Chapter One

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|| I did it, because it hurt to live without that love.

Perhaps she would have done the same.

Forgive me. ||

- Anonymous 

I stood in an abandoned shack, alone. It was hidden behind a closed curtain of vineyards and rolling fields. No one had lived here for a very long time. The walls were damp, the floor boards warped, the structure moaned with each whisper of wind. The drapes were the colour of sour milk, all the furniture shredded by rodents and age.

I gave myself a once over in a splintered full length mirror. In a prettier time, this would have been the master bedroom in an all-American family home. I adjusted the lace dress to sit right. It was a delicious scarlet red, but against the creams and greys of this washed out house it was almost sickly. Too sweet for this bitter world.  

The floors creaked beneath my feet as I shrugged my shoulders with numb defeat. My dark blonde hair hung down my back, tired circles under my eyes. I'd traded a lot of money for the dress, a dress I was hoping could resurrect the last slither of 'attractive human girl' I had in me.

That's why I risked going to the black markets; an illegal forum where humans sell of memorabilia from an earlier time. The markets would last only hours before they were shut down by marshals. I'd practically thrown my money at the wiry old women, as she passed me the dress. I'd sprinted through the streets, ignoring the bite of the cold air, my hood pulled up over my head as I heard the rumble of trucks and the beginnings of screams. I felt the sound crawl over my skin, itching and clawing. I ran faster.

I pulled on my black boots and then slipped out my backdoor, not letting the rusted iron rattle in its frame, my dress floating around my thighs with the breeze.  

Run. 

The taste of anticipation leaked into my saliva, danger drying my throat. It had been six years since I had been this close to Collective eight. I stayed tight against the wire fence, just out of sight of the road that broke through the hills.

The still landscapes morphed into a desolated rural town. No building stood untouched by poverty, theft, or disaster. The windows were shattered or missing, walls were vandalised with ramblings of the insane, neon signs and damaged streets lights flickered with random bursts of electricity. Shadows danced as I walked down the sidewalk. Home, sweet home.  

I felt it before I saw it. The thrum of the Collective vibrated beneath my feet, the thick smell of tobacco wafting under my nose as I approached the alleyway. A file of greasy women lined the wall for entrance. It was a Kaleidoscope of lycra, satin, and leather. We all had our reasons, and so I tried not to judge.

Several members of the gang, branded and tattooed, rifles in hand, guarded the women like pigs for slaughter. They were spread through the alleyway as I joined the end of the line, discreetly burying myself within the huddled crowd. A suffocating nervousness saturated my thoughts. I didn’t want to look up. Six years was a long time, I had been thirteen when we’d left. My plan needed no one to recognise me, but my heart hoped they would.

The alleyway was doused in graffiti and scum, the crunching of gravel grew as two figures paraded up and down the file of women. My heart beat faster. When they spoke, I knew their voices. Adrenaline fuelled whispers ran up and down the crowd, a constant nervous murmur buzzing around us. I sighed as I pushed myself further against the brick wall, hiding my profile as much as possible. In another lifetime I might have been lining up for a nightclub, fake ID in purse, and hand in hand with my on-again-off-again boyfriend. Not today. 

The line in front of me grew shorter as the women began to enter the underground hub. My view became clearer as I got closer. I dared to look up. At the head of the line were the owners of the voices. Reaves; he’d been a teenager the last time I’d seen him. Now he was a man. He was tall and broad, his Asian features were sharp, and his hair was cut short. His skin was gruff, marked with scars and tattoos. He looked bored, and fittingly menacing. I hoped the last six years had been kind to him.

Next to him was Jo-Jo. He had a grey moustache and spoke with such distinguished entitlement that I was sure he'd have been a rich New Yorker, with a leather man-bag, if I'd known him in an earlier life. He hadn’t changed much. I felt my hope drop as I realised just how hard slipping by these two was going to be. If I recognised them, then my bets were on them recognising me. I did have the edge though – they didn’t know I was here.

The rough cement of the wall grazed my skin as I pushed myself against it. Using my hair to hide my face, I waited as the number of women in front of me dropped from five, to three, and then I made my move.  

Jo-Jo gave his approval to a brunette, and I swiftly stepped through the cement entrance, synchronising our steps. A brief slip in their concentration. Only a second. That was all I needed, then I could slide into the darkness and they wouldn't be able to catch me with their entire squadron. I knew these tunnels better than anyone. I wanted to get straight to what I wanted, attention would very quickly turn my arrival into a circus.

Blood.

 I felt nails claw into the skin of my forearm, tearing my skin and drawing blood.

Pain.

A fist grabbed a chunk of my hair, dragging me backwards. A tortured scream rolled from my throat as I staggered to regain my balance. The women froze against the wall. The guards geared their rifles.  

Shit. 

Something cold and blunt dug into my throat -- a handgun. The sound of it being loaded. Click. Those seconds, sensitive and intensified, were as clear to me as my own thoughts. The scent of the gunpowder, and my captors sweat, the sharp sting that radiated from my scalp, the churning gravel beneath my feet, the pulse of my blood and my steady breathing.  

