Asher’s hands fly to protect his face, but he can’t fend me off. I keep at it, blow after blow, until the bucket slips from my wet fingers and crashes to the floor. I lunge for Asher, but he’s just out of reach, and the chains stop me inches from my target.
He stumbles to his feet, blood staining his face. His eyes blink rapidly to clear the streaming blood from them, and he rushes me. Asher’s arms go around my waist and he slams me into the wall. Air whooshes out of my lungs as my back connects with a pipe, and no matter how much I open my mouth, I can’t seem to get air into my lungs.
Asher’s hands fly to my neck, and he tightens his grip on my throat. I try to wheeze in air, but it’s no use. I watch the hatred fill his face and close my eyes, not wanting that to be the last thing I see. I feel his hands grow even tighter, and my hands fly to his, trying to claw him off me. It doesn’t work, and my knees start buckling.
I hear the sound of gunshots moments before Dale’s sweet voice fills my ears over the persistent zinging in my brain.
I’m glad that in my dying moments, my brain gave me my own version of a white light. I feel arms wrap around me and succumb to the feeling of being safe.
Even if it’s all in my head.
I come to and groan, my eyes still closed.
I’ve grown accustomed to pain over the last three weeks, and at times, even relished the company it offered, but the minute I come to, the pain radiating through my body has nausea washing over me in waves, and for a brief moment, I wish I was dead.
And then I smell it—a mix of citrus and sandalwood.
Dale.
My eyes flutter open slowly, and Dale’s perfect face, stained with tears, stares back at me.
“I didn’t die.” I only manage a whisper.
He smiles, but it’s broken a little. Not the usual full-blown megawatt smile he usually gives me. “You didn’t die.”
I sit up, and the room spins, so I clutch Dale’s leather jacket.
“Easy, baby,” he murmurs as his arms tighten around me.
When the room stops revolving, I look over to where Asher is lying face down in a crimson puddle of his own blood. “You killed him.”
“I did.” Dale’s tone is harsh, and I turn to look at him. “He was going to kill you,” he says, softer this time.
“I know.”
“What did he do to you?”
I shake my head vehemently, not caring that it feels like a thousand knives being driven into my skull. “Not today.”
Dale kisses me on my head, and I want to withdraw, but I don’t. My hair smells disgusting, but it feels too good having his lips on me.
“How did you find me?” I rasp.
“Not today,” he murmurs my words back at me, his lips still pressed against my head. “I just want to hold you.”
We stay there for long moments. I know I should be eager to get out of this hellhole, but for now, I just need to be in Dale’s arms. Even if that means I’m sitting on a cold basement floor mere feet away from a dead body.
My boyfriend’s dead body.
Make that ex-boyfriend.
About Ryleigh:
Ryleigh Sloan is a romance author with a master’s degree in being an indecisive control freak. Her favorite pastime is driving her friends crazy by writing multiple books at once.
Following the advice of established authors to read, read, read in order to hone one’s craft she does just that and engrosses herself in as many romance novels as she can get her hands on. Her bad habit of writing more than one book at a time carries over to her reading and she can be found reading, and listening to multiple titles at once and enjoying every moment.
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Books by Ryleigh:
The Dark Side of Chemistry
Cliché
Risky Rockstar: A Hero Club Novel
Karolina
A Nefarious StoryYolanda Olson
Blurb
They tore us apart when we were younger.
I was the bad one they said, and the only way to save her was to send her away from me.
It took years before I found her again, and I spent every waking moment obsessing over everything we could have been together.
She never saw me, though.
Truth be told, I don’t think she saw anyone or anything, but I know that she misses me as much as I do her. And because of that, I’ll finish the work she started.
The sin of one brother is easily levied against the other regardless of how clean his slate may be.
I’ve been watching, waiting … hoping.
And now the moment has arrived.
I’ll make her proud of me.
I’ll show her that I’m nothing to be afraid of, and maybe one day we’ll find each other again.
For now, I have to pay homage to her every move and painfully exquisite thoughts.
I’ll prove to her that we’re not so different.
It’s the only way to get her to love me again.
Prologue
The rain hits my umbrella at an odd angle. My white-blonde hair is damp and sticking to the side of my face, but I don’t make a move to push it away.
I can feel the damp grass starting to seep through the holes in my shoes and lifting one foot, I rub it against the back of my leg.
I do my best not to brush my shoe against the hem of my old, black dress. Even though I’m not the best dressed girl here, I put on my best clothes in the hopes that maybe Mom and Dad would be proud of me for once.
With a sigh, I return my undivided attention to the family plot in front of me.
Somewhere in the distance, I can hear wailing. Someone has lost their loved one and they’re being mourned. But that will never happen for my family—we
