Prologue
Liesel
I want to kill Langston, but I’d also die for him.
He ruined my life.
He made me so desperate to get my life back that I’m about to murder in cold blood.
Langston took every-fucking-thing from me.
He took my money.
My career.
My heart.
My soul.
My life.
He took the one person I care about above all.
Langston couldn’t just be happy taking me, controlling me, demanding I give up my life to pay for my sins—he wanted more.
And he won’t stop until he has everything.
I’m pretty sure he already does.
But at least I’ll take the one thing from him he truly loves. I’m desperate to find out the truth, to find out if he really took everything. This is the only way to separate the truth from the lies.
I’ve always been the huntress, but I’m about to become the killer…
1
Liesel
I lied—those words flood me as I run down the beach.
Should I run on the sand where it’s easier to run, but I’m an open target? Or should I dart into the jungle where I’ll have to fight through thick brush, but I won’t be spotted?
I decide speed is better than cover and keep running down the beach, away from Langston’s house, and toward the airport.
I lied.
I’m not really married to Waylon.
Langston lied, too, right?
We lie—that’s what we do. All we’ve done is lie to each other since we were kids. That’s what we were doing—lying. Not letting the other person see our cards.
He definitely lied. There is no way Langston is married to my cousin, Phoenix, and already has two kids. Siren or Kai would have said something to me.
Right?
RIGHT?
Yes.
Langston is just as single as ever.
He may be dating Phoenix, hedging his bets so if I don’t marry him, he can still marry a Dunn and go after my inheritance.
Boom.
I duck at the sound, covering my head like somehow my hands are going to be able to stop a bomb.
I shield my eyes as I glance up at the sun, trying to see if we are being attacked from above. I don’t see any planes.
It’s a ground attack; probably someone who wants Enzo and Kai’s empire like usual. There is a reason I don’t really hang out with them anymore—this is why. I’d rather not be ambushed and spend my time running from guns, bombs, and dangerous people every second of every day.
I prefer to be able to go to an excluded beach island to actually relax and not worry about bombs being dropped on my head—call me high-maintenance.
I hear gunfire behind me.
Jesus.
How did I end up in this world? When will it end?
I decide that I should take the jungle route after all. I slip between some bushes, scratching my arms and causing some nasty red bumps to pop up.
Another loud bomb goes off.