5. Fake my death.

6. Go to Tokyo, Japan and try something new.

7. Jump off a moving train.

Within the twenty seconds after I shoot Derek's left elbow, I contemplate my life. Of course, having an existential crisis isn't beneficial to my survival at the moment, but really―I consider it inevitable.

If I die in the next minute, I will never get to complete my bucket list. I will never get to my fake my death or go to Tokyo or jump off a moving train.

So, I resolve not to die in the next minute.

Of course, life isn't always that easy.

Derek lets out a grisly howl and slips to his knees. I turn around. His face is purple, contorted in agony, and I almost feel bad.

But then he roars, "Cut the bitch!"

The door opens.

"You," I breathe.

Behind the looking glass, Derek was prepared to defer to the Alpha. The Alpha . . . no, it can't be. But it must be.

Hunter.

Except . . . no. Someone else follows her into the room―a taller, more muscular version of her.

"I want her dead!" Derek wails.

My eyes lock on the woman. She must be a few years older than Hunter and I―maybe even almost thirty.

Distracted―I am distracted.

I forgot how fast Hunter could move, because with lightning speed, she is suddenly behind me. A knife is pressed against my throat. I swallow.

"Tell us what you know," the older woman says.

What I . . . know? The confusion must be plain on my face.

"She's a better liar than the last one," the older woman remarks.

"Kill her!" Derek moans.

I really, really want to tell Derek to shut up.

"Really, Anise? The last one was hardly comparable," says Hunter from behind me, her breath on my ear.

Who is this girl? What is this place?

"The last what?" I bite out.

Is it bad that I'm attracted to Hunter right now, her knife at my throat, her lips at my jaw?

It might be a little worrisome. But I can't think of it now, as the woman named Anise fixes her glare on me. Intense―this is a little too intense for a random questioning. This feels almost like . . . an interrogation.

But what could that be for? They're the ones who took my mother.

Or are they? a little voice whispers. I quiet it.

How many enemies could I possibly have?

Well, you're the one who went looking for them.

Shit. I have to play this right. I'm smarter than this, I swear.

"Tell me," I say stiffly to Anise. Her blue eyes fix on me, and the colour is so familiar I almost gasp. The same colour from my dreams, the colour of a sapphire-toned sky. I swallow and continue, "You're the Alpha. Don't you have more important things to do?"

I'm guessing―I have no idea who the Alpha is. But it has to be her. I know it.

Hunter tenses. I must have guessed right.

Anise ignores me and smiles crookedly. "What did you come here for?"

"You have my mom!"

"Information? Blood? Money?" She steps closer, and Hunter's knife loosens a fraction. "Tell me . . . whatever they offered you, we can double it. Or we can slit your throat right here."

"You can . . . excuse me?" I think frantically now. Clearly, they think I have some kind of agenda. My hand starts to creep to the knife at my belt.

Can I stab Hunter?

If I have to, I will.

"Was it vengeance?" Anise's smile is frightening now. Cold and cruel. I have no doubt she is the Alpha, but I can't stop staring at her blue eyes. So familiar.

"My mom," I say. "I want my mom back."

I don't know why I'm still insisting. But I need to try. I need to know I tried everything.

If I die now, I won't be able to save her.

Unless―unless she's already dead.

Anise seems to grow impatient, as though I'm still playing a story, acting a part. And it occurs to me that she doesn't even believe me.

What does that mean? Who do they think I am?

"I want her dead," Derek growls, a tear from deep in his throat. The urge to kick his face is so overwhelming I have to look away.

Anise nods to Derek. "Get him out of here, Hunter."

The knife is released from my throat. I breathe.

Hunter lifts up Derek by the shoulder, and I can't help being impressed by her strength. She is lithe and lean, her slender frame willowy―but it must be carved from muscle, because Derek looks heavy with his bulging biceps.

As soon as they're gone, Anise rounds on me.

"We don't have to play this game," she says sympathetically.

I freeze. Trap, trap, trap―

"No," she continues, as though we're friends. "I don't need to know anything about you. Tell me, though―how much will the Saints pay for you? Are you worth anything?"

The Saints. And suddenly, I understand.

They think I'm a spy. They think I was sent by another gang to infiltrate them.

Well, if I'm going to be a hostage, I'd better make it worthwhile.

"Oh, they'll pay for me, alright," I say with my chin held high. No stutter. No tremble.

I don't even know who the Saints are.

"Will they," she murmurs to herself, already lost in thought. The Alpha . . . why is a spy from these so-called Saints so important that the leader of the Wolves has come to see me personally?

Think, Jude.

War. Rivalry. I don't know.

I just want my mom back. I want to get out of here.

But if the Wolves didn't take her . . . who did?

Suddenly, Anise grins―as sharp as a knife.

"Well, Jude, I'm glad you're here." She steps closer. Warm. Friendly. "I hope you'll forgive me for this next part, though."

With a single strike, the muzzle of her gun connects against my temple.

I don't know where I am when I wake up.

For a moment, the world is dark―a terrifying shade of shadow. Am I dead? Did the Alpha, Anise, kill me?

But the ground beneath me is soft. I dig my fingers into blankets―blankets. I'm in a bed, in a room . . . but whose?

