Page 48 of Adam
He dragged me out of the gutter, patched me up, gave me food, a place to crash. He said I owed him—and yeah, I did.
It wasn’t long before I started wearing their colors, running with their pack. Like that was ever gonna end well.
He said he was handing me redemption, and fuck it, maybe he was.
Most people would’ve pissed themselves the second they found out what it really takes to be one of them.
What you gotta go through just to get in.
What you gotta do once you’re in.
But not me.
I didn’t run. I didn’t whine.
I’d been crawling through life like something was missing, like there was this hole in me I couldn’t fill.
And then I found it. That spark, that ugly little fire. A reason to stop pretending and finally break loose.
He gave me that.
Strength. Balls. The kind of fearlessness that makes you dangerous to yourself and everyone around you.
His training … Oh, this training isn’t some bootcamp bullshit. It’s hell, plain and simple.
Military drills and assassin schools? That crap’s just a warm-up. The real game starts when you’re knee-deep in blood and still smiling. This is survive-or-die, break-or-bend-everything-inside-you kind of shit.
You either make it through, or you don’t.
And if you don’t, no one’s digging a hole for you.
I still remember my first kill with the fraternity. The moment they started really pushing, trying to break me.
I was sent to kill some powerful prick’s right-hand guy. Mafia royalty, fixer, whatever label made people scared. I didn’t give a fuck. He was just a name that needed erasing, and I was dead set on doing it.
I didn’t hesitate. I pulled the trigger like I’d been waiting my whole life for it. And the second I did, that holy rush hit me. That pure euphoria I didn’t even know I missed.
It filled every crack in me like it belonged there.
And then … oh, then I craved it.
The feeling.
The power.
The fucking freedom.
I walked into the filthy, half-rotten factory we trained in, blood still dripping off me, soaked through to the bone. I was proud. Sure of what I’d done.
Every head turned as I passed, eyes tracking me like prey that got loose. I made my way straight toward Alaric, letting the weight of what I’d done sit on my shoulders like a fucking crown.
I toyed with the knife in my hand. It was still wet and warm from the blood. It was the same blade I used to gut the bastard they sent to kill me.
My so-called partner.
Yeah. My partner. The one they’d assigned to kill me after I was done with the dude.
It was a test, obviously. One of us walks out, and that fucker thought he had the upper hand.
