Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
For an awful moment, my attacker’s cold blade kisses my neck in a phantom cut. My hands still as though his gloved fingers are shackling my wrists again. A whimper catches in my constricted throat.
What am I doing?
I came while I was violated last night, and now I’m seeking to relive the same thrill with my sexy pen pal.
This isn’t a distraction. It’s not catharsis.
It’s a sick compulsion.
I’ve made myself a magnet for predatory men. They must be able to sense that some part of me wants it. I deserve what happened to me last night. My filthy messages with GentAnon are proof of that.
It’s why I won’t go to the cops to report the assault. And the prospect of scandalizing my family with a story in the news makes my stomach churn.
I swallow against the burn at the back of my throat and snap my laptop closed. My phone immediately pings with an alert. GentAnon has sent me another message.
I can’t face it. Sharing my inner darkness is too shameful to bear, even with my anonymous pen pal.
I scramble to my feet and stumble toward my beloved easel, moving through my small apartment in a drunken lurch. The soft glow of my lamps doesn’t fully illuminate the space, but it’s only right for me to paint this forbidden scene while cloaked in shadow.
My brush moves over the blank canvas in feverish strokes. I make a desperate attempt to release my inner darkness through my art.
A macabre white skull coalesces on my canvas, and striking green eyes blaze from its black sockets.
5
DANE
“You’ll bail me out if I get caught?” The thief swipes sweat from his tanned brow, which is too youthful to show any signs of age. He can’t be more than twenty, but he’s already chosen a life of crime. I found him dealing drugs to a couple of kids younger than he is.
Even if I possessed a conscience, it would be at peace; manipulating this little shit doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
“You won’t get caught,” I say, more of a threat than a reassurance. I’ve made it clear that there will be consequences if he goes blabbing to the cops. “And what I’ve already paid you is more than enough to cover any bail. You’ll get the other half after.”
His tongue darts out to lick his thin, chapped lips—a sign of nervousness or greed?
It doesn’t matter. He’s a means to an end.
“Remember,” I add coolly. “You don’t know me. You’ve never seen my face.”
He swallows hard when I flip the knife in an idle threat and deftly catch the hilt. His shaved head bobs in a frantic nod.
“I remember,” he agrees quickly, voice cracking slightly. “I just want my money.”
I close the switchblade and tuck it out of sight with a sigh before flashing the wad of cash in my Italian leather wallet. “This is yours. After you finish the job.”
His brown eyes are huge, and I swear he’s salivating at the sight of the hundred-dollar bills.
“I’ll see you in the market at noon. Wait for my signal.”
He nods again. “You got it, boss.”
My lip curls in contempt at his obsequious reply. I command respect, but I’ve had enough bowing and scraping to last a lifetime.
I turn from the pathetic excuse for a man and stroll out of the alley between the two derelict brick buildings on Cooper Street. Despite my eagerness to get to Abigail, I keep a leisurely pace as I make my way across town to the market. With each step, anticipation coils my muscles, until my entire body thrums with the thrill of the hunt.
In a matter of hours, Abigail will be mine.
Then I can punish her for shutting me out last night. She’s never been scared off by my perverse messages as GentAnon before; she thrives on the dark thrill of the fantasies we share online.
But she logged off last night and refused to respond to my demands for a reply.
An echo of the frustration that’d clawed at me all night rakes my insides with an aggravating sting.
She refused a date with me when I asked her out at the café yesterday, and she denied me as GentAnon last night. We’ve been messaging for months, and I can’t bear the wait to claim her in every way.
It’s time for me to escalate my plans to possess Abigail.
6
ABBY
Franklin shoots me a broad grin from across the bustling market aisle. I force my lips into a semblance of a smile. They twitch at the corners, but long practice allows me to keep my appearance outwardly cheery. I learned at a young age to remain poised under the most stressful circumstances.
I feel my back going ramrod straight, adopting the perfect posture that was enforced at my mother’s dining table. I’m determined to overcome my social anxiety so that I can sell my art.