Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
The second pistol fires, muffled against his chest. It’s the sound of finality. Of being too fucked up for love.
Asher stumbles back, hand going to the wound. Blood flowers across his shirt.
His eyes meet mine.
Not shock.
Not betrayal.
Just… hatred.
“Fucking knew it,” He breathes, falling.
I catch him before he hits the floor, cradling his head in my lap. His blood soaks into my white dress, warm and sticky. Worthy.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper, brushing hair from his forehead. “I'm so fucking sorry.”
Why the fuck am I crying.
Mariee de la Mort doesn't apologize.
She doesn't cry.
She doesn't fall in love with blue-eyed snowboarders who look at her like she's not damaged and still worth living for.
Asher's breathing slows, his eyes fluttering closed.
And I sit there, in a pool of blood that belongs to two men, holding the only person who ever made me feel human.
My phone vibrates. This time I don't look. I don't care. I don't want to.
I need to stay right here. Under Asher.
His features smooth out as he takes his final breath. I’d see him again. In another lifetime, when I wasn’t as fucked up as the evil I kill.
Happily ever after was never for me.
Chapter 25
Ivy
Iblow the stray strands of hair out of my face. “Hello!”
“Did I make you run?” Leon laughs, uncoiling all tension in my muscles.
One week. It's been one week.
“Only you!” I huff, dropping onto the large L-shaped sofa. The cushions swallow me whole, and I let them.
Building a house in the middle of the woods has always been my goal. Jord jokes about it constantly—how I need to let one of them build beside me so we could have tiny villages. A commune of killers. How fucking quaint.
I'm not sure I trust his taste in partners. Every person he's ever laid flat has either ripped him off, cheated on him, or tried to fuck one of us. The pattern would be funny if it wasn't so goddamn predictable. We always remind him of the secrets he keeps, how we live a life that doesn't allow something so flimsy as love to exist.
Love. The word sits wrong in my mouth even when I don't say it out loud.
Unless the love is shared in house. That's the only exception. The only safe place for something that soft.
“How you holding up?”
If he wanted to know that answer for real, he'd ask a different one.
I unbuckle my shoes and kick them to the other side of the room.
Flames from the fireplace ripple through the chilly air with a push of a button, and soft music begins to play through the speakers. I haven’t been home in years.
“I’m holding.” My feet sink into the plush carpet as I head through the open plan living room and toward the kitchen. Hushed lights dim as I check the cupboards and fridge. “I didn’t have a choice, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Mmm.” I hate when he does this. It’s so non-committal and further draws back my earlier mention of never glamorizing someone in our world.
“I’m putting you on FaceTime so I can cook.” And watch your facial expressions.
Setting my phone down onto a recipe stand, I tap the camera button before sliding open a drawer to find a heavy skillet. “Jord stocked up while I was on my way!” My toes hurt as I reach up for a new can. “I don’t know how I live without him.”
As I lay everything out on the bench beside my phone, my timing is impeccable as I catch Leon eying me with pursed lips. His brown eyes remind me of warmth, safety and home.
“I’m offended,” he mutters, leaning in his wingback chair. The city is closer from his vantage point, offering the perfect background behind him.
My brow curves upward in snap judgment. “I don’t care. Are you in the office?”
He almost smiles. “Thought I’d get a head start on a few things.”
“Mmhmm.” Now it’s my turn for vague answers.
Leon fights back a grin. “I hate when you do that.”
Biting my lip to stop my laugh, I pull a sharp knife from the stand and position it over a bell pepper. “I’m fine, Leon.” Silence weighs heavy. I know what he’s doing, and my two overbearing best friends requested it.
They don’t think I’m okay. They think I’m at risk of being contaminated and that The Butcher is going to whisk me away to Narnia to ensure I don’t fuck another lion.
“No, you’re not.”
The blade hammers the board as I flip and twist horizontally until tiny cubes lay out in a display of green and red. “I am. I feel fine.”
Silence again. I refuse to look at my phone, because I know once I do, I run the risk of getting distracted.
My knees quake as a subtle warning.
“You loved him.” I catch my weight by gripping the sink as my chest caves inward and my damn heart begins to free-fall like a pathetic waste of meat.