The assassin pulls me into a back corridor.
“Let me the fuck go!”I screech. “You’ll get us killed!”
He spins around and flattens me against the wall, knocking the breath from my lungs, just as a hail of bullets zooms towards us. At the end of the hall, the emergency exit flashes. The assassin stares into my eyes, brows drawn, auburn-red hair tussled from his run and fight. He’s good—verygood. He killed two of Dagon’s best men.
“Ember,” he growls. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Shock blasts through me.How does he know my name?
Who the hell is he?
Do I… know him from somewhere?
His eyes tickle at the back of my mind. Sound, sight, and color fade away as we stare at each other. There’s something familiar about him—a sense of déjà vu washes over me.
“Ember,” he repeats. “It’s me. Max”
Hethinkshe knows me, that much is beyond doubt. It doesn’t change the fact that I have no goddamn clue he is, aside from the manmaking the mistake of using me as a hostage against Dagon. My life isn’t worth that much to my boss—I’m simply a source of amusement and a weapon to Dagon.
I drive my knee up intoMax’sgroin—he shifts positions to block it, fists the back of my hair, and starts dragging me down the hall. He grunts and jerks as one of the bullets presumably makes contact, before once againsliding right offand clattering to the ground; I take the opportunity to try to jerk out of his hold, but he doesn’t release me. His grip might as well be welded from iron.
I fight, I struggle, I screech, but he pulls me out of the back door and into the chilly night air.
Footsteps pound pavement in the distance. Dagon’s men are coming for us—anarmymight be coming for us, and Max—the idiot assassin—has put me square in the crossfire. “Let me go!”I scream.
“Shut up.” He drags me down the alleyway, away from the crowded road. I dig my heels into the pavement, but all that results in is my ankles nearly getting broken. Max growls in irritation, turns around, and yanks me into his chest.
His fingers press down on my carotid artery.
“No!” I screech. I claw my fingernails across his face; he releases me with a hiss, but the pressure on my carotid has already dazed me and taken the wind out of me.
Max lets out a growl of irritation under his breath and lifts me over his shoulder. At the end of the alleyway is a car, hidden from view by dumpsters.
“I don’t know who you are, but youhaveto let me go!” I yell. “Max—whoever you are—he’ll kill both of us!”
He ducks behind a dumpster as more bullets fly and pulls me down beside him, then wraps his hand around my neck and reapplies pressure on my carotid.
“You shouldn’t be worried about him right now,” he hisses. “You should be worried aboutme. Dagon is no one to you anymore, understand, Ember? As soon as I get us out of this shitstorm, we’re going to have a nice, long chat.”
I claw weakly at his hands, cursing him, myself, my waning strength, Dagon… everything that’s brought me to this moment in time.
And then, I succumb to the pressure of his hand on my carotid, and get pulled into a sea of darkness. My last thought:both her and I are dead.
Chapter Four
Max
Past
Max: 14, Ember: 10
Iget home from school in the same bad mood that my English Lit teacher puts me in each time I see her. I swear, she’s deliberately sadistic, assigning the thickest tomes imaginable to the classroom at large. And she takesgreat pleasurein singling me out to read the thick-ass books aloud, despite knowing I have diagnosed dyslexia. Each time I read, the class laughs. Each time I answer a question wrong, Ms. Lib gleefully lowers my grade.
I hate Ms. Lib.
I walk down the driveway, glaring at the sun, the flowers, the grounds, everything around me. I’m suspended from the swim team because I’m failing English, and I want to punch something—or someone—to blow off some steam. The fight I got into earlier wasn’t enough; I wantmore.
I pass the abandoned staff’s cottage, only to pull up short.
