by Coralee June
Paul Bright was dead. It should have felt more gratifying than it did, but damn, all I could focus on was the cost. Gavriel. The world had this fucked up way of having a price for everything. Justice was all about balance, so when we entered that church, the universe decided that it would take something from me—from us.
I was crying again, feeling helpless and frustrated with myself as I stared at the little cross in the middle of the room. He would tell me to be strong. He’d say the only god listening to me was him. If Gavriel could see the black circles under my eyes and the pathetic tears rolling down my cheeks, he’d give me a real reason to cry—and I’d like it.
I collapsed on my knees, which were still cut up from the blast. I welcomed the pain, knowing it was only a fraction of what Gavriel felt the night he saved our lives. My gut swirled as I held my hands together, feeling like a fraud, but not really caring. I couldn’t do this without him. Couldn’t survive without my fearless leader.
“God,” I choked out, my voice nothing but a whisper. “Please. Please, I can’t live without him. I’ll do anything. Anything.”
“Oh baby,” a smooth Southern voice from behind me said, it was one of the nurses that worked here. I spun around, wiping my eyes before slowly standing up. She clicked her tongue, eyeing me with exasperation, and I knew I was in trouble for leaving my bed. Staying in my hospital room alone was going to be the death of me. The night of the explosion, Ryker and Blaise put me in an ambulance and made the risky decision to go to New York and find Gavriel’s sister. They were badly burned, sore, exhausted, and really messed up over what had happened to Gavriel. But they survived.
The Bullets took care of their own. It’s what Gavriel would have wanted. I wasn’t upset that they left, I was relieved. Even though I craved Ryker’s wisdom and Blaise’s unending devotion, I also wanted to do right by Gavriel’s family.
Callum was released from the hospital two days ago. He wanted to stay, but it seemed wrong somehow. Like I didn’t deserve to love him after everything Gavriel sacrificed. I knew he was hurting and experiencing his own mix of guilt and self-loathing, but I could only feel so much, could only survive for myself. I hated being alone, but I hated looking at Callum even more. I knew he was staying nearby, probably pacing the halls with his determined protectiveness that I loved. And soon, I’d let him in. But I didn’t deserve to see him just yet.
The nurse had kind eyes and a gap between her teeth. “Baby, you need to rest. I know it hurts, but we have to get you better, that head wound was pretty bad.”
Twelve stitches lined my skull where a piece of wood hit. I could have easily died. Almost did, actually. She wrapped her arm around my shoulders, hugging me to her chest while pulling my IV cart to the side. “Let’s get you back to your room, okay?” Fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I shuffled down the tiled hallways towards my room. Squeezing my eyes shut, I swallowed my grief.
She situated me in bed, checking my stitches and vitals. I was bruised, burned, and beaten by the blast. I had lost a lot of blood, and my brain bleed was bad enough that they wanted to keep me here for a few days. I didn’t mind. I wouldn't have left anyways. Where would I have gone? Santobello ran the world, at least here I could pretend to be out of his reach.
A knock on the door drew my attention, and I turned to see a tall, male nurse standing there with an anxious expression. “Mrs. Moretti?” he asked.
I’d taken Gavriel’s name. I couldn’t very well use my own. I was Sunshine Moretti, and when I woke up in the hospital, I’d told the police that he was Sir Moretti. It was all I could come up with off the top of my head in the height of my hysteria. Nix had changed the roster to say we were at the mental health meeting. The news said that we were victims of an accident, staying late to help clean up and falling prey to a faulty gas line. Paul Bright died a glorious death. Everyone viewed him as a hero, a patron of saints. There would be statues erected in his honor.
“Yes?” I asked, my eyes blurry as I stared back at the nurse.
“It’s your husband, he’s awake and asking for you.”
Keep reading for more information about the final book in The Bullets Trilogy.
Love and Lead
February 2019.
One. We’re alive, for now.
Two. Gavriel’s totally lost control.
