Stillhouse Lake (Stillhouse Lake, #1)

by Rachel Caine

Guns don’t keep anyone safe. They only equal the playing field.

What we have is real love, but real love is messy and complicated.

I hate him with so much force that it feels like dying.

My voice, to my horror, breaks right in two, cracks on the word, and inside, I begin to shatter. I hadn’t realized I was made of glass until now, when it all gives way and the tears come, tears like nothing I’ve felt before, a tsunami of grief and rage and fury and betrayal and horror, of guilt,

I raise my head and meet his gaze. Something in it steadies me. Brings me an inch or two up from the darkness, into something that’s at least faintly hopeful.