Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
I fell for the villain.
It happened back when I was a clueless girl.
But he ruthlessly broke my heart and trapped it in a jar.
Since then, I’ve sworn to hate him to the end of my days.
Eli King might be a savage devil, but I’m out of his way. And league.
That is until I wake up in a hospital and find him holding my hand.
He tells me the words that change my life forever.
“We got married two years ago, Mrs. King.”
So I set out to investigate how I landed myself into this marriage.
Turns out, my memories are darker than my present.
I thought I was ready for the hurricane.
I thought I could handle his soulless eyes and cold shoulder.
I thought wrong.
Nothing can stop my husband.
Not the secrets surrounding us.
Not the hatred between us.
Not even me.
This book can be read on its own, but for a better understanding of the world, you might want to start with God of Malice.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PLAYLIST
Don’t Fear the Reaper – Baltic House Orchestra
Breathe – Lo Spirit
Time – MISSIO
BLEAK – Michael Aldag
I Like Me Better – Lauv
Misery – Unlike Pluto
Medium – Micheal Dae
Nothing’s New – Rio Romeo
Escapism – RAYE & 070 Shake
Blind Spot – Saint Chaos
PARALYZED – Death and All His Friends
You Make Me Feel Like It’s Halloween – Muse
Broken Smile – Lil Peep
Goddess – Xana
Half My Heart – grandson
Feel Something – Jaymes Young
Church – Chase Atlantic
Spell It Out – You Met At Six
You can find the complete playlist on Spotify.
1
AVA
The foul mixture of liquor, the latest drug on the market, and a sense of euphoria flows through me as I sway to the loud music.
Here, I’m okay.
As I blend into the middle of lost kindred spirits and empty shells, I don’t feel alien.
No pressure. No lost potential.
No disturbing images.
Nothing.
Just the way I like it.
I lift the double shot of tequila to my mouth and slurp half of it. The bitter taste sits on my tongue, leaving a lingering aftertaste that coats my mouth. But it also brings a sense of excitement and reckless abandon. The burn rushes down my throat and settles uncomfortably on top of the inauspicious dose of tranquilizers I’ve pumped my stomach with.
My solution? Find more alcohol, drugs, and whatever I can get my grubby hands on.
Something. Anything to relieve the pressure of the latest images that have been crowding my head.
Blurry faces with blurry voices in blurry clubs.
The last thing I need is a reminder of my state of mind or the recent pickle I’ve gotten myself into.
So I choose to sweep it under the rug and pretend everything is fantastic.
Normal.
My friends chose this up-and-coming club in North London for the occasion. The grunge, brick walls shine in a beautiful mixture of different shades of blue.
Violet laser beams glow on the crowd of people filling the massive downstairs hall. We have a VIP room upstairs, but it’s always fun to get down and dirty.
The dirtier the better.
I’ve just lifted the half-full shot of tequila to my lips when a slim hand with milky-peach nails snatches the glass and puts it out of reach. I’m about to spout some profanity when my eyes meet her calm green ones. I’m instantly hit with a smidge of judgment and a copious amount of unconditional love.
“Cecy!” I shout over the music, my voice sounding surprisingly sober. “What are you doing here?”
She’s wearing a beautiful pastel-orange spaghetti-strap dress. Her silver hair is pulled up in a dainty ponytail and her face glows more than ever.
I don’t miss the fact that she’s comfortable wearing dresses now when she’s always been a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl.
Or the fact that she’s put on a subtle hint of makeup. She wants to look beautiful. She loves herself more.
And to my shame, it’s not because of anything I’ve done or even contributed to. It took me so long to figure out something was wrong. I could blame my condition, but that’s no excuse. Not when she’s been there for me our entire lives.
“You’ve had enough to drink, Ava.”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t even started.” I reach for the glass, but she holds it behind her back.
“Don’t even think about it.” She grabs my elbow and starts pulling me from the middle of the crowd I’ve been happily nestled in. They all break out in a meltdown of questions.
Ava, are you coming back?
You joining us for that Ibiza trip, Ava?
I have the latest gossip for you, Ava.
Ava, Ava, Ava…
I love the attention, the hungry gazes, the irresistible need to satisfy my every whim, every need, every demand.
I blow them kisses and wink at a few of the guys, whose names I can barely remember.
It’s all part of my defense mechanism. My charm, my looks, my popularity.
I’m whatever they want me to be. A flirt. A social butterfly. A useless prodigy.
Anything. Everything.
As long as I confiscate their attention. I don’t mind.
Attention keeps the emptiness at bay.
More importantly, the boisterous compliments and not-so-innocent touches ward off dark thoughts.
Even temporarily.
My best friend, Cecily, abandons the shot of tequila on a table and continues pushing her way through the crowd with me in tow.
I tug on her hand, pull her to a stop, and wrap my arms around her neck, swaying to the loud club music. “Come on, let’s dance!”
“This isn’t my scene, Ava.”
“Please, Cecy. For me?” I bat my lashes and twirl her around.
She sighs and moves slowly, in no way matching my energy. I wiggle my hips, and the shimmering pink of my dress catches the strobing lights. My skirt is so short, people behind me must catch a front-row view of my arse.
Some guys hoot and I blow them kisses, throwing my head back with laughter, falling into the intoxication. The madness.
The nothingness.
Some guys surround us and Cecily tenses, her hands coming protectively around my waist.