Three. Santobello is hunting us.
Four. Someone will die.
Lies and Other Drugs
Releasing December 2018
Killing my brother’s murderers has become my latest obsession.
Against the advice of my alcoholic therapist, I've left my life behind, moving across the country with just two goals in mind: Take down the Ivy League School responsible for covering up my twin brother’s death, and seek revenge on the ones responsible.
But nothing is what it seems at Blackwood University, and it starts to feel like I'm grieving a stranger.
Although I’m prepared to do whatever necessary to bring his murderers to justice—nothing could prepare me for falling in love.
CHAPTER ONE
My brother’s murderer was hot.
He had that coy smile that made panties melt and a body to back up his cocky attitude. With chocolate eyes and black hair, he moved around the room like he owned it. Each flex of his muscle, each step, was precise. Objectively speaking, the man oozed sex.
Nathaniel Youngblood was many things. The wealthy heir to an oil empire. Intelligent. Attractive. Charming. But he was also a cold-blooded killer. I could practically feel the blame rolling off of his muscular back.
I’d been watching him knock back drinks for a couple of hours now, but he didn’t seem to show any signs of being drunk. Not a single slur escaped his lips, nor did he stumble as he paraded around the party. He was wearing slacks and a button-down shirt, looking more like a future CEO than the life of the party.
Nathaniel Youngblood had it all. The status, the cars, the money. It was easy to get away with things when you had the world at your feet. Nathaniel didn’t even have to try. He was born into privilege and would probably die with privilege. And if I had anything to do with it—he’d die very soon.
The pike house at Blackwood University, the most prestigious ivy league school in upstate New York, looked like any other frat house on a Saturday night. Girls danced around at the mercy of drunk guys. Coy smiles and drunken dancing. Everyone was tripping over themselves to get a quick fuck in the bathroom. It was easy to ask for what you wanted when you were drunk, that’s why they kept the alcohol flowing at these things. I personally didn’t get the appeal. If I wanted something—I got it. I didn’t need drugs, alcohol or an excuse to act out on my desires. But then again, I didn’t feel much of anything.
I breathed in the smell of pot, hating the skunky aroma. I was still pretending to nurse my vodka when another girl walked up to Nathaniel. I stared blatantly at them, observing with curiosity if this would be the girl he’d take upstairs for the night. He flirted with all of the sorority chicks brave enough to approach, but the moment they tried to push further and take their cheap little mating dance upstairs, he’d brush them off or pretend to be distracted by something else.
Interesting. Very, very interesting.
In observing him, I’d concluded that Nathaniel was a sexual man. It was in the way he talked and commanded a room. He had that innate confidence that only came naturally to people confident in themselves. But he was picky, too. No one here was good enough or seemed to catch his eye.
“Are you going to go talk to him?” someone whisper-yelled into my ear. I flinched and shut my eyes, frustrated for being caught so quickly. I wasn’t a spy, not even close. I was supposed to be in Southern California finishing up my degree at the Art Institute.
I turned to face the person speaking to me and switched on my charm. I was a Wilson girl, through and through. Mama taught me how to smile through anyone’s defenses. “I’m sorry?” I asked, deciding to feign ignorance. The guy was attractive enough, bright green
eyes and tousled blond hair. He looked like he belonged on an ad for cologne, but I guess most of these guys did. Fortune usually was accompanied by beauty, ‘‘twas the fairness of it all. After closer inspection, I realized that he was Samuel Smith. According to their social media, he was Nathaniel’s best friend.
“You show up wearing,” he paused to gesture to me for dramatic effect, dragging his eyes up and down like he was hungry and I was a tasty snack. “...that. Nurse the same vodka and tonic for three hours and watch my boy like it’s your job. So either you’re a stalker or a spy.”
