 by Rina Kent.jpg)
Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 153544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
I didn’t ask for it.
Didn’t even see it coming.
But the moment I do, it’s too late.
Killian Carson is a predator wrapped in sophisticated charm.
He’s cold-blooded, manipulative, and savage.
The worst part is that no one sees his devil side.
I do.
And that will cost me everything.
I run, but the thing about monsters?
They always chase.
This book is not a conventional romance and contains themes that aren't to everyone's liking. Please check the author's note before reading.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PLAYLIST
The Wolf in Your Darkest Room – Matthew Mayfield
Family – Badflower
Rehab – Weathers
Fourth of July – Sufjan Stevens
Heartless – The Weekend
Devil Side – Foxes
You and I - PVRIS
Who Are You – SVRCINA
Villains – Mainland
Mercy – Hurts
Heathens – Twenty One Pilots
Who’s in Control – Set it Off
Fireflies – Owl City
Alone in a Room (Acoustic Version) – Asking Alexandria
Man or a Monster – Sam Tinnesz & Zayde Wolf
You can find the complete playlist on Spotify.
1
GLYNDON
Disasters start on black nights.
Starless, soulless, sparkless nights.
The type of nights that serve as ominous backgrounds in folklore tales.
I peer down on the crashing waves that war with the huge pointy rocks that form the cliff.
My feet tremble on the edge as bloody images roll in my mind with the wrecking force of a hurricane. The replay happens in full, disturbing motion. The rev of the engine, the slide of the car, and eventually, the haunting scratch of metal against rocks and the splash in the deadly water.
There’s no car now, no person inside it, no soul to be dispersed into the unapologetic air.
It’s only the slam of the angry waves and the ferocity of the solid rocks.
Still, I don’t dare to blink.
I didn’t blink back then either. I just stared and stared, then shrieked like a haunted mythical creature.
He didn’t hear me, though. The boy whose body and soul are no longer with us.
The boy who struggled both mentally and emotionally but still managed to be there for me.
A sudden chill runs down my back, and I cross my flannel jacket over my white top and denim shorts. But it’s not the coldness that rattles me to the bone.
It’s the night.
The terror of the merciless waves.
The atmosphere is eerily similar to a few weeks ago when Devlin drove me to this cliff on Brighton Island. An island that’s situated an hour by ferry on the south coast of the United Kingdom.
When we first came here, I never imagined everything would spiral to a deathly end.
No stars were present then either, and just like tonight, the moon shone brightly, like the bleeding of pure silver on a blank canvas. The immortal rocks are unassuming witnesses of crimson blood, lost life—and an all-encompassing sense of grief.
They all say it’ll get better with time. My parents, my grandparents, my therapist.
But it’s only been getting worse.
Every night for weeks, I haven’t gotten more than two hours of hazy, nightmare-riddled sleep. Every time I close my eyes, Devlin’s kind face comes crashing in, then he smiles as scarlet red explodes from all of his orifices.
I wake up shaking, crying, and hiding in my pillow so that no one thinks I’ve gone whacko.
Or that I need more therapy.
I was supposed to spend Easter break with my family back in London, but I just couldn’t take it anymore.
It was pure impulse when I snuck out of the house as soon as everyone fell asleep, drove for two hours, took the ferry for another hour, and ended up here past two a.m.
Sometimes, I want to stop hiding from everyone, myself included. Oftentimes, however, it gets too hard and it’s impossible to breathe properly.
I can’t look Mum in the eye and lie. I can’t face Dad and Grandpa and pretend I’m their little girl anymore.
I think the Glyndon King they raised for nineteen years perished with Devlin a few weeks ago. And I can’t face the fact that they’ll learn that soon.
That they’ll look at my face and see an imposter.
A disgrace to the King name.
It’s why I’m here—a last attempt to expel the charge building in my body.
The air frizzles my honey-colored hair that’s streaked with natural blonde balayage and stuffs it in my eyes. I flip it back and rub my palm on the side of my shorts as I stare down.
Down.
Down…
My rubbing heightens in intensity and so does the sound of the wind and the waves in my ear.
The pebbles crush under my tennis shoes as I take a step closer to the edge. The first one is the hardest, but then it’s like I’m floating on air.
My arms open wide and I close my eyes. As if I’m possessed by an alternate power, I don’t recognize that I remain standing in place or how my fingers itch to spray paint on something.
Anything.
I hope Mum won’t see the last painting I did.
I hope she won’t remember me as the least talented of her kids. The disgrace who couldn’t even reach the tip of her genius.
The weirdo whose artistic sense is screwed up in all the wrong ways.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper the words I think Devlin told me before he flew to nowhere.
Light slips past the corner of my closed lids and I startle, thinking that maybe his ghost has risen from the water and is coming after me.
He’ll tell me the words he snarled in every nightmare. “You’re a coward, Glyn. Always were and always will be.”