Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
EDEN
Blood, sex, and violence. The Mill is a secluded warehouse renovated into an upscale club that hosts every fucked-up person in the United States. Every corner of the warehouse holds men and women partaking in dubious activities. Anything you want, you can get here. There are no rules or limitations—except one; the Cinders don’t allow the selling or buying of humans. It’s oddly comforting to know they have a red line.
The Cinders are three deranged, soulless psychos who lack empathy. The only person worse than them is their mother—that’s what they call her, but I’m pretty sure they’re not related by blood.
Coming here is idiotic. No one in their right mind would step into this den, especially when summoned by Salvator, the leader of the Cinders. But he has the information I need, and there’s not much I wouldn’t do to get it.
“Password,” the woman at the door demands without making eye contact. She’s middle-aged and wears a three-piece suit. Her hair is pulled into a severe bun on her head, adding to her standoffishness.
“Blood river.”
She nods, opening a steel door and holding it for me. “Don’t talk to anyone. Head to the black door.”
“She speaks,” I say sarcastically as I head through the door.
She stops me with a firm grip on my wrist. “I’m not kidding, girly. Don’t talk to anyone. Keep your head down and your wits about you until you get inside that second door.”
The warning in her voice is evident, a clear sign that she wasn’t trying to intimidate or bully me but genuinely warning me. I recognize the look in her eyes. I’ve seen it in other people—pure panic and fear. I’ve experienced it myself.
I nod, and she examines my face for a few beats before releasing my wrist.
The dimly lit walkway from the back of the warehouse leads to an ominous stainless-steel door. I promised myself I wouldn’t dwell on my surroundings, but my curiosity gets the better of me. Trying to be inconspicuous, I tilt my head and use my peripheral vision to examine my surroundings.
The potent smell of rust assaults my senses, followed by faint traces of ammonia or bleach.
Sex and blood. The perfect description of the images before me.
A man in the corner getting his dick sucked while another girl saws off his arm.
A girl on the other side of the hallway eats from a bowl as a fiery brand sears her behind.
Two men kiss as one stabs a blade through the other’s penis.
My body instinctively reacts to the men with a mixture of fear and attraction. I mistakenly make eye contact with the stabber. He lifts the blade out of flesh and smirks at me while bringing the blood-stained steel to his mouth. A pink tongue protrudes between his lips, and he licks the crimson.
“You want to cut or be cut?” he asks. “I like both.”
I shove my hand in my pocket, feeling the security of my switchblade as I hurry to the door. It’s only a few steps away but it may as well be in a foreign country.
“What’s the matter?” the man calls, blood smeared on his face. “We’re just having a little fun.”
Ignoring him, I quicken my pace until I’m in front of the steel door. Will what’s inside be any better than the debauchery in this alley?
The bald guy guarding the door is a giant. He looms over my five-foot-eight, two-hundred-and-seventy-pound frame, making me seem like an insignificant ant. “What’s the password?”
I glare at him, annoyed at all the theatrics. “I already gave it to your buddy on the other side of that door.”
He steps up to me with his teeth bared and growls. I assume this works on most people who step into his orbit.
Rolling my eyes, I whisper, “Blood river.”
“Watch your attitude in there. I’m a nice guy despite my occupation, unlike the Cinders. Question them like you did me, and they’ll slit your throat before you can utter another word.”
I rub the blade handle in my pocket, grateful the lady didn’t search me. Why was she bold enough to be that reckless? I nod. “Got it.”
I tremble as the door opens, revealing three men in black suits sitting behind a long marble table. There’s nothing else in the space, nowhere to sit, just blank walls and the table where the Cinders sit. Unlike the alleyway I was in a moment ago, this room smells like freshly washed linens and musk.
“Eden Lock,” a gravelly voice says.
My calm evaporates as soon as I hear my name. All the cool I mustered vanishes, and I’m that scared seven-year-old girl again. “Where are they?”
A chair scrapes on the floor as the man in the middle, the perceived leader, Alaric Tate, rises. He adjusts his jacket with tattooed hands as he walks toward me, an arrogant sneer painted on his face. “You seem to think we’re in the business of giving up profitable information for free.”