His Dead Lover In A New Body

Briana's eyes snapped open. The pungent, suffocating stench of cheap cigars and stale sweat invaded her nostrils. Her chest heaved, pulling in jagged breaths that burned her lungs. She tried to push herself up, but a sharp, biting pain sliced into her wrists. Thick nylon ropes bound her hands together. Her muscles screamed in weak protest as she collapsed back onto the lumpy, damp mattress. Suddenly, a memory violently hijacked her brain. It wasn't the motel room. It was the suffocating darkness of a chemical waste pool. The toxic liquid filling her throat. The burning in her eyes. The absolute certainty of her own death two years ago. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her body convulsing as the phantom sensation of drowning clawed at her throat. Then, another set of memories crashed into her skull. A girl. A different life. A father who sold her to clear a gambling debt. She was Imogen Montgomery, but she was trapped inside the body of a girl named Briana. Her brows twisted in agonizing confusion. The sound of running water in the bathroom abruptly stopped. The door creaked open. A heavy-set man named Preston waddled out, humming a vile, off-key tune. Briana's pupils dilated until her eyes were almost entirely black. Preston rubbed his meaty hands together as he approached the bed. His greedy, wet eyes dragged over her body like physical slime. Briana forced her eyes shut, holding her breath, playing dead. His rough, calloused fingers brushed against her cheek. Bile surged up Briana's throat. Her stomach violently contracted. She jerked her head away from his touch, her survival instinct overriding the lingering paralysis. Preston cursed, a harsh, guttural sound. He reached down to rip the collar of her shirt. Briana's right hand scrambled blindly under the thin pillow. Her fingers brushed against something hard and jagged. It was a remnant from a shattered beer bottle left by the previous occupant, carelessly swept under the edge of the mattress. She gripped it. The sharp edge sliced deep into her palm. The warm, sticky slide of her own blood shocked her nervous system awake. She didn't hesitate. With a feral grunt, she drove the jagged glass straight into Preston's shoulder. Preston let out a high-pitched, pig-like squeal. He stumbled backward, clutching his shoulder as dark blood spilled over his fingers. Briana didn't waste a second. She twisted her wrists, dragging the bloody glass edge frantically against the nylon ropes. The friction burned her skin, but the fibers snapped. The moment her hands were free, she swung her legs off the bed and planted her heel squarely into Preston's kneecap. The heavy man collapsed like a felled tree, crashing into the nightstand and sending a cheap lamp shattering to the floor. Briana scrambled to her feet. The room spun, but she threw herself at the door. Her bloody hands slipped on the doorknob. She twisted it, but it wouldn't budge. Deadbolted from the outside. Behind her, Preston roared. He pushed himself up, grabbing the heavy base of the broken lamp. He hurled it at her back. Briana dropped to her knees. The lamp smashed against the doorframe inches from her head. She reached up, her bloody fingers finding the deadbolt. She flicked it open. She yanked the door open and threw herself into the freezing hallway. The cold air hit her sweat-drenched skin like a physical blow. "Get her!" Preston screamed from inside the room. At the far end of the corridor, two massive men in cheap black suits snapped their heads toward her. Their eyes locked onto her like predators. They charged. Briana's lungs burned. She grabbed the heavy housekeeping cart parked against the wall and shoved it forward with every ounce of strength she had left. The cart slammed into the first bodyguard. Bottles of bleach and detergent exploded across the carpet. Briana didn't look back. She sprinted for the stairwell. The motion-sensor lights were dead. She plunged into the darkness, her feet flying down the concrete steps. On the final landing, her foot caught the edge. Her ankle twisted with a sickening pop. Pain shot up her leg, white-hot and blinding. Heavy boots pounded on the stairs behind her. They were closing in. She bit down on her lip until she tasted copper. She forced herself up, dragging her injured leg, and shoved open the heavy glass doors of the motel lobby. The Los Angeles rain hit her like a wall of ice. The downpour instantly soaked her thin clothes, plastering them to her shivering skin. She ran blindly into the street, her vision blurred by the freezing water. "Grab the bitch!" a voice roared over the thunder. The bodyguards were less than ten feet behind her. Panic exploded in her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. A pair of blinding headlights tore through the curtain of rain. A massive black Maybach was speeding straight toward her. Briana threw her hands up to shield her eyes. Her wet sneakers slipped on the slick asphalt. She lost her balance and pitched forward, falling directly into the path of the car. Tires shrieked against the wet road. The Maybach slammed to a halt a mere foot away from her body. The rear door swung open. A large, black umbrella bloomed in the rain. A man stepped out. His expensive leather shoes splashed into a puddle. Briana scrambled to her feet, her survival instinct pushing her forward. She crashed headfirst into his solid chest. The impact bruised her nose. Instantly, the sharp, clean scent of cedarwood and expensive cologne enveloped her. It cut through the smell of rain and blood, hitting her brain with a violent wave of familiarity. The bodyguards stopped dead in their tracks, shouting threats. The man's assistant, standing by the driver's door, smoothly drew a black handgun from his holster. The metallic click of the safety coming off echoed louder than the rain. The bodyguards froze. Briana weakly tilted her head up. The streetlights illuminated the man's face. Sharp jawline. Cold, ruthless eyes. Her heart stopped. Clark Ellis. Her bloody fingers tangled weakly into the silk tie resting against his chest, clutching at the fabric as her vision swam. The last thread of her adrenaline snapped. The world went black.