My sweet, obedient mother and adoring, feisty sister.
Elias.
Ambrose.
Becket.
Alexander.
Tate.
What did I feel? Who was I? Who could I trust? Who was behind this?
Blood. It had dried and crusted on my cheek. It had splattered onto my blouse and soaked into my skin to stick to it. The sweat had dried and I felt cold. The chill of night had disappeared and I felt hot.
I felt numb.
“That was impressive.”
Ambrose approached me, and his two monsters flanked him, guns out ready to protect. Against more members of the underground or me? I didn’t know. I didn’t care.
“How is Elias?” I asked.
“He’s fine. His sister is taking good care of him.”
“Sister?”
Why did that bring a sharp stab of possessiveness and jealousy to penetrate me? Who the fuck was she? Elias didn’t have a sister.
“Yes.”
“What’s going on?”
“Elias is getting better, Trixie. He’s healing with the help of Belladonna.”
“Belladonna?”
“The same drug that killed twelve people in a house your husband raided. One of Reaper’s exclusive pieces was found next to them. Belladonna is grown in Denmark, you see. Denmark is where Trace’s latest truck full of women came from. Can you see the connection?”
I paused. I didn’t want to answer him. I didn’t want to let the rage consume me, but it was all I had.
“How long have you been betraying your family?” I snapped.
“Since your mother gave birth to my child and my family stole her from me.”
My mother. A child. Ambrose. Elias and I had a sister, and she was with him now. She was healing him when I should have been there. She was comforting him when it should have been me.
Ambrose raped my mother, and she’d had a child.
I had a sister.
Elias had a sister.
We had a fucking sister.
“Ambrose…”
“Now, now,” he said, as William Tate approached me with a cloth in his hand. I shook my head. “No, please.”
“Shut up, harlot. You brought this on yourself.”
“No!” I stepped back and collided with the chest of Beckett Blackwood. “No! I didn’t!”
“It should have been you,” Ambrose said. “You should have been banished. Abused. Mutilated. Instead you were the fucking chosen one…do you think Annabella will ever forgive you for stealing her life from her?”
Annabella? The maid?
“Please. I didn’t ask for this.”
“You can tell her that.” William grabbed the back of my head and I dug my nails into his wrist as he forced the rag over my mouth. “My daughter has returned, harlot, and it’s time you sought retribution.”
The scent of cooked meat, fresh vegetables and expensive alcohol brought me back to life. I opened my eyes.
I was in Black Ash.
I looked down.
I was tied to a chair. The room was dark, only one light above the hotplate remained.
I groaned, a tense ache behind my eyes making me shudder.
“How are you, Trixiebelle?”
I looked up, beyond the hotplate and into the kitchen where Ashford House’s newest maid stood. I’d been right to be wary of her. Why did I never listen to my instincts? She didn’t look like she wanted to kill me…but did monsters warn before they struck?
“Annabella.”
“It’s nice to meet you…officially.”
“How’s Elias?”
“My brother?” She grinned and shrugged. “He’s alive, with the aid of a little poison.”
“Are you going to kill him?”
She laughed, throwing her head back. Her laugh sounded like church bells and I leaned my head forward to move closer to the sound. She was an angel. A dark, dangerous angel of mystery.
“No, silly.” She stepped forward. “But you and I are going to go on a little adventure.”
“What adventure? Why? Please, Annabella, just let me see Elias.”
“You can.” She nodded. Beckett reached around from behind me, grabbing my wrist and tearing through the rope. The force cut my skin; blood flooded out of the wound and onto the floor. “Have you ever felt pain that didn’t make you come, Trixiebelle?”
I shook my head.
I screamed when Beckett dragged my body forward in the chair and he pressed my palm to the hotplate. I growled as the heat burned my skin and I cried out, begging for mercy. He let me go, and Annabella once again broke out into a wispy laugh.
“You have now.”
She rounded the kitchen and entered the restaurant, closing the distance between us until she crouched in front of me and took hold of my hand. It was red and blistered, weeping and burning. She kissed it, closing her eyes with her lips pressed to my palm. I hissed and tried to pull away, but she held me firm and Beckett pushed down on my shoulders.
“It’s time, sister,” she said, combing my hair down and cupping my face. “It’s time to begin the revolution…”
Sometime between past, present and future
Once upon a time, a child was born. This child was not an ordinary child. Born in a period of time when the storm had calmed and the pieces of the souls lost at war fluttered to the ground, the child was destined to rule. Fated to watch over the city until it became their time to take over. After war comes peace. But peace breeds the need for war; it feeds the craving for a battle of wills, power, and status.
The child would grow up to be royalty, in a world where blood was more valuable than freedom. The child would come face to face with demons one day, and have to make the choice. They would have to decide which path to take—the path to righteousness, or the path that sought retribution for all the wrongs committed against them.
They say we all have another half—a person whose soul slots so effortlessly next to ours. We become the best version of ourselves when these souls meet. We find who we truly are, because we are nothing without the other. We wait; we search, we hope, we pray, to find the puzzle piece that will unlock our deepest desires, spill our darkest secrets, and give us a place to call home when all other doors have led to dead ends of disappointment.
