Chapter 1: The Basement

The basement smelled like mold and old blood. My hands shook as I traced the cracks in the concrete, counting them for the hundredth time. When I was seven months pregnant, my cover was blown.

He smashed the butt of his pistol into my mouth—teeth shattered like ice. My ribs cracked under his boots. Then he tossed me into a basement so dark, I forgot what sunlight felt like.

I lost my baby in that darkness. The mob boss took my dead child, and I never saw her again.

Five years later, a little girl crawled into my cell and whispered:

"Mommy, Daddy’s drunk. He’s crying—crying and saying he misses you."

1

Five years ago, Marcus Delaney beat me, took away the lifeless child I gave birth to, and vanished from my life.

Day after day, night after night, I was locked in darkness—four walls and a bucket in the corner.

Sometimes, when the loneliness became unbearable, I’d catch a rat and talk to it for hours.

That I didn’t lose my mind over these five years is a miracle.

But my body grew weaker.

Years without sunlight, damp air, spoiled food—every inch of me ached.

The little girl was the first living person to speak to me in five years.

She said—

"Mommy, Daddy’s drunk. He’s crying, crying and saying he misses you."

I didn’t understand. Why did she call me Mommy? Who was her Daddy? My heart stuttered. Was this some sick trick? My fingers twitched, reaching out—then curled back, afraid to hope.

I wanted to answer her. I opened my mouth, but after so long in silence, I found I could no longer speak.

Panicked, I started coughing violently.

Hot, metallic blood flooded my mouth, spattering across her dress. She gasped, her eyes wide with terror, and bolted. The sound of her feet slapping the concrete echoed long after she was gone.

It’s over. I’ve caused trouble again.

Sometimes, when those people were in a bad mood, they’d barge in and beat me.

Because five years ago, I gave information to the police that cost them dearly.

Many died, their hideout was destroyed, and their boss, Marcus Delaney, had to flee the country with me and a handful of loyal men.

Later, they discovered I was an undercover cop.

From then on, I was a thorn in their side.

They called me a rat, a traitor. But I never sold out my badge—or myself. Funny, how doing the right thing makes you the villain.

Marcus Delaney tried every kind of torture on me.

I begged him to kill me.

He said he’d keep my worthless life. As long as I was alive, Caleb Walker would come looking for me.

Caleb Walker—my husband.

He’s a police officer, my partner.

And Marcus Delaney’s most coveted target.

Even in the thickest darkness, a sliver of memory would sometimes flicker—Caleb’s laugh, the way his hand covered mine when he’d sneak me a donut during a stakeout. He’d nudge a box of Krispy Kremes my way, grinning like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The world above must have gone on without me—parades down Main Street, the crackle of summer fireworks, the ordinary churn of American life. Down here, there was only silence and the faint hope that someone, somewhere, still remembered I existed.