They did everything they could to prepare me. I trained, tirelessly, every day. My flimsy, girlish muscles became stronger. I learned how to move, how to fight, which position to take, how to get out of submissive positions.

Nothing prepared me for this. No one told me what to do if I was drugged.

My strong, glorious muscles are now heavy and limp. All the self-defense knowledge stored in my brain, useless. I can barely move to save my life, and even if I could, I’m bound at my wrists and ankles with duct tape. I’m lying here in the back of a trunk, waiting for my killer to show his slimy face. A tear slips from my eye. Well, hey, at least something works.

Oh, Gran. How could you have been involved in this?

I feel it happen. The crack of my heart when I think of her. She was the woman who raised me. The woman who took care of me, fed me, clothed me…loved me. I shudder, feeling several hot tears slip down my face. The Serras, or the Reds, as she referred to us in her email, weren’t evil. You were the evil one, Gran.

I can’t believe it. If I hadn’t read that email with my own eyes, I still wouldn’t. But it’s true. Little Yellow was raised by a monster.

The worst part of all? She died an old woman in her sleep. She never faced any consequences. Never felt the sting of karma’s bite.

For that, I know I’ll always hate her.

Most things can be forgiven—but this is unforgivable, Gran.

I feel pretty stupid for not forgiving Casper while I had the chance. I’m probably going to die here, at the hands of a lunatic, and I never took a leap of faith. I wanted to, especially while he was telling me everything he’d done. He was trying to settle down. For me. And what did I do? I let fear take over. Stupid, useless fear. I keep letting it win again and again. When will I ever learn? I swear if I ever make it out of this mess, I’m going to make it right. Fear will never control me again.

The seconds tick by slowly. I’m not sure how long I’ve been here, or how long I was unconscious. It’s still night time. Other than that, I have no clue how much time has passed. Hours? Minutes?

Tingles spread up and down my legs like little needles, reanimating them. If I can move, I can fight. I just need more of those tingles.

As if the universe is conspiring against me, the trunk pops open at that exact moment.

My eyes flare. “Sergio?”

Is this some kind of half-baked training drill? Are Viv and Leo in on this?

“Hello, Amelia.”

I don’t get it. He wasn’t the one in my hotel room my first night in London. That man was taller and broader.

Sergio removes a black canvas bag from the trunk, pulling the strap over one shoulder. He lifts me out of the trunk. I grunt as he tosses me over his other shoulder. My legs and torso scream from the pins and needles sensation. I try to struggle, to hit or kick, but I still don’t have complete control. I’m too weak.

I look around. We’re inside of what looks like an office building, but it’s under construction. There’s sawdust everywhere, the floors are still cement, the walls are missing, and cranes are surrounding the place.

“This is one of your father’s projects,” Sergio says. “Leo manages the contract. I thought it seemed fitting that this is where you should go.”

So it isn’t a practical joke. This is really happening.

“Are you Dark Blue?” I ask, surprised to find my voice working again.

He laughs once. “How do you know about Dark Blue?”

“He’s the Serra killer, right?”

“Sure, he is, but what does it matter? Right now, I’m the Serra killer.” His voice is so…calm. Composed. Just like he is during training. It would take a methodical sociopath to do what he did, train us every day, and never show any sign.

“Let’s just say I’m Dark Blue’s apprentice. Baby Blue, if you will.”

He drops me on the floor next to a stack of orange cones. Pain blazes through my side, throbbing, and I grind my teeth to keep from crying out.

“Come on, Serg,” I say, keeping my voice light. Don’t show any fear. “If you’re going to kill me anyway, who is Dark Blue?”

“Can’t do that, love.”

“What about my gran? How was she involved?”

“Not going there, either.”

I groan loudly, letting him hear my frustration. “Then at least tell me this. If I’d agreed to go out with you, would you have killed me on our date?”

“Probably not. Your family would know where you were and who you were with.”

“Then why did you bother asking?”

He shrugs, his lips curving into a sinister smile. “I thought it’d be more fun that way. Since you didn’t give me the opportunity, here we are. I planned to wait until everything was planned perfectly, but then you told me you were moving, and so I sped things along.”

“That’s really sick, you know that, right?”

“Aren’t we all.” He laughs again, and the sound of it terrifies me. So normal. So familiar. The same laugh I’ve heard plenty of times during training sessions, but this time, the person behind it wants to kill me.

Bending down, he unzips the black bag he brought, rifling through it. “I will tell you this. Dark Blue hates you, even more than the others.”

“Why?”

“Jealousy, probably.” He removes a thick coil of rope and tosses it on the floor beside him. “You had your grandmother’s adoration. I never heard the end of it.”

“Then why isn’t here, doing his own dirty work?”

