Jack Spencer used to be someone else. Someone older, someone hardened, someone who made the mistake of trusting the wrong people—and paid for it with his life. Now, he’s in a different body, staring at a future that doesn’t belong to him. He should be grateful for this second chance. He should want to start over. But how do you move forward when every part of you is still trapped in the past? How do you live when you already died once? Jack tells himself he doesn’t need friends. He doesn’t need love. He doesn’t need anything but distance. But the more he pushes people away, the more they insist on seeing the person he refuses to be. And when the remnants of his past begin creeping into his new life, Jack has to decide: Is he doomed to repeat the same mistakes, or can he finally break free from the dead-end path that refuses to let him go? (Trigger Warnings Included)
View MoreI'm so stupid! Why the fuck would I promise him that I'd get revenge? I already told the cops everything, so why did I have to run my mouth and keep the event going? I blame Damien for this! It's all his fault that shit is getting fucked up for me at the moment. [New Mission: Revenge for Jason Award: Personality Types Revealed Penalty: Hospitalization] Like I was going to go out of my way to find them. I'd just call Damien's dad and tell him to get a move on. Where's that card he gave me with his number? Before I could find it, my phone suddenly rang with an unknown number. "Hello?" I answered. "Is this Jack Spencer?" a gruff voice asked. I don't want to look, so you send them to me? Fucking pushy! "Who is this?" I hissed. "I'm Declan McIntyre from the Vulture gang. Where are you now? Come out to the school library in thirty minutes," he said. "Sure, whatever. Let's meet," I said, hanging up the phone. Saves me a lot of trouble, I guess. But just in case... I'm pretty su
Damien handled his wine well—too well, maybe. His only problem was that he talked too much when he drank, saying whatever flirtatious thing came to mind. Liquid courage at its finest. Fresh air seemed to be working on him as we took a detour through a park. The streetlights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows along the paved path. "So you went with Jason that day, and now he's hospitalized?" Damien repeated, still trying to piece everything together. "But to think that the Vulture gang is recruiting high schoolers... that's pretty scary." "It's been like that for a long time." I exhaled. "Can't believe I got caught up with them again." "Again?" He gave me a curious look. "You knew them before?" "Something like that." More than something—I'd almost destroyed them before I died. Damien studied me carefully. "Is that why you've been so different?" "In a way." I glanced at him. "Am I really that different?" "You're definitely different now. You don't take shit from anybody like
I ended up telling him everything—well, almost everything. I explained how I had no ties to either gang but that after beating up a few bullies, both factions were suddenly interested in recruiting me. I made it clear that I wanted no part of either. Of course, I left out the part about being reborn and the fact that Jared's father had personally called me. I wasn't even sure if the cops knew who the Vultures' leader was. Hell, I hadn't been entirely sure myself until yesterday. In the end, my story had to be vague. If I said too much, I'd have to explain why I knew so much about gang life and territory, which would lead to questions I couldn't answer without sounding like a lunatic. Explaining that voices only I could hear were telling me to complete tasks? Yeah, that was a one-way ticket to a padded cell. So instead, I played the part of the scared little kid who didn't know what to do. And it worked. "I'm glad you told me the truth," Dean said after a pause. Then, tilting his
I woke up feeling strangely energized. My room was clean, everything put back in its original place. Guess Dad really wanted to calm me down. Too bad it didn't work. At least my ribs weren't broken, so I hadn't failed the mission yet. Though I was starting to get frustrated with the vagueness of it all. Was my walk home yesterday not interesting enough? I jumped out of bed and made my way downstairs, avoiding everyone. If I left now, maybe I wouldn't bring any trouble with me. Just as I reached for the door, a voice called out. "Hey there." A man stood outside, smiling at me through the window. My body tensed. "Jack? Hey, I already know everything. Come on out." Fuck. They found me already? Did he really think I'd just open the door and go peacefully? "Fuck off!" I snapped, yanking the blinds down. The man sighed. "Ah, I'll just use the key your old man gave me." I froze. The key Dad gave him? The door unlocked. I grabbed the nearest weapon—a broom from a passing maid—and sw
"He took out four guys by himself?" "Yeah, from the Roth gang." The Roth gang? That bastard took over my gang?! I jolted awake. "What'd you do to him? How badly did you beat him?" someone asked. "Not at all." Dammit. Where am I? I tried moving but quickly realized I was tied to a fucking chair. A shadow loomed in front of me. Tracksuit. Vulture tattoo. Cigar breath mixed with whiskey. Cormac "The Blade." A crime lord, a legend, and a royal pain in the ass in my last life. "It's nice to meet you, kid," he said, watching me like I was some kind of exotic animal. "I've been dying to meet you after hearing all the rumors. I forgot to introduce myself—you must be wondering who I am." Like hell I was wondering. I knew exactly who he was. "This is actually pretty surprising," he mused, rubbing his chin. "I heard you were hot shit these days, so I just wanted to see what you looked like. But you're pretty handsome. Do they choose the strongest in school based on looks now?" He'
