I nod, squeezing past him and entering the private room. Even here, in a coma, Dornan’s been afforded every luxury: a private suite that overlooks the Hollywood hills and a band of merry men to guard him from further attack.
I should’ve brought some kind of poison with me and finished off the job. Silly me for not thinking ahead.
I approach the bed at the far end of the large room quietly and with caution. I don’t know what to expect, only that it’s bad.
As I get closer, my eyes take in every detail of the horrors that have marred Dornan’s face, neck, arms, and hands. I assume the rest of him is similarly injured, but I’m not about to lift the sheets and find out. Not yet, anyway.
A few more steps and I’m close enough to reach out and take his hand, gently avoiding the deep cuts that litter his skin and the drip tube that’s embedded in the top of his hand.
I can’t help it. A satisfied smile spreads across my face as I see the damage the shrapnel from Elliot’s crudely fashioned bombs have wreaked upon the man I want to destroy. It’s not as good as if he was dead, but it’s pretty fucking great.
He’s hooked up to a morphine drip, the same kind as the one I had when I woke up from death six years ago. They’re impossible to overdose, which is unfortunate, with only a measured amount delivered intravenously every fifteen minutes.
Well, if I can’t kill him, I’ll make sure he feels every goddamn thing that’s happening to him. That works for me, too. I locate the needle underneath his skin and push back on it firmly, just enough that it stays underneath his skin, but out of his vein. With any luck, he’ll not only be in pain from the morphine not reaching his bloodstream, but the fluid will also collect under his skin, causing more discomfort.
I lift the sheets back and tuck him hand underneath, patting the blankets back over.
Before I leave, I plant a kiss on his lips.
Karma’s a fucking bitch sometimes.
Four Score is out May 26 2014! You can already enjoy the series by checking out book one, Seven Sons, here. Best of all, it’s FREE!
Destroyed
by Pepper Winters
Chapter One
Hazel
If I knew now what I suspected then, I’d like to think I would’ve done things differently. I would’ve planned better, worked harder, stressed out on more important things. But I was young, na?ve, and woefully unprepared for the big, scary world of life.
Now, I looked back on the past with a strange fondness. While I lived it, it seemed hard but now it seemed so incredibly easy. Especially now when the present seemed impossible and the future dire and bleak.
That was...until I met him.
Then it got worse.
***
“I don’t think this is a good idea, Clue.” The gothic mansion rose from gravel and soil like a beacon of doom. Gargoyles decorated plinths and overhangs; huge pillars soared to at least six stories high. I didn’t know anything like this existed in Sydney, let alone in the rich and exclusive Eastern Suburbs.
My fingers hadn’t stopped twitching for my knife ever since we stepped off the bus and headed toward a residential suburb instead of the party district in town.
Losing ourselves in a rabbit warren of streets, my heart never settled sensing this might be one experience that would end up killing us.
“Stop being such a worrier. You said you’d come. I need my wing woman,” Clue said, her gentle voice edging to stern.
My mouth hung open, gawking at the intricate stonework, trying to see past the grandeur to unveil the tricks of such a place. It couldn’t be real? Could it?
It seemed misplaced—as if it’d been transplanted from a long past century. It sent chills down my spine, conjuring images of insane, broken women and psychotic, sadistic men.
Huge double doors halted our entry. The thick wood, embellished with wrought iron accents in the shape of a fox on a wintry night, cracked open to reveal a black-suited bouncer with oil-slicked hair. His body jammed the doorway like a mountain while his face crossed somewhere between a bulldog and a shark.
His eyes froze me to the spot, capturing us with just one look. His pupils were black as the night behind us and held a cocky glint.
“You better have the password; otherwise you’ll wish you never set foot on this stoop.” His gaze swept to the concrete beneath us. A motto had been painstakingly engraved with a chisel into the stone. It looked hand done and rudimentary, but held a certain threat all the same.
Was that Russian? I couldn’t make out the verse, but I inched to the side in my stupid kitten heels to avoid standing in the groove of letters.
“We were invited by Corkscrew. He gave us a one-night pass.” For the millionth time since I’d showered, donned this ridiculous gold and silver dress, and coaxed my thick chocolate hair into some resemblance of curls and waves, I wanted to throttle Clue.