Page 1 of Rising from the Ashes

Prologue

Standing against the sleek, cold wall, a sense of calm washes over me as I embrace the death of my old life and become reborn into my new family.

After being manhandled and thrown into the vehicle they forced me into, I was blindfolded, and driven to an unknown destination. Taking what smelled like a steel elevator down to an undisclosed location, a rough hand guided me to the spot where I now stand, telling me in his deep voice, void of emotion, to shut up and wait my turn.

Keeping the blindfold on, my senses are heightened. I should be uneasy since the last time I was blindfolded, I woke up chained to a rusted metal post that was bolted down to the cold, wet concrete floor of my father’s manufacturing plant. That night he revealed to me the plan of his betrayal and let his men take what they wanted. Instead, standing here, I am comforted by the soft hum of a tattoo gun scraping against someone’s skin and the quiet murmurs of people around me.

A gruff voice calls out my name, and I rip off the blindfold, staring in the direction of the voice. Sitting by a very pristine workstation, is this Herculean God of a man, his black hair falling in front of his face, with a look in his eyes that screams frustration. Raking my eyes over his muscled arms covered in tattoos, I get a very familiar feeling.

Keep your head down and legs closed, Cal.

I look around the room. From the whispers I could hear while blindfolded, I can see members from the Old Order on one side of the room having their old markings removed.

Sauntering over to Hercules, I straddle the chair facing the back and lean my head down, eagerly awaiting the burn of the needle. I gasp when I feel the cold antiseptic swipe across my skin, making my arms erupt in goosebumps. The drone of the gun rings louder in my ears and I close my eyes, preparing myself for the delicious pain.

With my eyes closed, the smell of melting skin enters my nose as one of the old members is getting his symbol from the Old Order removed. The scent of the smoke sends me reeling internally and I can almost feel the heat of the flames from that fateful night when I was left for dead by someone I loved.

A shiver takes hold of my body as I remember that night, and the hopelessness I felt. I can feel the anxiety wash over my skin as the nerves mingle in my stomach.

I take in a deep breath, attempting to ground myself back in the present.

Several moments pass by, and I feel another cold swipe as he wipes the excess ink off of my delicate skin.

“Thanks, suga.” I say, winking and slipping off the chair. He begins cleaning the station, preparing the chair for the next initiate to take a seat.

Running my fingers along the fresh ink, my skin is hot, tender, and swollen causing a hum to form in my throat. My skin tingles as I trace the art on the back of my neck, toward the front where the rope design wraps around.

Letting out a large exhale, I straighten my shoulders.

No holding back, now. These people need to meet the real Calista.

I walk across the room in front of Everly with a mischievous grin on my face.

“I expect great things from you, Calista.”

“Your wish is my command, my queen,” I smirk sarcastically, as I kneel before her.

“In morte vivimus.” I recite, pledging my allegiance as a ghost in the new Societas Exspiravit.

In death we live.

I take my place amongst the new recruits as Everly begins her welcome speech, cocking my eyebrow in Hercules’ direction.

Fuck it, may as well have a little fun, right?

“In death we live!” Everly closes her speech out and the rest of us echo our new mantra, following our leader.

As I bring my eyes back toward our fearless, albeit smartass leader, I notice a tall man with an athletic build and jet black hair standing in the corner of the room. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the sleeves torn off and black cargo pants with a gun secured in a holster, strapped snugly to his thigh. He looks like some modern day spy kid. His tattooed arms are folded across his chest, and his head is down. I can see enough of his face to recognize that it looks like he is lost in thought with his brows furrowed.

Everly smirks at me when our gazes lock for a moment.

I know why I am here.

I’m a machine. A ruthless killer who delivers my hits in such a way that makes them beg for mercy until their last breath. Everly needed someone in her arsenal with my expertise and persuasion skills.

I have been training tirelessly, day in and day out, for the last nine months with the soldiers of Izinduna Zikalushi, better known in Edinburgh as the Silent Guardians. When they let me go, I resolved to work in solitude until I was forced to join The Society.

It was join or die.

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