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I was so late for class. If it weren't for Damien calling me and asking where I was, I wouldn't have even woken up at all. A tardy after getting a warning from the Dean wouldn't look good on my record at all. I nearly kicked down the classroom door, only to be met with an eerie silence. Everyone had suddenly shut up and turned their attention to me. "Shit, what the fuck are you looking at? Can no one be late anymore? What's up with the atmosphere?" Before I could sit down, a familiar blonde stepped in front of me, looking nervous. His buddy stood behind him like a scared puppy. It had been three days and a weekend since the incident, and they were finally back at school. "Uh, Jack?" The blonde swallowed. "What?" I hissed. Round three? "We were in the wrong last week!" he blurted out. "Jason kept on forcing us, so we had no choice but to keep going." He hesitated. "Anyway, we're sorry." I raised a brow. That whole thing had been such a mess, I'd barely thought
Liam lunged at me, his fist cutting through the air with force. I caught it easily, my fingers wrapping around his knuckles like a vice. He struggled, trying to pull away, but my grip held firm. "Your punches are already different than before," I smirked, yanking his arm forward and throwing the punch right back into his face. His head snapped back, and I saw the realization dawn in his eyes—I had baited him, and he fell for it. I grabbed a handful of his shirt and let out a chuckle. "Come on, man! Don't bitch out! I've only just started with you!" He thrashed in my grip, genuinely trying to escape, but it was pathetic. I slapped him around like he was a joke, jerking him back and forth like a ragdoll while he flailed. Every time he tried to get his footing, I shoved him again, making sure he understood just how outmatched he was. "E-enough! I lost! I'm sorry!" Liam gasped, his voice strained. "I take back what I said!" "Stop fucking around, square jaw! Are you even sure you're a
The church stood solemnly atop the hill, its white stone walls glowing faintly under the evening sky. A long flight of uneven stone steps stretched from the base to the entrance, worn down by decades of footsteps. Even from a distance, I could hear the murmuring of voices inside. If I showed up now, I'd definitely be noticed. What should I even ask first? Why did you betray me? Was I really that bad of a boss? Will my mom or dad be there? Would they even mourn me? What the fuck should I even do? I clenched my fists, lost in my thoughts, until— "My child, why are you here?" I snapped my head up and nearly jumped out of my skin. An old priest stood in front of me. His face was wrinkled, his expression calm but unreadable. I recognized him—Bob or Paul or something. I remembered being scared shitless of him as a kid, his cold eyes seeming to pierce right through me. "Excuse me, Father?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay even. "Why are you here?" His voice was firm. "This place on
I couldn't believe I was called into the teacher's office. Motherfuckers really didn't know how to appreciate anything good, huh? And my math teacher seemed way too determined to talk to me. "It's good that you didn't just leave," she said, smiling like she hadn't dragged me here herself under the threat of detention. Bitch. "What do you want?" I scowled, not bothering to hide how irritated I felt. "I'm not exactly sure what happened to you, but I think you've changed a lot over the summer." She leaned forward slightly. "So I have something to ask of you. Do you think you can do it?" "No." I answered immediately. "Do I look like a charity worker?" She sighed, like she expected that response but was still disappointed by it. "Jack, you've got a lot of the other students quite scared of you already." "And?" "So I just need one favor from you. I'd like your help in keeping one of my favorite students from being bullied—Jared Jameson." "Who the fuck is Jared Jameson?" I asked.
The whiskey burned going down, but I barely noticed. The rain hammering against my office window had become a familiar sound to me—one I was beginning to resent. The war with the Vultures had been dragging on for months, and the body count just kept climbing. The cops were breathing down my neck, demanding answers I didn't have. My crew—my family—was all I had left, and I'd fight to the bitter end to keep us on top. But something was wrong. Jobs had gone south, shipments intercepted, safe houses raided like clockwork. Someone was feeding the Vultures intel, and deep down, I already knew who. Eli Roth. My right-hand man. My brother. We'd run this gang together since high school. I wanted to believe he was still the guy who had my back through shootouts, deals gone wrong, and nights when we had nothing but each other and a couple of stolen beers. But everything pointed to him. And soon, I'd have my proof. Not that I wanted it. Tonight, I should've gone to the warehouse to regroup a...
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