Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part Two
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
Epilogue
Pernicious Red
When The Wicked Play: Book One
Natalie Bennett
Copyright
Pernicious Red by Natalie Bennett
© 2017 by Natalie Bennett. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design:Covers By Combs
Editing by: Pinpoint Editing
Dedication
Elle avoit vû le loup
-She has seen the wolf-
*Author’s Note*
While every book in this series will be a standalone, I highly recommend reading Rose De Muerte prior to Pernicious Red for a better reading experience and clearer understanding of certain events.
Spotify Playlist
1.Melanie Martinez-Tag you’re it
2. Arctic Monkeys-Do I wanna know?
3. Halsey- Devil in me
4. Slipknot-Snuff
5. The Neighborhood- A little death
6. Gin Wigmore- Holding onto Hell
Table of Contents
Pernicious Red
Copyright
*Author’s Note*
Prelude
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Part Two
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
Epilogue
Prelude
It was too dark for me to see where I was going, the naked trees looming above like sky towers. Snow seeped into the bottom of my bare-feet, numbing them and making me stumble.
Adrenaline pumped through my veins; pure unadulterated terror was the only thing forcing me to keep moving. My body was going numb, begging me to just give up and let them finish what they started.
My lungs were burning and my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. The bitter cold attacked the tears spilling from my eyes and the blood running from between my thighs.
They were coming for me. I could hear them. Their laughter and taunts carried on the wind.
They were herding me closer and closer to the place I was repeatedly warned me to stay away from.
I had broken the only rule of the game.
I wasn’t making it out of the woods alive.
Chapter One
Rosalie
Snow bled through the bottom of my Uggs and both layers of my fluffy socks.
I hated winter. I’m sure my nose was bright red, making me look like Rudolph in a pea-coat.
It took me five freaking minutes to scrape my windshield, and another two to pry open the frozen door of my car. I’d planned on going to visit my grandmother as soon as I got off, but all I wanted to do was change into my pajamas and bury myself beneath my comforter. Work was siphoning away all my motivation to be social.
Entering my apartment building, I went to the elevator and impatiently waited for it to lower back down to the first floor. Once inside, I hit the button for floor four, letting out a tired sigh.
I stepped out of the elevator, and before I could even take two steps, I heard rambunctious laughter spilling from my apartment.
“Fucking Joyce,” I grumbled, inserting my key in the lock.
Living with her had been a means to an end. I was flat broke and needed a roommate, though this partying habit had expired my patience months ago.
I hated coming home to this crap.
Pushing the heavy door open, I walked inside and slipped my soggy boots and socks off.
“Rosalie?” Joyce called from the living room.
Instead of answering her, I padded down the hall, curling my toes as I went to bring some feeling back into them. Joyce had an off and on boyfriend named Toby—that’s who I was expecting to see.
Instead, I found myself staring at Channing fucking Burrows, his brother, and their asshole of a friend, Bryce. I may not have gotten out much but you’d have to be socially inept not to know who they were. Not to mention my secret obsession with the guy.
That didn’t matter right then. What mattered was finding out what were they doing in my—our—apartment. I gave Joyce a look that said we need to talk, which she unsurprisingly ignored.
“Look ya’ll, Rosalie is home.” She patted the small empty space on the sofa between her and Bryce, who was built like a tank.
I shook my head at her and headed down the hall to my bedroom.
I didn’t have the energy to pretend I wasn’t pissed they were here. Of all the people to invite over, she’d chosen the town’s delinquent assholes and their ring leader. She didn’t even know them well enough to have let them inside our home. Had anyone taught her what stranger danger was?
Shaking my head again in frustration, I grabbed the mini cosmetics bag from my room and darted across the hall to the bathroom. After changing into comfortable sleep clothes, I washed my face and then brushed my teeth, finishing my nightly routine by popping two sleeping pills.
I pulled the door open and let out a surprised gasp, coming face to chest with Channing, who was leaning against the wall next to my bedroom doorway.
He just stood there with his arms crossed, not saying a word.
I didn’t really mean to check him out the way I did. It popped into my head how tall he was and my eyeballs seemed to need proof, because they roamed all over him from top to bottom.
His black T-shirt clung to his chest and abs; jeans hugged an equally fit lower half.
