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Rebirth: No More Kindness This Time Novel Cover

Rebirth: No More Kindness This Time

After dying of hypothermia in a blizzard, abandoned by her fiance Mason Vance for protesting a dangerous misuse of their electric car's power, a woman is reborn. Back in the vehicle with Mason and his demanding sister-in-law, Pamela Kensington, she faces the same fatal moment. Instead of warning them that cooking meatballs will drain the battery and strand them, she chooses silence and spite. By handing over a power strip to accelerate their doom, she begins her cold-blooded revenge.
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Chapter 2

Mason immediately turned to Pamela in delight.

"Look, Pamela. Raine's finally learned to behave. She did what you said and turned everything off."

The soft hum of the vent died, and the rush of warm air from the heater ceased. A thin layer of frost began forming on the car windows, visible to the naked eye.

Icy air slipped through the tiny gaps in the doors.

I lowered my gaze and slid a hand into my bag. After tearing the packaging of two heat patches, I slipped one against my lower back and the other over my stomach.

If they were all so eager for hot food, they should enjoy this bit of warmth while it lasted.

On the dashboard, the battery percentage had plummeted from 40% to 25%.

Outside, the snow changed from fine grains to heavy, wet flakes that slammed against the windshield. The line of stalled cars ahead of us stretched endlessly.

Here on the empty highway, we were in the middle of nowhere, far from any town or rest shelter. The real, deadly cold was about to hit.

"They're ready! Eat up!"

Pamela scooped up a steaming meatball and stuffed it straight into Toby's mouth. He yelped from the heat, puffing out hot air while shouting about how amazing it tasted.

The car was filled with the smell of scorched garlic and greasy meat.

I felt the first real shiver. Even though I had heat patches, the phantom memory of hypothermia was still lodged in my marrow.

I picked up my thermal flask and took a sip of hot liquid. It was black tea I had brewed before we hit the highway.

I gripped the flask tightly, leeching every bit of thermal energy from the metal.

"Raine, what's in your flask? Give Toby a sip. The meatball is too salty." Pamela's sharp eyes were instantly locked on the thermal flask in my hands.

I immediately tightened the cap and looked coldly into the rearview mirror. "It's black tea. It's bitter, so the kid won't like it."

"Black tea's great! It warms the body!" Pamela insisted. "Who cares if it's bitter? We'll just mix it with some bottled water. Hand it over."

Mason chimed in from the driver's seat. "Don't be so petty, Raine. He's thirsty."

Deep down, I let out a cold laugh.

In my past life, they took my water and thought it was disgusting that I had drunk from it, so they used it to wash their greasy dishes.

"There's bottled water in the door compartment," I said, pointing at the car door.

"That's cold!" Pamela shrieked. "Are you trying to freeze the Vances' only heir to death?"

"So you do know it's cold," I snapped back. "Who was it that just told us to turn off the heat?"

Pamela choked on her words for a second before slamming her fork into the pot. "Mason! Look at your fiance! She hasn't even married you yet, and this is how she treats us. What will happen after the wedding? Is she going to bar me from your house entirely?"

Mason's expression darkened as he glared at me. "Hand it over, Raine! It's just a cup of tea. Is it really worth a fight?"

"It is," I said, looking him calmly in the eye. "This is the last of my hot tea."

"You have that case of milk in the trunk, don't you?" he asking, raising his voice. "Get it out and heat it up for Toby!"

Anger flared in my gut. That milk was a gift I'd bought for my parents for the holidays.

In my past life, the Vances ripped open every carton and used it as water for the damned soup. In the end, they never left me a single drop.

"The trunk won't open. It's frozen shut," I casually lied.

"Who are you trying to fool?"

Pamela refused to believe a single word I said. She shoved Toby and said, "Go on. Tell her to take out the milk."

As a ten-year-old boy, Toby was at the age where kids were nothing but trouble. He reached through the gap between the seats and grabbed for my bag, trying to snatch my thermal flask.

"Give it to me! I want some!"

I shifted to the side to dodge him, but his fingernails raked across the back of my hand and left a red mark.

"Ow! She hit me!"

When he failed, he immediately pulled his hand back and started bawling loudly.

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