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)
“Why would we?” I inch closer to her. “You’re welcome aboard.”
“Yeah,” Ava echoes. “Your brother is a scary twat, but you’re a total doll.”
She blushes, seeming over the moon with the compliment. “Aww, thanks.”
Ava and Annika gush over each other for a bit before Annika studies me as if searching for a hanging limb. “I know we just met, but I feel the need to warn you about Kill. If you think my brother is bad, Killian might be worse. He’s always been popular, worshiped and fawned upon as if he was God on earth, but there’s something off about him, you know. Like his whole social life is a façade for what’s truly lurking inside. His smile never reaches his eyes, and all his relationships have been flings and hookups. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever had a relationship. Even his own brother doesn’t care for him that much. It’s like he’s living, but not alive…as if he’s…”
“A monster,” I finish for her.
“I was going to say a psychopath. Anyhow, he’s bad news and I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Too late.
He’s already took a part of me that I’ll never be able to get back.
“Is he part of your brother’s secret club?” Ava asks, then leans over to whisper, “Heathens?”
Annika gives a small laugh. “Ha…ha… I’m not supposed to talk about that or Jer will kill me. But yeah, he is, whatever. Kill is probably the mastermind behind it in the first place.”
“What do they do there?” Ava implores, closing in on her like a teacher interrogating a quiet student.
“Don’t know, don’t care. I keep out of their business and that allows me to fly under their radar. I mean, I have a clue about what’s going on, because the guards like me, but I pretend I’m clueless.”
I rub my palm on my shorts, contemplating her words. Does that mean if I remain still, I’ll also fly under their radar?
My phone beeps and I startle before slowly fishing it out.
Unknown Number: Careful, Glyndon. You might accidentally become the next target.
6
KILLIAN
I learned early on that I don’t fit in the normalized, stagnant, preached society.
I was born to reign over it.
No questions asked.
Control isn’t only a need or a fleeting desire. It’s a necessity that’s as pressing as breathing air.
Deep inside me lurks a serial killer with fucked-up fetishes and constant demands to satiate its desires. Sometimes, the urge is dull enough to ignore, but other times, it gets to be so much that red becomes the only color I see.
However, I’m not low on impulse control like some other idiots. And I’m certainly not allowing a mere compulsion, obsession, or fixation to rob my control.
Which is why it’s imperative to keep that serial killer entertained, quenched, and absolutely sedated.
If my true nature were to be revealed to the world, the situation would get complicated and tears would look ugly on Mom’s face. She thinks I’m reformed and it’s going to stay that way until her death.
Or mine.
My father is much sharper and, therefore, harder to convince of my socializing habits, but he’ll eventually come around.
Either that or he’ll willingly choose to hurt my mom, which is something he’d rather die before doing.
It’s convenient to have parents who love each other to the point of madness. That way, they can focus on each other and their dream family instead of my fucked-up tendencies.
Asher and Reina Carson are New York’s untouchable socialites. Dad is the managing partner of Grandfather’s mega-huge law firm and uses his influence to save old geezers from legal shit. Mom, however, has chosen an entirely different path and is the founder of countless charitable organizations. A true immortal social butterfly and Mother Teresa's clone at her finest.
There’s also their golden child—Gareth. The neurotypical Gareth. The one who’s following in both our parents’ footsteps Gareth. The exemplary law student and charity volunteer Gareth.
He’s definitely the child they bargained for when they lit up incense during their procreation sessions. Not only is he built similarly to them, but his existence also gives them the satisfaction of being parents.
It’s definitely not me, and the reason is fairly simple.
Once upon a time, I was plagued by the urge to see underneath animals’ skin. Humans, too, but I only had access to animals. I contemplated scissoring up our fat cat, Snow, but Mom was crying when he got sick, so I left him alone.
Once I could cut open a few mice I caught in a dumpster, I came home running and brought them to my mother, happy that I could finally see what their red eyes hid.
She nearly fainted.
In my seven-year-old mind, I didn’t exactly understand her reaction.
She should’ve been proud of me. She was proud when the absolutely lazy Snow brought her some insects.
“Is it because I spilled blood all over the house? Don’t worry, Mom. The maid will clean it,” is what child me said ever so naturally as she cried in Dad’s embrace.