All Chapters of Rebirth: What’s Left Of Me: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

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

I left for school on my own, skipping breakfast with the so-called family. If they didn't care about me, I wasn't going to waste my time trying to know them either. Besides, I had much more important things to focus on—like the insane amount of money sitting in my bank account. Apparently, my "dad," Leigh Spencer, ran a massive luxury retail franchise, and my "mom" owned a financial consulting firm. Together, they were almost billionaires. Even this loser kid's personal bank account held a staggering $15 million—all because he got a ridiculously high allowance and never spent a dime. I'd never seen that much legal money in one place before. It was just sitting there, untouched, waiting for me to burn through it. I couldn't fucking wait. "We've arrived, young master," Erwin announced as the car rolled to a stop. I looked out the window and holy shit. The school in front of me wasn't just a school—it was a goddamn castle. It looked like one of those elite European academies

"... and then you solve for X. Does anyone want to take a guess at the answer?" The math teacher beamed at the front of the room, seemingly oblivious to the collective groan that went through the students. Who the hell wanted a math lesson on the first day? Certainly not me. "How about Jack Spencer?" I glared at her. There were clearly other people with their hands raised—eager little nerds desperate to make a good first impression—but she picked me instead. She wasn't slick. She wanted to humiliate me, probably assuming I wasn't paying attention. "It's 45.7%," I said, barely sparing a glance at the problem. For some reason, I just knew the answer, even though, in my last life, I hadn't made it past Algebra I. I guess this Spencer kid was actually smart. "That's correct," the teacher said, a little too surprised. "I thought you weren't paying attention, but I guess I was mistaken." So she was trying to embarrass me? This was exactly why I hated school. Teachers were all the

The first thing I noticed when I stepped into the drawing room was my parents' love and hate meters. Both their love bars were full, yet my dad's hate bar sat at 2%. I frowned. If they fully loved this kid, why the hell had they neglected him for so long? Something wasn't adding up here. Dad folded his newspaper and looked straight at me. "So, tell me all about your first day of school," he said. "You did attend, correct?" I raised a brow. Obviously. "That's why the uniform is on," I said, gesturing to myself. "And, actually, it went a lot better than I thought it was going to go!" Cue Deborah's bullshit. She scoffed. "Yeah, right." I turned my head toward her, already annoyed. "Problem, Debbie?" I asked, voice smooth and sharp. "Stop calling me that! My name is Deborah!" she snapped, her face twisting in irritation. Then she squinted at me, eyes narrowing. "Did you cut your brain off with that ponytail?!" Mom finally spoke up, her voice softer but still carrying an edge of

Changing in the locker room was... an interesting experience. Apparently, it was my first time actually getting dressed in here instead of hiding away somewhere else. As soon as I pulled off my shirt, the whispers started. "No surgery scars! He wasn't a girl!" "But I was so sure he was!" "He still kinda looks like a girl, though." "Would you hit it, though?" "If he was quiet and it was from the back." "You think Damien hit it already?" "I don't see any marks." What the actual fuck? Before I could turn around and tell those perverted bastards off, Damien suddenly stepped in front of me, holding up a large towel to block me from view. His face was turned away, pointedly avoiding looking at me himself. I sighed. "Thanks." At least like this, I could change in peace. *** Today's gym class was soccer. I liked playing soccer, not watching it. Something about running, strategizing, and taking control of the ball felt good. Besides, with a quick headcount, it seemed like there'd