But they wouldn’t. She knew it. I knew it. Hell, everyone who knew us and our family knew it. Things never looked better in the morning.
Actually, I preferred night. Not because I actually enjoyed sleeping — hell, if I didn’t need sleep I wouldn’t do it. Too many images ran through my mind, pictures of death, blood, more death. But the real messed up part? I wasn’t haunted by the dreams like Mo was — no, I was the exact opposite. It inspired me, it drove me, it motivated me. Hell, I was the one you’d least expect. Chase even had problems doing some of the dirty work.
But me?
I was the worst type of person.
Because I craved it like a drug.
I craved death. I craved war. I craved it like an addict. And I loathed the days of peace because they reminded me that I was basically an orphan. Unwanted, unloved, and now? Unloved by the girl I’d sworn to love for the rest of my life.
So sugarplums? Santa? Unicorns? Sheep? Nah, that shit didn’t fit in my dreams.
It never did.
Mo moved next to me pulling the covers up around her frail body. She’d been losing so much weight it was ridiculous. Weren’t you supposed to gain weight when you were pregnant? It stung that she didn’t want me to go to her doctor’s appointment with her. Apparently he’d said she was stressed. Right, like I could do anything to help that. I was doing everything within my power to fix things — to fix us — to fix her — to fix the family. Nothing worked.
Being with Mo wasn’t just my peace, it was like I’d finally found someone that got me, someone who understood who I was, even when I chose not to reveal my whole self to her, one look, and I knew she knew. All the shit that went on in my head, but she didn’t pester me, didn’t make me explain anything, just loved me as I was. And now, it was gone. I was gone. There was literally nothing left.
My role was no longer fulfilling its purpose. I’d known it for a while now, but I hadn’t wanted to admit it. But the signs were clear.
It was time to take my place. Time to bring the nightmare to life, to wake the beast, to be what I was born to be.
Vito Campisi’s son.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of over 28 books. She is obsessed with all things Starbucks and makes her home in Idaho with her husband and two snoring boxers.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
OTHER BOOKS BY RACHEL VAN DYKEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Strung (Seaside) Page 17
