Stygian
Page 27
Run.
Run.
Run.
I ran for the door. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out of here. Away from this ruined perfect world. He was gone. Connor was gone.
My mind was whirling and frantic.
Escape.
I didn’t even see him; my vision blurred from tears and anger and pain. He blocked the doorway, his broad frame preventing my path of escape.
I ran anyway, trying to dive past him.
He snagged me around the waist with one arm and my feet left the floor. I screamed and squirmed in his hold like a rag doll. He set me down directly in front of him, his hands latched onto my upper arms in a bruising grip.
“Georgie, look at me.”
I kicked and yelled, trying to leave, but nothing would set me free. I knew I’d never be free again. My brother. My best friend. He was dead.
“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.”
Run. Get away.
“Look. At. Me.”
This time his voice cut through my hysterical need to escape, and I stopped struggling, staring up at his unflinching eyes. How could he just stand there? He’d just destroyed my life, my family’s life. And he was standing there looking at me without a trace of sympathy.
“I hate you.”
“You going to stand still?”
Chest heaving and heart pounding, I realized Deck had watched me destroy everything in my room. He never did anything to stop it. The one thing I did know about this man was that he was unbending. Connor always said Deck was the best team leader, because no matter what shit went down, Deck would never yield to anyone. He’d stand by his word no matter what, and I guessed he wouldn’t let me go until I bent to his will.
I stopped fighting.
He waited a second then released me. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound book with worn edges and a cracked spine. “He’d want you to have this.”
I didn’t move as I stared at what I knew was Connor’s journal. Deck grabbed my wrist and shoved it in my hand, the hard surface abruptly hitting my palm.
Connor’s name was written on the top in his familiar, messy handwriting.
I nearly fell, and probably would’ve if Deck hadn’t grabbed my arm. He guided me further into my room, and I didn’t object. All I did was stare down at the bound book. The last piece of my brother. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
I felt the softness of the mattress as Deck made me sit, and then the floor creaked as he started to walk away.
I looked up at the retreating figure. “I wish it was you, not him.”
He gave no reaction to my words, and really, I hadn’t expected any. It just came out. And I did hate that Deck was here instead of Connor. I hated that he could walk back to his family and laugh and hold them and my brother couldn’t.
He turned his head and met my eyes. For a second, I thought I witnessed remorse, but it was so quick I could’ve imagined it or maybe I hoped to see it from my brother’s best friend.
“Yeah.” His whispered tone was barely audible as the door shut, and I listened to his steady, booted steps walk away.
The front door opened, and the screen door screeched. Both shut.
I had no idea why I did it, but I walked over to the window, parted the white sheer curtains and watched as he walked down the path. The tension in his back. The stiffness of his stride.
He stopped at the side of the car and stood still for a second. I couldn’t see his face or what he was doing until he slammed both fists into the roof of the car. Then his head dropped forward and his shoulders slouched.
My fingers curled around the delicate material of the curtains, and I didn’t realize how hard until they ripped from the rod and fell to the floor, leaving the window bare.
As if he’d heard it—but I knew that was impossible—Deck turned. Our eyes locked. It felt like he could see right into me with that direct gaze. I felt naked and vulnerable, unable to look away, trapped. He gave me these wounds. Wounds that would never heal. Deck was now part of the darkness inside me I’d never escape from.
His nod was barely distinguishable before he broke the connection and opened the car door.
I watched his lean form curl into the driver’s seat.
The engine came to life with a loud purr.
Life. Something Connor had lost.
I turned away just as I heard the squeal of the tires on the street.
My perfect world had just been thrown into destructive chaos.
With You
A New York Times Bestseller.
Sculpt is an illegal fighter.
He’s also the lead singer of a local rock band.
No one knows his real name.
And from the moment I met him, he made me forget mine.
In order to convince Sculpt to give me self-defense lessons, I had to follow his one rule—no complaining or he’d walk. I didn’t think it would be a problem. I could handle a few bruises. What I hadn’t anticipated was landing on my back with Sculpt on top of me and my entire body burning up for him.
I tried to ignore it.
I failed of course. And having a hot, tattooed badass on top of me week after week, acting completely immune to what he was doing to me—it was frustrating as hell, so I broke his rule—I complained.
Then he kissed me.
Warning: Please be aware, this novella leads into a very DARK Romance. 18+
Huge cliff-hanger. Like huge! However, “Torn from You” the novel is released.
*Due to sexual content and strong language not recommended for readers under 18.
Torn from You
USA Today Bestseller.
Love is like an avalanche. It hits hard, fast and without mercy.
At least it did for me when Sculpt, the lead singer of the rock band Tear Asunder knocked me off my feet. Literally, because he’s also a fighter, illegally of course, and he taught me how to fight. He also taught me how to love and I fell hard for him. I mean the guy could do sweet, when he wasn’t doing bossy, and I like sweet.
Then it all shattered.
Kidnapped.
Starved.
Beaten.
I was alone and fighting to survive.
When I heard Sculpt’s voice, I thought he was there to save me.
I was wrong.
Take
MAX
Feelings are a luxury I can’t afford. Hidden behind a shield of quiet placidity, I keep my secret safe from those who’d use it against me. Until him—the tatted up, self-centered Scar assassin hired to protect me.
He takes pleasure in tormenting me, chipping away at my defenses as if I’m a toy to be played with. I hate that he continuously reminds me that I’m nothing more than a job. I hate that my body responds to his touch. I hate him.
JASPER
I’m not a good guy and I don’t pretend to be. Condemn me if you want, I don’t give a crap. You’re nothing to me. No one is . . . except her—Max. She’s my target. And I was hired to do a hell of a lot more than protect her . . . I was hired to kill her.
It should’ve been simple, but it was complicated as hell.
*Full-length novel. Come meet the Scars.
Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.
When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.
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Email: nashodarose@gmail.com
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