Chapter 5

I didn't make it far.

Two days later, they found me at a safe house my father had built off the books.

I had thought I was clever.

I had thought I had time.

But Jefferey, the third snake, had tracked my phone.

They didn't take me back to the city.

"You need fresh air," Alexander had said over the phone, his voice dripping with false concern. "We're going to the ranch. A little family getaway to heal the rift."

The ranch was tucked away in upstate New York.

It was beautiful.

Rolling hills, autumn leaves turning blood-red and gold, and stables full of thoroughbreds.

It used to be my sanctuary.

Now, it was a prison without walls.

I was walking near the paddock, watching a stallion named Thunder pace nervously.

Alaric and Jefferey were leaning on the fence, smoking, watching me like hawks.

"Go for a ride, Azalea," Jefferey called out. "Like old times. Thunder misses you."

I loved that horse.

I opened the gate and stepped inside.

Thunder nickered, nuzzling my hand.

For a second, I felt peace.

The smell of hay and horse sweat grounded me.

Then, a gunshot cracked through the valley.

It came from the woods.

Close.

Too close.

Thunder spooked.

Twelve hundred pounds of muscle turned into a panicked weapon.

He reared up, his hooves flashing in the sunlight.

I tried to dodge, but the mud was slippery under my boots.

I fell.

A hoof the size of a dinner plate came crashing down.

*Crunch.*

It connected squarely with my thigh.

The sound of the bone breaking was louder than the gunshot.

Pain, white and blinding, exploded up my leg.

I screamed.

Thunder bolted, his back hoof clipping my ribs as he fled.

I lay in the mud, gasping, staring up at the blue sky.

My leg was twisted at a sickening angle.

Alaric and Jefferey didn't run to help.

They walked.

Slowly.

Jefferey was calmly sliding a silencer-equipped pistol back into his jacket.

They stood over me, blocking out the sun.

"Nasty accident," Jefferey said, lighting a cigarette. "Horses are dangerous animals."

"Alexander isn't going to like the damage," Alaric noted, looking at my leg with the detachment of a mechanic looking at a dented fender. "She won't be able to walk down the aisle properly."

"He doesn't need her to walk," Jefferey shrugged. "He just needs her to say 'I do'. Or sign the papers. Being crippled might make her more... manageable."

I gritted my teeth against the agony, tears leaking from my eyes.

They didn't want to kill me yet.

Dead, I was a martyr.

Alive and broken, I was property.

"Call the ambulance," Alaric sighed, pulling out his phone. "Tell them the heiress had a tragic fall. Poor clumsy girl."

As the darkness of shock began to pull me under, I realized the truth.

There was no bottom to their cruelty.

There was no line they wouldn't cross.

And if I wanted to survive, I had to stop being a human being.

I had to become something worse than them.

I had to become a Golden.