His boy, huh? I looked down at my outfit and bit the inside of my cheek. Black skinny jeans, black heels, and an oversized black shirt. I used to have more of a bohemian vibe to my wardrobe, but since Will’s death, I’d started dressing to match my mood. Black was nothing. Black intimidated.
No one should be forced to bury their twin.
“Spy. Definitely a spy. I’m with the CIA.” I answered as I took another swallow of my watered down drink. I hated alcohol. Despised it, really. Alcohol made smart people do stupid things. Again, why use it as a crutch to act on your impulses when you could just stop giving a fuck?
“Can I see your badge?” he asked. I knew he was flirting with me, and I didn’t want to play. Flirting was a game for people that wanted to find a home in other people’s souls. My home was in the ground.
“You can, but then I’d have to kill you,” I said with a grin that felt forced. I hoped Samuel was too drunk to notice that I didn’t give a fuck about his flirty smile and this damn party. The music was too loud. The room was too crowded.
“Why do I feel like you’re serious right now?” he asked with a smile before guiding me to the bar. “I’m Samuel by the way. And I don’t go by Sam.”
I debated on giving him a fake name, but it didn’t really matter. Pretty soon everyone here would know who I was. Word traveled fast when your brother died tragically in one of the upstairs bedrooms. “I’m Octavia,” I half-heartedly replied while he pushed aside a sloppy guy drooling on the bar top to make me a drink. I’d let him think he was a gentleman by making me something.
He dipped his brow, probably trying to think of where he’d heard that name before. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out. My name wasn’t too common, and our family was plastered all over the national news when my brother was found dead — an overdose.
A goddam overdose, they said. Hah!
“That’s a pretty name. Have you been here before?” He slid the cup towards me, and I placed my hands around it, opting not to sip. I didn’t owe him politeness. I didn’t owe any of them anything.
“Transfer student,” I lied with ease. It would have looked suspicious to enroll here. A girl beside me pushed to be at the center of Samuel’s attention, and I saw my opportunity to escape. She plopped her breasts on the bar top, grinning like a predator at him.
“Can I have a drink, please?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t whiney, just assuming. This chick knew she was pretty and she knew she could get whatever she wanted. It’s how everyone at this school acted. They either had money to buy their attention, looks to steal it, or both to demand it.
“Sure thing.” He kept his green eyes on me before saying, “Don’t leave, Octavia.”
Damn. Samuel could already tell that I was turning to escape. He cracked open a can of cheap beer for her before circling the bar to stand beside me.
“You going to drink that?”
“No.”
He grabbed it from my hands and gulped it down in one swig, letting out a hiss of satisfaction before throwing me a lazy grin. “So you’re the sort of girl that doesn’t drink at parties. Noted.”
I wasn’t sure why he felt the need to note anything about me. Maybe it was just his flirty way of appearing like someone who remembered shit about his conquests. I looked around the room for Nathaniel, curious about what he was doing. Had he finally found a girl for the night? Was he still pretending to drink? “You can try, but I guarantee he won’t be interested,” Samuel said. I was being obvious again. I guess it didn’t matter now. I didn’t care.
“Who says I’m interested?” I asked in response, deflecting. I was interested in Nathaniel Youngblood alright, just not in the way that he thought. I was interested in slitting his throat. I was interested in making him pay.
“Call it a hunch,” he replied.
I continued to scan the crowd, looking for the man in question. At this point, it was too late to pretend and wear the mask of indifference. Around us, people moved in slow motion, dancing on my brother’s metaphorical grave without a care in the world. I almost gave up on finding Nathaniel again, but then my eyes connected with a dark, stormy expression, hiding in the corner across the room.
He looked feral. Angry. His stare was meant to intimidate and break, but I refused to let him get to me. I returned the glare without hesitation. We’d never met, but I knew everything about him. I spent months researching him. The coward didn’t show up to Will’s funeral, but he recognized me. He was one of those sick fucks, the type that would dive in deep and get off on the damage he inflicted. I bet he learned about Will’s past, our family. There was recognition in his expression.
