Chapter 1
My mother's spit hits my cheek. It's warm, wet, and full of hate. She shows her teeth in a nasty grin. Her eyes shine with years of built-up anger. "I hate the day I gave birth to you," she says in a low, broken voice. The police officers don't react. One tightens my handcuffs until they hurt. The other pushes me toward the black van. The engine is already running, sounding impatient. I leave the spit on my face. I don't wipe it. Let it stay there like battle paint for the fight ahead.
Inside the van, the air smells like old smoke, sweat, and metal. The seats are torn plastic that sticks to my legs through my thin dress. I sit up straight, back stiff like metal. If I relax even a little, everyone will see my hands shaking. The driver looks at me in the mirror. His eyes move over my face, my neck, the way my dress sticks to my skin where I'm sweating. He gives a small smirk, then looks away. Fine. Let him stare. Let them all stare. My beauty is the only thing I have left, and I'm going to use it like a weapon.
The road passes in a blur of gray concrete and faded green trees. We go by signs for food I won't eat again, churches with big crosses, and stores promising things I'll never buy. I see my reflection in the window. My eyes are wide and dark. My lips are still open from the shock. They said I hit a politician's son with a car and left him in a coma. They had proof that was too perfect. Witnesses lied. I didn't even have a car. But a pretty girl makes a good bad guy for the news.
The prison appears far away like a dark mark on the sky. Blackspire Correctional. The name alone sounds scary. Tall concrete walls with sharp wire on top that catches the sunlight. Guard towers stand like tall fingers pointing at the sky. My stomach turns, not just from fear, but from something excited and sick at the same time. This is the place they send people to forget. They think they can forget me here. Wrong.
The big gates open slowly with a loud groan. The van drives in over gravel that crunches under the tires. We stop. Doors open. Hands grab my arms and pull me out roughly. I let my shoes drag a little on the ground, making them work harder. The yard is full of eyes. So many eyes. Men in loose gray clothes stand everywhere. Their shoulders are wide. They move with the easy confidence of people who always get what they want. A few women hurry past with their heads down.
Then I notice three stares that feel different. Hotter. Sharper. The first man is tall with a scar across his cheek, like someone tried to cut his face. His eyes are dark and deep. The second one leans on the fence. He has a playful smirk, messy hair, and looks like trouble you might want to taste. The third is huge, built like a wall with arms and legs. He doesn't smile. He doesn't even blink. He just watches me like he's already decided I'm his.
My heart beats fast against my throat. Not just fear. Something hungry wakes up inside me. Three strong men in a place full of wolves, and all three are already looking at me like I'm the prize they didn't expect. This is perfect.
The guard pushes me forward again. He mutters something about new meat. I lift my chin high. The spit on my cheek shines in the light like a tiny diamond. Let them see it. Let them all see. The moment I walk through those doors, the game starts. And I won't play nice. I'll play dirty, sweet, and completely unstoppable. When I'm finished, they'll be the ones on their knees asking for mercy.
I smile then. A small, sharp, wicked smile. The first real one since my mother spit on me. The scarred man sees it. His jaw gets tight. The charming one winks. The giant moves his head just a little.
Three hunters.
One girl.
Except I'm not the girl they hunt anymore.
I'm the trap.
And the trap just walked into Blackspire wearing only a tight dress and a promise to break them all.