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PROLOGUE
Some are poetry alive. Some are pure poetry in death.
I find men whose invisible horns are sharpened to cut, men like my father; I destroy their masks of deception and cruelty and immortalize these monsters. In stories. For eternity to come.
Death is a mercy I offer, and the blood I spill is their absolution. It’s mine, too.
I’m a fucking writer.
I’ve always been captivated by stories crafted with such masterful precision until the words become worlds, and worlds become infinite threads of possibilities.
I write stories… With knives.
Because pen and paper aren’t enough for some stories.
1
VICIOUS LITTLE THINGS
YARA
“Ikeep my demons locked in a tight little cage. It’s always full, suffocating, and they’re always too fucking hungry,” I said, tracing my finger around the wineglass before taking a sip of the Château Margaux, savoring the notes of black cherry with a smile.
“When you wanna feed them? These hungry little demons?” Keaton asked, his eyes glazed from the drug. “Do you drink blood like a vampire?”
I tapped my pink designer heels against the rug, a lazy smile stretching my lips. I had a part to play tonight—I always played it a little too perfectly. But if his fucking blood ended up on my favorite pair, I’d kill him all over again.
“Yes.” Nodding, I took another sip of my wine. “I drink blood in a Bordeaux glass with a side of Mozart playing in the background. Drinking directly from a human… fuck no,” I said, staring at the small, crimson whorls that formed as I twirled the crystal glass. It almost looked like a cyclone of blood, slowly pulling me in. When the hunger for blood came, it was hard to run away, even harder to say no.
Keaton’s answering laughter echoed along the black walls accented with metallic gold patterns. The room was dark, except for the dim glow of a disco ball hanging from the ceiling, spilling broken prisms everywhere. Plush, velvet upholstery adorned every piece of rich mahogany furniture claiming the corners.
The beautifully gilded walls were decorated with tacky but pricey art, and the wooden shelves were filled with sculptures and busts of naked women.
This ostentatious room was Keaton’s private club, personalized to his whims and needs. He usually entertained himself and his women here. Situated at the topmost floor of his massive mansion in Bloomfield Hills, secluded and protected from judging eyes, it was his sanctuary. Not for the women he brought in, though.
He felt like God inside this room. He thought he could do anything and get away with it—he mostly did, but not this time. I smiled a little, rubbing my hands together as excitement rushed inside my veins. I didn’t need drugs to get high. Oh, I was already riding the high of getting to kill him.
This was going to be fucking therapeutic.
He took a snort of his drug and looked at me with a sleazy grin. I was his target tonight—he didn’t know I hadn’t been a target in a long, long while. Not since that day I stabbed my father for daring to hurt me.
He thrust the drug toward me. “You haven’t taken a single bump of coke, and you’re already fucking high.” He laughed. “I like you.”
Only, he didn’t know it wasn’t cocaine. I changed his drug for mine—powdered ketamine.
“I can’t say the same about you,” I said, emptying my wine with a sigh.
Clean the fingerprints on the glass before you leave, Kat said in my head. Kat, my dead best friend. One of the monsters, much worse than Keaton, stole her away from me four years ago. They called him The Strangler. Someday I’d find that motherfucking bastard and flay him.
Until then… men like Keaton would help me keep my demons at bay.
“You’ll like me when you’re high. Everyone likes me when they’re high,” he gloated, his eyes vacuous, his voice smug. “Come on, give it a try.”
My soul was speckled with vicious, vengeful creatures, always craving blood, and they were ravenous now. They wanted him gone.
“Sometimes the demons beg to come out, demanding to hunt and feed. It’s time now. They’re hungry, Keaton.”
“What the hell a-are you…” he trailed off, rubbing his palms against his eyes. His glazed eyes met mine, out of focus, confused. The ketamine was starting to work.
