PROLOGUE
TANAKA
My name is Tanaka.
Or at least… it used to be.
Now, I'm not sure I know who I am anymore.
When I close my eyes, all I see—stretching for miles—is hatred and blood. So much blood.
My ears twitch. I smile. 'They're coming.'
The marble-white floor was no longer white. It was a masterpiece of red—thick, glistening, sweet red. Blood trickled down the hem of my dress, warm and sticky, pooling beneath me like some grotesque cushion.
I smile again. 'This feels like home now, doesn't it?'
But no one answers.
'Why?'
The silence presses in, heavy, but my ears are tuned to the snarls in the distance. Wolves. Angry, rabid wolves. I can hear them from miles away. They are angry, hoping to catch me.
Pitiful.
I don't move. I don't flinch.
Maybe I want someone to see this… to admire my art. To understand greatness when it stares them in the face.
It isn't my fault that I'm this good at it.
It's funny, really—funny in a way that stings.
The laughter bubbles up inside me. First, soft giggles… then loud, shaking cackles. My fingers tangle in my hair and yank hard, sending a delicious jolt of pain through me before I slump to the ground, sitting comfortably in my crimson puddle.
Oh, Tanaka… you are hilarious. Hilarious and brilliant.
Mother thought she was funny too, naming me Tanaka—Our lives have been made beautiful.
Beautiful? What a joke.
My life has been nothing but a constant loop of pain, suffering, and isolation. Beauty was never in the script.
I fold my legs beneath me, drawing long from the battered pipe between my fingers. The smoke curls around my face, sweet and toxic. I see clearly through the haze. Mother would be so proud.
Or would she? Only if she hadn't died so soon.
I know what she would say, 'Tanny… you have to learn to forgive… Hatred only blocks your path, and prevents you from seeing love.'
Nonsense!
Where had forgiveness taken her? She was dead now, wasn't she? All because of those pathetic bastards!
"Look at me now," I whisper, my voice trembling with the high of pain and release. "Is this the beautiful life you promised, Mama? You're just as pathetic as the rest of them."
I stand, slow and swaying, each step leaving a perfect red print behind.
The edge of the world is before me now. One step forward, and it's over.
I win.
I listen again. They're closer—so close I can feel the fury radiating from them, thick as smoke. It's almost… familiar.
I smile.
The edge has never looked so beautiful.
My name is Tanaka.
This is not a story of butterflies and rainbows.
This is a story of blood, pain… and forbidden lines crossed again and again.
My name is Tanaka, and this is the tale of my revenge.
CHAPTER ONE
The winds howled painfully outside as the rains pounded against the roof. Thunder roared outside and the bolts of lightening crackled repeatedly, lighting up the sky in brief but consistent white light. The sounds were loud. The feeling was very familiar.
Like the night her mother died.
Isla sat curled up on the old couch, knees tucked under her chin, staring at the flickering light bulb above her. It was always the same when the storm came—Mama used to sit with her, wrap a blanket around them both, and tell stories until the thunder faded.
But Mama was gone now. She tried counting numbers in her head, but the numbers kept mixing up with her fears.
'Pitiful… worthless… weak…'
Her father's words played over and over in her mind. But the sad part was, he was not wrong. She was weak and worthless. Imagine being 17, and still afraid of the rain.
'Pathetic!'
The clocked ticked loudly overhead. He would soon be home!
Her father.
It was the same routine ever since her mother died. At first, he was a great father — caring, loving and kind to her. But the love did not last for long. He blamed her for her mother's death. It was her fault that night.
Only if she was not such a baby…. a stupid dirty little bi… Maybe… just maybe… her mother would still be alive.
The clocked ticked again… and again… and again. Rain pattered against the roof. Isla hugged herself tighter. Maybe today, he wouldn't come. The rains were serious. There should be traffic. Maybe—
The front door slammed open, banging so hard against the wall that the picture of her mother nearly fell from its hook.
Her breath seized. Her heart beat, growing more erratic by the second.
He was home.
She could feel the walls closing in on her as fear seeped through her bones. The sharp, sour stench of strong liquor and heavy smoke, seeped into the air before she heard his boots scrape across the floor.
'One… two… three… twenty-five…. please let him not call my name… please let him not call my name… please…'
"Isla!"
Her name cracked through the house like lightning.
"Where are you, you dirty little brat!"
Her body moved before her mind did. She bolted from the couch, bare feet smacking the wooden floor, taking the stairs two at a time.
Mama's room.
She burst inside, shutting the door without a sound, and dropped to her knees. The old dressing table was still there, though one leg had been cracked from the last time his rage reached this room. She crawled beneath it, pressing herself into the shadows. Dust clung to her hair, goosebumps grew on her skin.
One would think she would be used to it by now. But how could anyone be used to this —How could any be used to abuse?
The air was thick with the faint, fading scent of her mother's perfume. Isla pressed her forehead to the wood, whispering into the dark.
Please, Mama. Please hide me. Please keep me safe.
Her body was riddled with scars from the abuse. Her eyes had lost its glint, her life had lost all meaning. She existed simply to be a punching bag.
She existed to pay the price for her mother's death.
Downstairs, his voice thundered again, louder now.
"If you don't come out right now—" he slurred, every word soaked in anger— "I'll kill you. I'll throw your dirty body out into the street!"
The stairs groaned under his weight. She could feel each step in her bones, like the house itself was afraid.
"You know better than to run from me, you stupid sl*t," He bellowed. "You know… you know… if I killed you here and now, no one would look for your body? NO ONE! YOU… YOU ARE WORTHLESS! NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOU!"
The words pulled strings in Isla's heart, and she felt her throat tighten, and her breath seize. Bile built up at the back of her throat, and tears begun to flow out of her eyes. She clasped her mouth tightly with her hands, hoping not to let out the flood gates of pain that hid beneath.
The door crashed open.
A chair flew against the wall. A glass ornament shattered into glittering shards. The table Mama once sat at was shoved aside, drawers ripped out and flung across the room. Everything he had already broken before lay scattered on the floor, and the few things left intact met their end in his hands now.
Isla's breath came fast and shallow. She pressed her hand over her mouth, but her tears slid hot down her cheeks, dripping onto the dusty floor. Her whole body trembled.
Then—silence.
She dared to hope. Maybe he'd left. Maybe—
The dressing table jerked suddenly, and a large, rough hand shot into the darkness beneath.
His fingers clamped around her arm like iron.
"I found you," he growled, his breath hot and sour — his eyes red and monstrous.
She screamed in fear as he grabbed her by her hair, throwing her across the room. The blood came before the pain. She had hit her head against the door. For seconds, her vision was woozy . She saw stars.
"Think you can hide from me?" he snarled.
Then—
The world spun.
He flung her again across the room, her small body slamming into the wooden walls with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in her side. She crumpled to the floor, more blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.
Isla sobbed, curling into herself, but the first blow came before she could move. His fist, heavy and merciless, drove the air from her lungs.
She gasped, wheezing, the taste of iron flooding her mouth.
Another strike.
And another.
Her cries became soft, broken hiccups between each impact.
The room blurred in and out of focus. For a moment everything went black—then the pain dragged her back to reality.
"Useless!" he spat. Blow after blow, insult after insult.
The darkness came again, swallowing her whole. She surfaced briefly, hearing the storm outside, the rain pounding like a thousand hands on the roof—then slipped under once more.
For a moment, she saw her mother's face. She smiled faintly. Maybe, she was dying… she hoped she was.
The darkness took her under but this time, she didn't fight it.