Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I groaned.
I lifted the lamp into my arms and set it on the table, flicking on the switch. A soft glow washed over the space, and my heart slowed to an almost normal pace. I threaded my fingers together and took another deep breath.
In and out.
Five, four, three, two, one…
Just breathe, Alex.
Hands slick with sweat, I clasped them together on my lap. My skin coursed with fire, an inferno blazing inside me. No attack was the same. Sometimes, I had migraines, while other times, I passed out from lack of oxygen to my brain. Most of the time, I could control the anxiety attack. I’d had dozens of doctors over the years, each of them teaching me different tricks to steady my nerves.
But it was Dr. Porter who saved my life. He’d introduced me to creative art therapy and suggested I turned my anxiety into a passion. My mother never wanted me to paint. God forbid anyone stole the spotlight from her. But after my doctor had mentioned it to Pops, he sent Aiden and me to a special high school for artists. We learned fast, channeled our anger into our art.
My fingers itched for something to do, anything to make me feel normal. I needed to paint or sketch. So I pushed myself up from the mattress and crossed the room. The doorknob jiggled but would not turn. Hunching down, I inspected the knob, checked for visible screws.
Why bother?
The Salvatores had caged me for years.
“Marcello, let me out of here.” I balled my hand into a fist and banged on the door until pain shot up my arm. “You asshole, open this door.”
I stepped back from the door and waited, greeted with silence from Marcello… and the sound of water splashing.
The bay.
I spun on my heels, my stomach growling as I flung open the French doors that led to the balcony. Salty air floated into the room, and I drank in the scent. It reminded me of Luca. This was his idea to lock me in a dark bedroom. That fucker sent Marcello a bunch of text messages, ordering his brother to torture me.
Message received, fucknut!
Furious with my sadistic devil, I turned away from the open doors and flipped Luca the middle finger. I was sure there was a hidden camera in the room. Marcello looked at the right corner too often for it to be a coincidence.
Anger surged through me, heat rolling off my skin like flames. That asshole dragged me back to this place, only to have his brother lock me up. Positive I had his attention, I lifted an expensive glass vase from the table by the window. I raised it above my head, laughing as it smashed to pieces on the carpet.
Fuck him.
Fuck Marcello.
Fuck the Salvatores.
I went around the room, breaking everything but the lamps. It felt good to watch the glass shatter. Like he’d done to my heart repeatedly. Years of enduring that insufferable bastard turned me into a monster. I wanted him to suffer. To feel my pain. With each valuable I destroyed, my heart stopped racing. My pulse returned to normal, and for a minute, it relieved me.
Shards of glass and ceramic littered the carpet like a really fucked up painting. Like something I would paint. I smiled at my handwork, proud of my latest creation.
You’re losing it again.
No, I’m not.
Maybe just a little.
Ignoring the nagging throb at the base of my skull, I spun around and headed toward the balcony. It was almost the size of my bedroom back home and spanned the entire wall of windows. A patio set with navy blue and gold cushions was on my left, four chairs spaced evenly around a circular table. On my right, there was another table with two metal chairs and a ceramic ashtray on the tabletop where Marcello smoked his cigars.
I had an unobstructed view of the coastal towns surrounding Devil’s Creek. On the other side of the bay, the lights from Wolf Hallow twinkled like stars in the dark blue sky. Beacon Bay was to my right, hidden by an overgrowth of trees.
The wind whipped through my hair, blowing strands in my face. Gripping the brick post, I snapped my eyes shut and let the sea glide over my skin. I tipped my nose up and breathed in its saltiness. My mind drifted to Aiden, and the last night I saw him.
He looked tired, his blond curls longer than normal. Whatever he was doing for The Serpents had kept him out at all times. Dark circles ringed his blue irises. I knew he was taking pills and confronted him about it. He promised he would stop.
A sharp pain pierced my skull, and I grabbed the side of my head. With my eyes closed, I blew out a deep breath as images flashed before me.