Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)

by J.M. Darhower

Wear the skin of a rattlesnake even if there’s not a single drop of venom inside of you, because if you make them believe, they won’t come close enough to get bit. They won’t get close enough to see that maybe it’s a disguise; maybe you’re not as dangerous as they think.

Would he let go? I like to think so. But I’m not sure, and that’s what causes the panic to trickle into my chest, spiking my system. It’s sick. Maybe I’m sick, the fact that it excites me, that being just a breath away from death makes me feel alive again.

For someone with a talent for zoning out, I can’t shut my mind off,

“That’s usually how it goes, you know... dying has nothing on the horrors of surviving.”

I yearn to mean something. Do you know what that’s like? To know you’re poison but still be desperate for someone to sip from you anyway?