A longing for home swells up inside of me. For a second, just a second, I imagine I am back in my mother's bed, curled up alone in the sheets. Away from the Wolves and Hunter's betrayal and this Underground.

Everything rushes back. A surge of ice-cold fear.

Shit. Shit. I bolt upright.

Anise knocked me out. Why? And where did she bring me?

My eyes slowly adjust to the room around me. Sleek furniture. And the colour orange, everywhere―hidden in touches throughout. A picture frame. A water bottle. A chair. But not the gawdy, bright orange of Halloween. The pastel yellow-pink of fading sunset.

My favourite colour. But how did they know?

I slip out of bed, and dizziness overtakes me. A throb pulses at my temple, where the muzzle of the gun struck.

There are no windows. Two doors.

Where are the Wolves? Anise? Hunter?

Why did they leave me here alone?

My steps are hesitant as I walk slowly through the room, not daring to breathe. There is a picture frame on the desk, and inside I see a picture of two little girls. They both look startlingly familiar, but I can't place them. And there, laid flat on the wooden desk, is a sheet of white paper.

The memory of my mom's note comes back to me.

But instead, I see unfamiliar cursive writing.

Stay here.

Immediately, my eyes flick to the door. I don't know who wrote the note, but it's like I'm going to listen to it. What did they think―I'd read the note and just lounge around the room, waiting for the return of my captor?

No, I'm getting the fuck out of here.

In one hand, I crumple the note. Looking to the door.

With a start, I realize all my weapons are gone. But if they thought I'd be harmless without my weapons―they are going to be in for it. In two strides, I stand at the door.

Please.

Please, please.

It's unlocked. It's unlocked.

I open it, my hand shaking. Outside is a long, black corridor with other doors lining the walls, as though this is some kind of apartment building. I start towards the end of the hall―there is music, noise coming from that direction.

I'm still in the Underground. I need to get out of here.

Because if the Wolves don't have my mom, I'm wasting my time.

And if I stay in the heart, the territory, of the most dangerous Mafia in New Orleans, I won't be alive much longer. Derek will want revenge. Anise thinks I'm the Alpha. And Hunter . . . Hunter is a wild card.

Jesus. How did I get myself into this mess?

At the end of the corridor, I see an elevator. There's no one around―I surge towards it, frantically jabbing the button. How much longer until someone comes back? Or notices I'm gone?

Down the corridor, I hear the click of a door opening.

My blood turns to ice.

The elevator doors slide open. I throw myself inside. Close. Close. Close. Desperate―I hear the desperate pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.

The doors close. I catch a glimpse of someone in a black jacket, someone with a scarred face.

I slump back against the glass wall of the elevator. But it occurs to me, then―that I don't know where I'm going. How to get out of here. There are almost fifty floors, and each of them leads deeper and deeper into the ground.

How deep below the surface are we?

Don't panic. Jude, don't panic.

I've been through worse than this. Really, what am I afraid of―a couple gang lords and someone who calls herself the Alpha?

Except . . . yes, I am afraid of those things. Very afraid.

I have never felt so helpless, so weak, in my life. And I hate them for this. I hate my mom, I hate the Wolves, and I hate Hunter. I hate her for pretending to be kind, for smiling with that soft mouth and offering to bandage me and then taking me here. Knowing that she was leading me into a trap.

Knowing that she was leading me into the heart of the city's Mafia. Into the Underground. Into the open jaws of the Wolves.

This is my fault―for being so stupid. So blind.

Ding. The elevators open onto the 22nd floor.

Wait a second―

It takes me too long to realize I had pressed the fiftieth button. So why has the elevator gone up, and why is it opening now?

And, with my luck, of course―of course―it is the man who kissed me earlier.

His eyes widen when he sees me. His mouth open in a gasp. Immediately, he backs away from me, as though I'm contagious.

I don't waste time in getting the hell off the elevator.

This must be a floor dedicated to entertainment. Pool tables and card games are arranged around the room, with crowds gathered around like moths to fire. The sound of cheering and outrage dance hand in hand around the room. People win and lose, playing with chance, gambling with luck.

I can't help being drawn to the center of the room, where a game of chess is being played. Two opponents sit opposite each other, and honestly? I can't fathom what the rush, the excitement, of being near them is. Until I am close enough to actually see.

It's almost like a net. A wind ripe with tension that falls over me, latching itself onto me. Urging me forward. The breath of the audience is held; I can feel the tangible intensity of the game as the players slide their pieces through the board.

I can't tell who is winning. But with a start, I realize who's playing.

Hard jaw. Brown eyes. And her brown hair, the light strands framing her face, tied up high. Her lips purse in determination, and her fingers are delicate as they curve around what I recognize as the knight.

Christ. I back away, shoving through people until I stumble out of sight.

I have to get out of here. I have go, now.

As soon as I find my way back to the elevator, the doors slide open, as though waiting for me.

Except the elevator isn't empty.

No, bloody and bandaged, Derek tilts his head. A lopsided grin.

Sweet. Soft. Melancholic, as though he's a little disappointed in me. "Tell me, little lamb―where do you think you're going so soon?"

>>>

I wanted to let you know you can expect at least one chapter daily from me.

Honestly, I'm curious as to what you think will happen next! I love hearing from all of you.

From the moon and back,
Sarai