In the moment when these souls collide, a new path is formed.
But it is not without its thorns. It isn’t clear of fog and shadows that will soon blind us to the truth. The darkness. The evil, sadistic stories that dictate our every action without our knowledge.
Once upon a time, a child was born. He was no ordinary child, because he was bound to another. Their lives would forever be tied together, because they were destined to be enemies. They were fated to find each other, to discover more about themselves than they could ever imagine. They were destined to clash and collide, to see each other through the times ahead—times when a city was failing, yet holding onto hope as each new bud of life blossomed into something magical. Times when ash coated the streets, debris became furniture for those left out in the cold, and the world as we knew it changed. Again.
Soon they would fight. It would be a war. A bloodbath. A massacre.
There would be death and sacrifice. There would be love and hate. There would be conflict and negotiation.
Because war never ends.
Once upon a time, two children were born.
And they were the key to the future…
Acknowledgements
Thank you to everyone who made this possible. To my team, for having my back and encouraging me to keep going. You also get a thank you for keeping me reined in!
Also, to everyone who gives little ol’ me and my fucked up mind a chance…thank you so much. Hang around, we’ve got plenty more to come. Now we’re into the rabbit hole, we’ll keep digging deeper.
As always, thank you, Tiger. It wouldn’t be one of my acknowledgment sections without mentioning you. Thank you for dealing with my crazy, and holding my hand on
the dark road we both love.
Thank you T-Podger and Awesome Alison for being my girls in the box. I love you ladies.
Thank you to everyone at the newly named Twisted Book Club. The Twisted Sisters, and Misters, are absofuckinglutely awesome. The group is a top-secret Facebook group, but if you like to live on the dark side of life, on the edge of insanity and deviance, find us. We’ll welcome you with anal, choking, and enough dark reads to see you through eternity. Find Di Covey, Jamie Buchanan and their team at https://www.facebook.com/theoneandonlytwistedsisters
Divine Diana, I fucking love you. Spanks and chokes all round <3
About the Author
Rebecca is a London born and bred mother, writer and psychology student. She is the mother of a superhero (who is currently growing his hair like Thor!) and spends her days with her nose tuck in a textbook, her fingers tapping away at the keys…or she’s building forts and eating gummy bears.
A lover of all things dark and deviant, Rebecca’s stories are intended to make you uncomfortable while you desperately turn the pages. They will make you question everything you thought you knew. If you think you’ve figured it out…you haven’t. If you think you know where it’s going…you don’t.
Between the covers of Rebecca’s tales, you will find strength in love, and peace in darkness. You will find happiness in deviance, and depravity in the happy ever after we all crave.
You’ll be begging for rainbows and butterflies, whilst clawing at black hearts and withering flowers.
Contact Rebecca
Facebook: https://www/facebook.com/rebeccasherwinauthor
Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/RRSherwin
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rebecca.sherwin
Email: [email protected]
Rebecca’s Facebook Group: https://www/facebook.com/groups/RebeccasRomantics
GRIT Support Group, Blackwood Babes: https://www.facebook.com/groups/231616140528645/
Other Titles
Hearts and Flowers
Second Chance Hero (A contemporary seaside romance)
Dark hearts and withered flowers
Survival (Twisted #1)
Revival (Twisted #2)
Thrive (Twisted #3)
Allegiance (Twisted #4)
Butterfly
Pitch black darkness and flowerless deviance
Marked (A Twisted Story)
Coming Soon
GRIT Sector 1: The Revolution
GRIT Sector 2: Trace
Ronnie, A Masked Psychopath
To keep up to date with news on Rebecca’s releases, sign up for the Romantics newsletter:
http://eepurl.com/bnLXmr
A Dark Romance
The concept of Stockholm Syndrome plays in my mind. Feelings of trust or affection from captive to captor. I’m not stupid—I know that was his plan; to make me trust him, feel for him, while he broke me beyond repair. I’m not buying it. There’s something deeper. Something so powerful, no amount of therapy or talking it through will save me. Nothing can reverse the effects of his abuse. Nothing will alter the impact his love has had on me.
On my existence.
On my soul.
On my ability, and desire, to spread my wings and fly away from the hell that has become my home.
“Ready, darling?” he asks, when he loosens my bindings and takes my hand.
I nod.
“Time for my little caterpillar to become a butterfly.”
I’m ready. I’ve been ready for some time. But I won’t go alone.
Oh no. I’ll take my captor with me. The man who stole me from the life I loved and made me fall for the life I loathe. I won’t be going alone. Without him I’m nothing, he made sure of that. But without me, he won’t survive.
You see, butterflies are more than pretty little things that flutter blissfully in the garden. At least this one won’t flutter off—I wouldn’t if I could.
This butterfly will kill. This butterfly will own.
This butterfly will conquer death and hover over it on black wings stained with blood, watching on as the beauty of life slips away beneath her.
Coming October 21st 2016
Pre-order available now
The Uprising (GRIT Sector 1 Book 2) Page 35