Disapproving dark eyes hung over my face; Reaves. They disarmed as he looked over me: my eyes, my face, my body. Recognition changed his features, amusement raising a familiar smirk, something deeper staying silent. His grip loosened before he tossed me to the floor, spitting over his shoulder as I climbed to my feet.  

Silence brewed, the onlookers still tense after the commotion.  

Reaves flicked his fingers over his shoulder in a flippant action and all the men fell back into their routine. The women still apprehensive.  Jo-Jo relaxed against the entrance door, tilting his head with disbelief.

Reaves chuckled below his breath, methodically chewing on gum as he circled me. Like a predator would their prey.  “I swore the next time I saw you I’d slit your throat.”

I smiled, dusting off my elbows, “You couldn’t then, and I doubt you could now.”

He stepped closer, so there was only a breath between us, “I’ve done a lot of growing up since then.”

“So have I,” I promised.

His eyes dropped, “I can see that.”

I looked towards the door as his eyes raked over me. I had been a child to him, and now I was an adult. I didn’t know if that would play in my favour. 

 He sighed, “Wherever you go a shit-storm follows, so what trouble have you brought back with you this time?”

“I’ve got a thirty thousand dollar loan with a bounty hunter from Collective five, if you feel like helping a sister out?”

“And how did you scam the poor basted into that?” He tested, bemused.

I patted him on the shoulder, as I passed, “Trust me, you do not want to know.”

And believe me, he didn’t. I was taking that secret to the grave. I was glad I didn’t believe in heaven, because I was pretty sure it was the sort of sin that got you a one-way ticket to hell. Now that was a place I could call home. 

I was going to have to do things the hard way. Jo-Jo stood between me and the entrance to the Collective’s headquarters. He waited for my approach before he slammed his rifle into my waist, blocking my entrance. I coughed down the impact, forcing myself to stay upright and hold in the white-hot burn that tingled down my spine. 

 “Take her through to Jack,” Reaves ordered.

That name was enough to make me want to turn and bolt.

Jo-Jo didn’t move. “Now,” Reaves reaffirmed.

Jo-Jo gradually raised his gun from my path, not breaking his stare. I didn’t blame him for the hostility. I may have just been a girl, but I’d left a bloody mess behind here. They would be fools not to think me dangerous, or at least emotionally-incapacitated. Both of which, I was. 

He led me into the darkness. The air in the rusted tunnels was heavy, old, and unstirred. Tobacco smoke chased us through the corridor. The pipes rattled with the rough beat of music. I closed my eyes, just for a second, and it was as if I had never left. The first three years after the uprising, I spent here. For better or worse, this place had been a home to me at a time when I needed to remember what it was to belong.

“I never thought you’d show your face here again,” Jo-Jo mused, spying over his shoulder at me, “Especially not dressed like that.”

The vibrant red was provocative in itself, accentuating its delicate cut. It was rare to see a woman dressed in such, femineity had been buried beneath the rubble of our old world - it was now, just, impractical. The dress was highly promiscuous, even to a gay man apparently.

“And what would have been more to your liking?”

He stopped dead and spun back to face me, “A body bag.” 

“Something’s never change,” I replied.

“And something’s do. I don’t know why you’re back, but I won’t underestimate you twice.”

I expected nothing less of Jo-Jo, he’d always been fiery and blunt. That’s how he’d managed to get so high-up in the largest gangland network in the country.

We slowed to a stop by a large bolted door. Jo-Jo spent a few seconds analysing my face, he was a smart man and he seemed to enjoy my pain. He knew that I must have been nervous about the fate I would find behind that door. The last month had been clouded by this moment, I’d agonized over Jack’s reaction. I knew me leaving, like I had, would have killed him. I hated myself for it.

“Go on then, let’s see how the boss wants to handle you.”

I heard his words, and I heard his steps. I’m alone. My throat was tight, my cheeks were hot. My plan needed me to waltz in and prove that I’m the confident, fearless minx he knew all those years ago, but I don’t know if I can. I wasn’t in control anymore. I opened the door, my body was moving but my minds lost in limbo.

It glided along its tracks with a loud trail of metal-on-metal noise. Jack had his back to me, his room is entirely cement, the walls streaked and stained, the overheads leaking, and the sparse furniture a mix of old, and older. From the back, he hadn’t changed, his hair was still shaggy and full of youthful colour. He still wears black.

I want to run.

“When the hookers are in the house, I’m not the boss, so whatever it is go find someone else.”

He was shining one of dozens of weapons that he had lined along the back wall.

“The last man that called me a hooker ended up with two rounds in his forehead.”

His body froze. The weapon in his hand dropped, I watched it fall through the air: sharp, fast, and blinding. And then he caught it.

He turned slowly, dragging his feet. I caught a glimpse of his face.

I saw three years of memory flood him. I saw a wave of awe, and then a bitter rip of betrayal that threatened to drown him. I saw love. And then I saw the first moment I met Jack.