I represented what he’d done, and I was here to be a tangible reminder of the consequences of his actions. Maybe men like Nathaniel Youngblood had too much power. Perhaps they didn’t feel guilty, or they thought they were above justice. But I had a plan in place that would make him hate himself. I would end him.
“I stand corrected,” Samuel choked out. He was staring between us in shock. The whole room seemed to grow quiet, but it was really just being drowned out by the bloodlust pounding in my ears. I didn’t break eye contact. I wanted him to see me. Truly see me. I hoped he saw Will and I’s similar features. The hair color. Our noses. The anger buried within.
I ignored Samuel and walked towards him, bypassing the drunks that were coupling up and disappearing upstairs. I didn’t stumble, didn’t tremble. When half of yourself was gone, you didn’t experience fear or anxiety. I was a shell of myself and used it to my advantage.
Once we were chest to chest, I took the red cup from his hand and sniffed it before taking a sip. It was water.
“Do you not drink because you’re afraid you'll spill your secrets?” I asked him. Why not dive in with the hard-hitting questions? There was no point dancing around it. “Or is this your way of penance? My brother overdoses, so you avoid anything of that nature?” I downed the drink, making sure not to break eye contact as I gulped down each drop.
“I never really liked to drink,” he said. His voice sounded sexy up close. No. That was the wrong adjective. I’d add it to the list of things to talk about with my therapist tomorrow.
“Neither did William,” I replied.
That's how I knew the University was lying. That's how I knew that they were trying to cover up William’s death with some bullshit story. My brother couldn’t have overdosed because he never wanted to end up like our mother. He was drugged.
I looked up at Nathaniel and frowned as he brushed his thumb along my bottom lip. I froze in place as icy hate filled my veins. How dare he touch me.
“You look…” he began before shaking his head and pulling his hand back. “You look just like him.”
There was a brief moment, a flash of guilt, sadness, and pain. His features softened, and his chocolate eyes seemed to flood with disappointment. I took that weakness and committed it to memory. If I reminded him of Will and it hurt him, then I’d play up our similarities.
"Is it hard to look at me?" I asked while peering up at Nathaniel. "Do I remind you of him?" I wanted to gauge his guilt and use it against him.
"Would it make you feel better if I said yes?"
Men like Nathaniel Youngblood manipulated others into feeling pity for them. I knew his type, and I would never feel sorry for him. I had proof that he was the reason my brother was now dead, and I'd make sure he paid for it.
"No."
<
br /> I dropped the red solo cup on the floor and checked my watch. I had about six hours left before I had to make it to my job at the diner. Dropping out of college, moving to New York, and plotting my revenge had its consequences. But in the end, it didn't matter. I'd be joining my brother soon.
"I'll see you around, Youngblood," I said with a growl. Turning around, I ignored everyone's intrusive stares. Samuel had his mouth dropped open in shock and whispers filled the space as the music stopped. They were all partying almost precisely a year to the anniversary of my brother's death. They were metaphorically dancing on his grave, and I wanted nothing more than to ruin their good time.
"Enjoy the party," I said to Samuel before making my way through the crowd and outside.
My plan had three parts, and each step was just as important as the last.
Step one: Make him see me. Ruin every good time that he had with my presence. Remind everyone at the Pike house that William Wilson existed, and that he wasn't going anywhere.
Step two: Ruin every good thing in his life. Spill his secrets, spend his money.
Step three: Kill Nathaniel Youngblood.
I Was Born Ruined by C.M. Stunich
I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club #1)
Releasing December 2018
What sort of girl loves sin like I do?
What sort of person thrives in it?
I'm the princess to a dirty throne of motorcycles and madness, daughter of the president of the Death by Daybreak motorcycle club. My father's four closest officers—men dressed in blood and death and sin—they're my honor guard, cloaked in leather vests and tattoos. Only, there's nothing honorable about them at all.
