Page 1 of Blade
CHAPTER 1
DELILAH
Waking up to another day is a privilege I’m not taking for granted. If you had asked me yesterday if I believed I’d survive, you would have gotten a resigned shake of my head.
But here I am.
Alive!
My heart is still beating frantically as memories tear a hole in my sanity when I remember what nearly happened.
I was about to be sacrificed.
You could say I had better days, but to be honest, I can’t remember when I had a good one.
My limbs are still shaking as the effects of the drugs I was fed linger in my bloodstream. I’m the lucky one, and it’s all thanks to a gruff, scary biker who whisked me away from certain death and brought me here.
The bed is comfortable, despite where we are. If I thought I was heading to civilization, I was wrong.
Even though we were surrounded by leather, anger, and more testosterone than is good for a girl, it’s just the two of us now.
Me and Blade.
His name suits him because he has a scar on his face that must have been painful. I guess that’s how he earned his nickname.
The sun is shining outside, the calm after the storm, and my throat is thick, my breathing rough, and my muscles cramped.
I’m a mess.
With a deep sigh, I attempt to shift from the bed. Nature has a way of telling you not to linger when it’s a beautiful day outside, one you have been gifted and urged not to waste. Plus, I need to pee—desperately.
Somehow, I make it to the small bathroom and relax as I make use of it, grateful I get to live another day.
Whoever I am.
The sad thing is, I can’t remember. They call me Delilah Grimes, but that name was given to me by a psychopath. The woman who enslaved me and controlled every part of my life.
Angela Constable. The principal of Rockwell Academy.
Thank God she’s dead.
I head to the small basin and peer at my reflection in the smudged mirror. The woman staring back at me is a stranger.
I can’t remember who I am, where I come from, and why I was even a slave, but I do know I’mnotDelilah Grimes.
I peer a little closer, noting the roots coming through on my scalp.
I’m not even a brunette, it seems. Pale blonde hair is making an appearance, which is surprising given I have the most intense green eyes.
It’s as if I am introducing myself to—well—myself. The old me is fading—say hi to whoever you are.
A faint smile dusts my parched lips, and my eyes are drawn back to the nightstand where a glass of water is waiting.
When did Blade put that there? It was empty when I drifted off to sleep last night.
My heart races as I stare at the crumpled pillow beside the one I woke up on. Did he?
My hands steady my shaking limbs as I grip the basin. A dizzy spell brought on by anxiety, I’m guessing.
