 by Ker Dukey.jpg)
Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
But he doesn’t know the secrets I keep.
I wasn’t always like this. Angry. Rebellious. A killer.
The world I was born into made me this way, pushed me to become what I am. Killers aren’t born,
they're made.
And do you want to know one of my secrets?
I like it.
The kill. The violence. The vengeance.
It excites me. Empowers me. Feeds me.
Now I’ve earned my place with the Royal Bastards MC, I hope they’re prepared for the chaos I bring.
It’s time to raise a little HAVOC.
This title is a NOVELLA
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER
ONE
PAST.
LILY
Fifteen years old…
“Drink up, Lily.”
No.
“I don’t want to.” My hand tightens around the glass, my knuckles turning white. The snowy crushed tablets swirl in the water, settling at the bottom of the glass. The air condenses, suffocating me. Yellow flowers on the wallpaper wilt before my eyes. The old wooden chair digs into my thighs, my foot tapping manically beneath the table. The dull, outdated kitchen makes me want to vomit.
I hate it here.
The words don’t make it past my lips, fear holding them hostage. The last time I spoke those words, I couldn’t walk for a week. Grandma’s paddle hangs on the wall like a medal, mocking me from across the room.
“It’s better for you if you drink it,” Grandma tells me. I know she’s right. It will silence the voices. Block out the pain inflicted in the dark. Drown out the betrayal.
No.
“Drink it.” She glowers, pushing my head toward the glass, her jagged nails scraping against my scalp. Tears burn the corners of my eyes. My stomach growls, wanting to eat the small portion of food before me. Ever since I hit fourteen and my boobs became noticeable, Grandma began limiting my meals, like that was the reason I was changing into a woman. Now, my bones protrude from the skin. I can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror.
“Drink, Lily.” Her voice is sharp, stabbing into me. Wounding.
Please don’t make me.
To drink this poison makes me complicit in some way.
“Drink or you won’t see your brother this weekend.”
A pit opens in my chest. I don’t want to see Jameson. What if he sees the dirt on my skin, the sin, the disgusting stains that litter my soul?
“No!” I shout, throwing the glass across the kitchen. It slams against the fridge and shatters, making a loud sound that shocks us both. My heart pounds behind my ribcage. Panic ravages my thoughts. My bladder threatens to empty on the kitchen chair.
“You ungrateful little devil child. Get to your room now,” she scorns snatching my plate away.
I need that food.
My hands shoot out to stop her, but it’s too late. My fingers thud against the tablecloth, the plate out of reach.
“Room. Now.” She jabs a finger, and my breath hitches. I look at the door but don’t move. Gentle tremors shake my hands.
Kill her, Lily.
The thought creeps in from the shadows of my mind, rolling in like a tide to wash all the fear away, all the pain she’s caused me.
“What’s going on?” Grandpa’s raspy voice calls from the basement. My stomach twists. Nerves chew beneath the skin, trying to get out.
“Do you want me to tell him to come up here?” she asks, narrowing her small, crinkly blue eyes at me.
My voice catches in my throat. I want to scream, Why! Instead, I say, “No,” shaking my head vehemently.
Pushing the chair back from the table, I stand and hurry down the hall, closing the door to my room as soon as I enter. Slumping back against it, tears fall down my cheeks as the lock clicks into place.
This room is full of furniture, dolls, soft toys, but I’m hollow. Candy cotton pink walls and embroidery drapes left untouched from when my mother slept inside these four walls. They do nothing to offer comfort. Mama’s six feet under, rotting in a casket.
The world was too much for her.
I was too much.
How could she leave me to this fate?
I don’t know how much time passes, but I know something bad is coming. The wait is almost too much to bear.
Sitting in the corner of my room, I grip a soft teddy bear until pain aches my fingertips. The chime of the doorbell signals the visitor who haunts my nightmares.
Please go away.
Please go away.
Mumbled voices followed by footfalls stopping outside my room blast like a siren in my head.
The latch clicks. The handle drops, and so does my stomach.
No. Go away.
Panic seizes my joints. I can’t move.
The door creaks open, the imposing figure filling the space. “Hello, little love.”
Sickness roils my stomach.
“I want the drink,” I plead, the words clawing up my throat.
The man steps into the room, licking his lips. “Remember, no visible bruises,” Grandpa tells him, he and Grandma standing behind the man looking in at me.