Make Me (The Silent Hollow, #2)

by Alina May

No, straight boys are usually my thing.

I like things that are the farthest from sweet.

Made it up like I’m dying for a grippy sock vacation.

Ronan is mine to break. Mine to torture. Mine to play with. And when I’m done making him pay for reminding me of what I can’t have, he’ll be mine to kill.

I have never in my life been asked if I hump my walls before. Gonna add that to the list of 'what the fuck, why me, please never again' things that I have going on my notes app. I do keep a list. Why? I don’t know. I like to remember each embarrassing moment so it’s crystal clear.

The toilet still listens better than god ever did.

Oh, goody. I’m looking at my talking stuffed animal to verify if I’m seeing things. I need to stop fucking drinking.

I drop the knife. “Don’t bring a gun to a knife fight,” I grit. “It’s rude.”

Sweet Jesus, I am definitely going insane. But it’s this, or go to see Jesus. And fuck that. That’s one man I don’t want to meet.

But powdered donuts are life, so at least there’s that.

‘Why is it that they’re hotter when they’re mad?’ Buffalo’s voice has gone croony.

‘Ask for a kiss before you die.’ Buffalo’s voice is a mix of panic and excitement, making things worse.

‘We can shoot out his pretty eyes later.’ Buffalo may be an ass, but he’s my ass.

Fuck me. No, don’t fuck me! It was a figure of speech. Fuck off, Logan. No, don’t fuck off. Don’t fuck anything. No. Fucking.

I shouldn’t have eaten so many flaming hot Cheetos. This is a regular thought of mine, but once I start, I can’t seem to fucking stop. And I always regret it. But they’re so fucking good.

Looks like a bullet grazed him. Or like a turtle took a bite out of him. A turtle bullet.

“You fucking…maple syruped me!”

“Weenie drizzle.”

“Not quite begging, but we’ll get there.”

That’s hot. Okay, maybe my brain isn’t that scared.

The flush in his cheeks is adorable. Sure, it’s an angry flush, but I love it all the same.

But still, I go. What other choice do I have? Because I’m finding that anywhere Ronan Carter goes, I’ll follow.

A forever little nap.”

No, don’t drive with the window down. No, don’t dissolve him. No, don’t have any fun.

Ronan and I are fucking bombs, just waiting to be triggered. It’s dangerous and destructive and fucking addictive.

It’s time to kill a man with my boyfriend and our lapdog.

“I’m trying to make you,” Logan hisses. “Trying to make you safe. Make you happy. Make you seen.” He leans in, those blue eyes so fucking tortured it kills me. “But here’s the thing. You have to let me.”

Finally, in a quiet voice, I whisper, “Okay. Make me.”

“I do my best texting while I’m shitting.”

Life is so weird.

And, in that moment, nothing is okay, and everything is okay all at the same time. Life isn’t fair, but it’s also so, so beautiful.