Page 1 of Trapped Truth

PROLOGUE

LEAVE ME BURNING - CARLTON HAYNES & MARTHA BEAN

EMBER - THREE YEARS AGO

“You’re hit, Langley! Kill shot!”

“You’ll never kill me, little astronaut. Hands up, and surrender before it’s too late!”

With a fake, plastic pistol clutched in my shaking hands, I have to bite my tongue to hold a peal of laughter in. If I make a sound, Warner will find me. He always beats me when we play secret agents. Just once, I’d like to win.

“Where did you go?” he calls from across the messy bedroom. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

My chest burns from the pressure of holding giggles back.

“Give it up, Em! You know I always catch you!”

“Never!”

Secretly, I quite like it when he does. Fireworks erupt where his long, nimble fingers dig into my ribcage when he tickles me. It makes my stomach do this strange flip-flop thing. It feels good. I’m not sure why. All the boys in my class at school are pretty gross, but not him. Not my Langley.

“There you are!” Warner shouts in pure triumph.

“Nooo!”

“You’re mine now, Em!”

Screaming, I bolt from behind the dresser I’d chosen for cover. A foam bullet clips the carpet next to my foot as his chuckling chases me from the room. So much happiness creaks my bones, I don’t know how I’ll hold it all in.

I hope he’ll play with me forever.

And no matter what, we’ll always be together.

Ghostly laughter bounces around the inner caverns of my ear canals. My throat tightens and burns, but tears refuse to rise. I haven’t allowed myself to cry for years. A stupid daydream of a time long past sure as hell won’t be the thing to break me now.

I’ll never be that carefree girl again.

As I stiffly roll upright on my hard mattress, bruises from my last fight flare. It wasn’t a bad fixture. I’ve fought in the underground pit hidden behind a fast-food restaurant a couple of times, but the burly European I was pitted against sure knew how to throw a punch.

My meal lays discarded on a rusted metal tray that rests on the ground. I needed to sleep when I returned, in too much pain to even consider picking at the meagre allowance. They feed me enough to keep me alive and strong, but it’s been a long time since I tasted anything with flavour.

How long have I been here?

Long enough for flame-red strands to sprout from my hairline and greedily overtake the bleach-blonde job, a final callback to my old life. There are several inches of natural auburn on display now. Yet I don’t recognise the woman looking back at me when I tend to my cuts and scrapes in the mirror.

768.

That’s all I am now. Three numbers.

A commodity.

Heavy, aggressive banging on the door that leads to my windowless room provides little warning before the lock clanks, and it slams open. I baulk at the sight of my trainer Carlos’s cruel sneer.

“Get up. You’ve been summoned.”

“Another fight already?” I wince at the thought.

“Enough questions, 768. Move.”