TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT PAGE

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright © 2013 by Sarah Fine

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Skyscape, New York

ISBN-13: 9781477816912
ISBN-10: 1477816917

Source photos courtesy of Shutterstock

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request.

DEDICATION PAGE

For Alma, my very own warrior girl.

CONTENTS

CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ONE

ONE

MY CAPTOR PACED THE entryway with heavy footsteps while I sat in a wooden chair backed against the wall. My heart beat hard against my ribs, keeping time with my primitive, animal thoughts: escape escape escape.

My rational side, dwarfed by instinct, somehow managed to whisper, It’s not like this is a life-threatening situation. I’ll get out of it alive. I hope.

I leaned forward and planted my feet on the floor, estimating the number of seconds it would take to reach the exit.

The fierce stare of my jailer told me she was thinking the same thing. She halted in front of the door and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t even think about it, baby. I’m responsible for you. This is a big deal.”

I leaned my head back and banged it softly against the wall. “Only because you made it one.”

Diane made her all-purpose mm-mm-mm sound of disapproval. “You’ve just gone through something big, and now—”

I was saved from a lecture by a knock at the door, but the knowledge of who it was sent my heart rate skyrocketing. I stood up on shaky legs as Diane turned the knob and swung it wide.

I was still getting used to seeing him in regular clothes rather than armor and fatigues. A week ago he’d shown up at my school, looking like an ordinary high school student instead of a deadly Guard. Well, “ordinary” probably wasn’t the right word. He couldn’t look ordinary if he tried. And he was trying. Tonight, he wore jeans and a zipped-up gray hoodie. His face was angular and stark, with olive skin framed by ink-black hair; his eyes, which were so dark they looked like solid ebony circles, held an expression I’d seen before.

He was doing his best to look harmless, but he wasn’t very good at it. He still looked like he could kill someone without breaking a sweat.

Probably because he could.