“For one, he just finished Alessandra.”

I cringe at her name. Dead. Just like I’m about to be.

“And two, he knew the probability of making a mistake was higher. He hates you too much. You’re my first, by the way.”

“Gee, I’m so proud.”

“If it makes you feel better, I have no plans to drag this out. He would’ve like to see me go the extra mile and torture you, but I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

He glances up. “You’re taking this very well for someone who is about to be murdered.”

“What can I say? I’ve been preparing for a while now.”

“Ah, it’s a shame I like you, Amelia,” he says, grinning. “Something I’d never admit to Dark, but it’s true.”

“You seem to care a lot what he thinks about you.” I tilt my head to the side, piecing it all together. “He’s your father, isn’t he?”

For a brief moment, fury flashes in Sergio’s eyes, disappearing almost as quickly. He doesn’t like that I’ve figured out his secret, but I’m right. That’s why Sergio cares so much what Dark Blue thinks, why he’s following in his footsteps, why he wants to make sure this murder goes off without a hitch. Sergio is Dark Blue’s son.

“Let’s talk about what’s going to go down here instead.” He looks up at the ceiling. “I think you’ll be pleased with what I’ve got planned.”

“Pleased with my own murder? This oughta be good.” I scoot back a little. Most of the feeling has returned to my feet and legs. They’re still weak, but when the moment is right…

“I’m pulling out all the theatrics. We’re going to stick it to your dad with this death. Your brother, too.”

My heart beats a little faster. This sounds like it’s going somewhere twisted. “How am I going to die, Sergio?”

He gestures to the rope. “Copycat suicide, just like your mothers. It’s really perfect how much you resemble her. Thirteen Reasons Why will have nothing on you.”

He draws out a knife and cuts the bandages off my wrists. I think about attacking, but hesitate a moment too long. He tosses me a pen and a piece of paper. “Write your suicide note, love. Extra points for evoking emotion.”

“I’m not doing this,” I say, disgusted by the idea. “Leo found my mother’s body. I don’t want to hurt him this way.”

Sergio lifts a brow. “I thought you were angry with him.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I hate him. And I don’t really know my father, but I know my mom’s death ruined him.” I shake my head, pushing the paper away. “This is too cruel.”

He cocks a gun at me. “You’ll do it, and you’ll do it now.”

“Or you’ll shoot me? Go ahead. I’d prefer that death over this one.”

The blow comes so fast and so unexpected, it knocks me over. I fall to the cement floor, and it takes me a few seconds to realize what happened. Blood trickles from my ringing ear across my cheek.

He never intended to shoot me with that gun.

“Now write,” he says again, pushing the paper and pen back to me. “And make it good.”

“They’ll find the trauma to my head and figure out what happened, you idiot,” I say, holding my throbbing ear as I dazedly lift myself from the ground.

“Good point.” He tosses the gun back into his bag and removes a small black box-shaped device. “Stun gun,” he explains. “I came well-stocked.”

Goody.

As I write the letter, I press down on my legs to see how much weight they can take. My fingers are working fine. My hands, too. My ankles are still bound with duct tape, but I can get out of it.

Sergio busies himself with tying the rope to a support beam. While he isn’t looking, I click the top of the pen, preparing to use it as a weapon. I’d rather have the gun, but Sergio isn’t stupid. He keeps the bag at his side at all times.

“I’m not sure how to make this sound believable,” I say to Sergio, trying to keep him talking so he doesn’t notice what I’m doing.

“Mention something about how you don’t enjoy your life anymore,” he suggests. “Say you don’t want to live in fear.”

I stab the duct tape with my pen, tearing it down the middle, keeping my eyes locked on Sergio. He’s busy knotting the noose. Just as he turns his neck, I press the pen to my paper, keeping my ankles out of view. “How should I word that?”

He ties a knot at the base of the beam, securing it with another one. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

He gives the rope a tug, making sure it’s sturdy, then turns toward me. “Here, let me read what you’ve got so far.”

I hand him the paper, which reads:

His eyes twist around my note.

Before he has time to process it, I push myself up, gritting through the pain in my unsteady legs. Gripping the pen tightly, I pull back and stab him in the neck. Blood squirts everywhere. The deep, guttural sound of pain that rips through his throat is enough to give me nightmares for weeks.

I don’t waste any time. I hop toward his black bag, trying to run, but not quite able to get my balance. I fall to my feet as Sergio screams behind me. Desperate, I crawl the rest of the way. My fingers curl around the cold metal, and when I turn around, he’s striding toward me so fast, it looks like he’s flying. I don’t think about what I’m doing. I switch off the safety, and I shoot.

Gunshots blast through the building, echoing one after another, each one sounding like a sonic boom.

I don’t stop shooting.