I've never been a "good girl."

I've never even known what it meant. Truthfully… I don't care to. My identifier? The brat. The whore. The spoiled little sister. The waste of life. The half-breed daughter of a fallen king, in a kingdom that was a joke to begin with.

In my young life, nobody ever cared enough to ask me who I really am.

Nobody except one.

My brother bet his life on luck. And luck gave him a swift gutting—until she fell into his life with a bloody mop and a bucket… and a pile of dead people we laid at her altar. Seven Grey was our saving grace. Our Mother Mary. That weird piece of furniture in our lives that reshaped the entire room—and she says she envies me.

I envy her.

I envy Malek.

I envy the fact that after all that's happened… I miss the oblivious brat I used to be, who might have once been stupid enough to shelve this jar with the bottled-up demon and not think about lifting the lid every five minutes. Malek deserves the happiness he's found with the angel that brought us all a little peace.

But he didn't get that peace without his revenge.

I never got my hands dirty when I sent him off to be the reaper when I was finished playing with my toys. I didn't know what it felt like to feel them die. To watch them. To get high off their blood on my hands.

Now I do.

Killing one of my enemies… picked the lock to the fiery cage that's nestled in the pit of me. Branded by my last name. Set on fire by the hate I feel. I don't remember the girl I was before it. She's dead. All I know now? Is the bitch I've become. The rage that made my first murder so sweet. The taste I can't get out of my mouth, no matter what kind of life I wish I could live. Malek's demons are sleeping.

My name is Bridget Byrne.

And my demons are very much awake...