Dark ink wrapped around his left arm and disappeared beneath his shirt. He definitely had some kind of exhausting regimen that kept him in good shape.
“When you’re done eye fucking me, my face is up here.”
“That’s not what I was doing,” I objected.
My gaze snapped up to his, but now it was him eyeing me. His eyes skated over my body and his lips twitched into a smirk.
“Goddamn, Red.” His bold blue hues came back to mine and it felt like he was looking right through my outer shell.
“Rosalie
,” I corrected, using my small make-up bag as a shield over my thighs.
“Red fits you better,” he smiled at me, revealing perfect white teeth.
Refusing to acknowledge the contemptible pull in my lower stomach, I went to move past him. He quickly side-stepped, blocking entry into my room. I took a step back and stared up at him with furrowed brows.
“Are you going to let me through?”
“You know, Red, I don’t like that your roommate invites men she doesn’t know into your house. You’re just two girls who live alone, and anything could happen. You never know what some people are capable of.”
What?
“Then what are you doing here, Channing?”
“Did I say I was talking about me? I’m special, so I don’t count.” He grinned at me again and made no effort to get out of my way.
“Can you please move? I’m tired—I need to go to bed.”
“Do you want company?” His blue eyes seemed to darken a bit and I couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious.
“No thank you,” I quickly rejected, hoping he couldn’t see the faint blush I knew was setting in on my cheeks as my mind streamed rapid images of his naked body through my brain.
“Why not?” He cocked his head and persisted.
“You’re not my type.”
“Bullshit. I’m everyone’s type.” His words were laced with confidence.
I laughed and looked to the heavens, asking the Lord for the strength to deal with him. His statement actually held a lot of truth. He had the whole dark and mysterious thing going for him—plus, he had good hair, pretty eyes, a solid body, and was an asshole. I mean, seriously, could the guy get any more attractive?
“Is that supposed to make me spread my legs for you?” I scoffed.
He regarded me with an inexpressive look on his face, chewing on his lower lip.
“Can’t say I’m upset about where your mind just went, but I never said anything about us fucking.”
The cocky little half-smile that returned to his face only served to further irritate me.
“Aren’t your friends in my living room? You should probably get back to them.”
“I see the way you look at me when you don’t think I’m watching. You’re not as invisible as you’d like to be.” He sighed and shook his head, finally stepping out of the way.
I rushed into my room and slammed the door, swearing I heard him chuckle when I turned the lock.
Leaning my forehead against the cool wood, I heard his voice emanate from down the hall and let out a breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding
He knew I stared at him whenever I got the chance? I thought I’d been discreet about it. My interest in Channing went beyond his physical attributes. There was something about him that seemed familiar to me; it piqued my curiosity because I was unable to pinpoint what it was.
Our unexpected interaction had me thinking things I shouldn’t. I found myself wanting what was unobtainable, something that would rapidly diminish all the months I’d put into bettering myself.
Me and Channing would be a disaster together.
I knew on a subconscious level we were two fucked up individuals. Which one of us was more damaged, I had yet to discover.
Chapter Two
Channing
Her body had begun to bloat, and foam-like blood leaked from her mouth and nose. Her pale skin was blistered and blackish-blue. Strands of once fiery red hair were now dull and starting to fall out.
Every time I made a sharp turn I could hear her dead weight roll to the opposite side of the trunk. The muffled screams of the contestant—for lack of a better term—who was locked in the trunk with her had ceased altogether. I figured she’d fallen asleep and that was a good thing. She would need all the energy she could muster.
The smell of her would have been nauseating but I was used to it. It was impossible not to be. Corpses were as natural to me as the sky being blue; something I saw so often it no longer registered as unusual.
My grandfather had been preparing me for this little game before I even knew what the fuck it was. He said he’d learned from the best—the best being his own father; may they both rest in peace. It didn’t shame me to admit I came from a fucked up batch of individuals.
As I drove around aimlessly, waiting for my brother’s call, my mind went back to one particular redhead who was different than all the others.
Rosalie fucking Morgue—or, as I liked to call her, Red.
My grandfather said this would happen but neither me nor my brother believed him. We thought he was full of shit—at first. It wasn’t until a month before his death that we met the man and he rained a shit storm of truth down on us, with facts and family to back it up. Now we were prepared to do whatever we needed to correct a certain situation.