I haven’t had contact with either of my brothers in months. I haven’t eaten in days when I find myself in the alley attached to Collective eight, rain drenching my t-shirt and soaking my hair. A tall man steps out of a cement entrance, cussing as he tries to light a cigarette. That’s a dirty habit, I think.

It takes a few minutes for him to realise my presence, he does a double take. He wears a lot of black, and has tattoos exposed along his wrists. He’s like all the others, I know he’s dangerous. He stamps out his cigarette, muttering to himself before he comes towards me.

“What in God’s name are you doing out here kid?” He asks, “You got family? Parents?”

That stings. My parents are gone, they left.

He looks over his shoulder before he shrugs off his coat, and holds it out to me, “Here, you’re gonna freeze.”

I look up at him, and then I spit at his feet. I have a lot of reasons to distrust human men.

He’s angry, I know I’ve annoyed him. I know I should run, but I just can’t summon the energy to move my legs. He crouches by my feet, the rain sheeting down upon us, “Take it doll, I’ve buried too many people tonight, I won’t bury another.”

I’m back in his office.

He was staring at me: Disbelieving, bewildered, dumbfounded. Words fall short of encompassing the disjointed feelings he must have felt towards me. His eyes are still a warm honey, they are wrapped in soft lines now. He was showing his age.

Jack took paced steps to the front of his desk, before he leaned back against the frame, crossing his legs. He pulled a lighter and cigarette from his pocket. The cigarette in his mouth, he cupped his hand around it, trying to get it to hold the flame. He took a strong drag, before he blew it over his shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” There is no welcoming sentiment, only coldness.

“I’m good, thanks for asking,” I mocked.

“Answer the God damn question.”

I don’t want to lie to him, so I don’t say anything. He can’t know why I’m really here, because that would mean knowing what I am. And no matter what sort of relationship I have with anyone here, make no mistake, if they knew me for what I really am – they would kill me in cold blood, hang me from the streets, and watch me burn.

“Who have you pissed off this time?”

“No, it’s not like that.”

“Oh I bet it isn’t. Always got a story, don’t you?” He countered, with a rise of his eyebrows.

“Six years Jack,” I sighed, my mask cracking, “It’s been six years, and I’m sick of running.”

The reason may have been fake, but the emotion wasn’t. The last six months had been hard, I’d had more close calls than I could count, and lost more than I could deal with.

He blew out a frustrated breath, no longer looking at me. The cigarette butt imploded beneath his thumb, as he squashed it out on his desk.

“Elek’s a day’s trek behind me, if you have spare beds...”

“Beds? The last thing I’m concerned about is space,” he ranted, “Six years and you don’t so much as call…”

“I don’t own a phone,” I justified, crossing my arms.

“You don’t write.”

“You don’t know how to read.”

“Watch your tongue, I do so,” he scolded, an undertone of amusement. “The little rat with you too?”

I shook my head, rocking on my heels as I said, “No, it’s just the two of us now.”

I didn’t like talking about the fact that we’d lost Rory. I didn’t like thinking about. It was uncomfortable, he’d been my little brother and it was my responsibility to look out for him. Talking about it with Jack was even harder, if only because he knew how hard I would have taken it. 

Jack ran his hand along the back of his neck, he didn’t ask anymore. He didn’t need to, he would have known that the when’s, and the how’s, and the what’s, didn’t matter.

He blew out another heavy breath before he turned and leaned over his desk.

“Please, Jack,” I swallowed, “I’m ready to come home.”

He dropped his head, before he spun back around with a look that was so ignited, I thought he was about to do something crazy.

And he was.

He began pacing towards me, “If you stay then you have to pull your weight around here, and I swear to God you screw me over and there won’t be a place you can hide, you hear me young lady?”

“No one has spoken to me like that in a long, long time,” I smile.

“Yeah well welcome home.”

Before I could process it, the space had closed and Jacks arms were around me. I had mine wrapped around his neck, my head buried. My chest was incredibly light, and at the same time painfully heavy. A compressed cork threatened to pop and release a colossal mess of emotions. My eyes stung as I looked up, trying to keep that particular hatchet locked. That’s how I coped – forgetting and pretending. Burying the hatchet and finding any way possible to make myself numb from its toxicity.

He gripped me tighter, and I felt him want to say more. I was positive he wanted to ask more. This reunion had only scathed the top of the six years we’d lost. 

That's when I heard a new sound. The rumble of rubber tires against gravel, of coughing and chugging engines. 

Run. 

"What is that?" I jerked out of Jack’s hold, feeling my heart pulse, the beat rising up my throat.  

Run. 

"What?"  

I waited till the sound of trucks grew to a level that he could hear.  

"That." 

Several emotions flew across his face, "Haven't you heard Doll, the raid was moved up... to tonight." 

Run. Run. Run. 

Bile rose in my throat. My senses were electric, I could feel the danger. I could feel an inescapable fate closing its claws around my neck.

I kissed Jack on the cheek.  

And then I ran.

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