he snarls.
“Better than being some kind of excess baggage,” I say, twisted hard. For one fleeting moment, I break free, darting toward the hangar lights.
A man in a tailored flight suit stands by the stairs, and when a light from his wrist unit blinks it isn’t GPS—it’s a narrow-band antenna folding out like a spider leg. The gear looks military-grade, far beyond island muscle.
My scream tears out as hands close around me again. The acrid stink of jet fuel fills my nose, burning. The world tilts. Then flashes of red and blue as sirens wail. Local security. The mercenaries curse, shoving me forward and onto the plane.
I don’t remember the flight in any clear sequence. Only broken fragments remain: the sharp sting of chloroform pressedagainst my face, the suffocating weight of fear pinning me down, and the faint echo of Cassidy’s voice threading through my memory like a lifeline I can’t quite grasp.
I wake to airport lights blazing overhead. My body aches. I stumble out, and chaos erupts. Security rushes me, shouting questions. I barely form words when a rifle shot sounds. It’s a dry, metallic snap like a piano wire breaking, and pressure slams my eardrums flat.
Pain detonates in my chest, hot and brutal, stealing my breath in a single violent instant. The impact knocks me sideways, the ground rushing up to meet me with bone-jarring force. My vision blurs at the edges, pulsing black, and every sound twists into a distorted roar. Voices shout around me, but they are warped and distant, smothered beneath the thunder of my heart as it fights to keep me alive.
“Sadie!” My sister Cassidy’s scream tears through the haze.
She’s suddenly there, pulling me into her arms, her face pale and frantic. I blink hard, certain the blood loss is playing tricks, but her eyes glow molten gold, bright and wrong, burning like liquid metal. Not human. Not possible. The sight rips through me with as much terror as the bullet itself, leaving me gasping, unsure if I’m dying or hallucinating.
I choke on something thick and metallic. My own blood? My lips are sticky with it.
“Cass… don’t… let me…”