I wished I could explain how one girl made my fucking head spin the second I laid my eyes on her—just like my grandpa said it would. I’d been watching her for a while now, stalking her shamelessly and keeping her shithead of an ex away. He was in a comfy resting place in the ground behind my shed.
Red thought she skated by unnoticed, but I saw all her fragmented pieces. We were both damaged people; she just had no idea she was the lesser of two evils.
“Did you get it?” I asked my brother as soon as his call came through.
“Warehouse 57?” Cole double-checked.
“Yeah. I’ll see you there.”
Chapter Three
Rosalie
I slept through two alarm clocks as per usual. The third woke me from my restless slumber and was almost chucked at the wall.
My current situation was me flying around my room, rushing to make it out the door and back to my job within twenty minutes.
It hadn’t been easy falling asleep while it sounded like a rave was happening in the living room, and a certain blue-eyed someone kept my thoughts buzzing until the sleeping pills kicked in. On the bright side, I didn’t dream, and being a walking zombie was almost preferable over the carnage that usually took place inside my head.
Throwing my long copper locks up into a voluminous bun, I shoved my feet into the plain black tennis shoes I usually wore to work, and sprinted out of my room. Joyce intercepted me just inside the entryway as I finished buttoning up my coat.
“Hey,” she croaked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
She looked like total shit. I briefly wondered what the hell she’d gotten up to the night before but then realized I actually didn’t care enough to know the details.
“Whatever it is, say it fast. I’m running behind,” I rushed out with one hand already reaching for the door.
“I just wanted to tell you to be careful around Channing and his friends.”
Was this chick serious? I gaped at her, fighting the urge to shake her by the shoulders.
“How about you don’t invite groups of men into the apartment we share? Or maybe you could apologize for being a total... You know what, never mind. I don’t have time for this.”
I slammed the door in her face and darted down the hall, skipping the elevator altogether.
I made myself small, letting two men in dark utility outfits squeeze past me, carrying a large metal trunk.
Relieved to see that it had only snowed a tiny bit more, I prepared myself to face the bitter cold and exited the tall building.
The sun offered little to no warmth but still blinded me to the point I had to cover my brow with my free hand, digging my keys out with the other.
“Thank God,” I huffed, easily pulling the driver side door open. Cranking the heat and defrost, I stared out the front window and noticed something on my hood just beneath my windshield wiper, partially covered in snow.
Frowning, I popped my door open and stretched my hand above it an attempt to retrieve whatever was on the hood.
“Damnit,” I cursed, failing miserably and having no choice but to get back out of the car and back into the cold.
I brushed the snow away and lifted my ri
ght wiper blade to reveal a black rose with thorns still on its stem.
Seriously?
Where did someone get one of these in dead winter? Were black roses even indigenous to Ponty-Poole?
Haphazardly tossing the flower into the car, I climbed back in and peeled out of the complex parking lot.
The day dragged by at a snail’s pace.
By the midway point, I’d almost forgotten about the flower placed on my windshield.
Alice—the closest friend I had—texted me shortly after I arrived at work to make sure we were still on for later that night. I considered cancelling but really needed to vent, so I assured her I’d be at our meet-up spot promptly by nine-o-clock.
I was facing my aisles, pulling all products to the front of their display shelves, when I caught Channing’s reflection in the overhead security mirror.
I abruptly stopped what I was doing and turned my head to look at him.
He was standing at the end of my aisle with his arms crossed, staring at me in a way that would make anyone uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered by the intensity in his gaze or deeply concerned by it.
I was leaning more towards concerned. I’d worked at the local Fresh-Mark since I was eighteen—three years, and only seeing him inside twice wasn’t a good sign.
“Can I help you find something?” Dropping the Hershey bar I could feel beginning to melt from my death grip, I shoved my hands in my back pockets and walked towards him. I frowned when I noticed he didn’t have a jacket on.
Christmas carols played from the store’s stereo system, belting cheesy lyrics through the air.
“Aren’t you cold?” I asked, stopping a few feet away from him.
“That’s cute, Red, you almost sound worried about me.” His eyes settled on my face and his cocky signature smirk had the right side of his mouth tilting up.
“Or I was being a normal human being and––”
“Are you trying to imply I’m not normal?”
“No, I’m not. Did you need something? I’m on the clock.” I lifted up my nametag to emphasize my point.
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