Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)

by J.M. Darhower

“If you give the monster a name, it takes away its power, because we’re really just afraid of what we don’t know. If you name it, if you know what it is, you can be stronger than it. So face your fears and wipe your tears, remember? Face your fears and wipe your tears.”

“Every single time,” I say, “but I wouldn’t call it a line. It’s true. If you don’t take good care of what you’ve got, someone will be more than happy to take it away.”

But the gut? The gut knows. The gut remembers. You should always listen to it.

I’m also apparently someone who likes animal metaphors when I need some damn sleep.

Someone once told me that evil can sense itself inside of others, our hearts beating in a different rhythm than most, playing a morbid song that only other evil knows.

like how she can’t go a week without a fresh manicure, picking out a new pink polish every time, which means I’ve seen thirty-fucking-nine different shades of pussy pink coating her nails, but yet she can’t be bothered with something as simple as my name. “Morgan,” I say. “Morgan Myers.”

Death doesn’t always come with a scream and a bang, no… death, when premature, usually comes like a whisper on the wind, quietly stalking you until it can rob you of your last breath.

Scar. I still don’t know his real name. The man’s like Beetlejuice... or hell, maybe he’s Voldemort. He’s fucking Bloody Mary. Don’t dare say his name or he might show up. I get why, too. He’s not the devil you want to conjure. But I’ve dealt with a lot of evil in my short life, and this motherfucker is the least of my problems.

Frustration clouds her face, and I half expect her to hit me, to swing that fist she clenches and punch me right in the jaw, but instead she comes at me, shoving against me, before thrusting up on her tiptoes. Her mouth is on mine, those red lips forceful as they kiss me hard, furiously moving, like maybe she couldn’t find the words to speak so she’s trying to steal them from me. Figures. Fucking thief.

There’s a reason girls yell ‘fire’ instead of ‘rape’, why we lie and say we have boyfriends instead of just saying ‘no’ when we’re not interested. Because a lot of men respect another man’s property more than they respect a woman’s right to her own body.

Moments are pieces, formed together and built upon, creating the bigger picture within the border of your world. My puzzle is full of deformed shapes and jagged edges, but it still all fits together in its own twisted way, making a hideous fucking picture of my reality.

“Yeah, well, life sucks, Scarlet,” I say. “You know that as well as anyone. Sometimes beasts are just fucking beasts, no matter how much you love them, Belle. It’s a fact. I’ve seen love bring a monster back to life before, but most of the time, the monster just loves you to death.”

His lips are the softest things about him, warm and gentle, like a slice of heaven wrapped in hell, so worth battling the flames to feel his fire.

My brother likes to fuck his girlfriend as she sobs over fictional characters.

I’m going to tell you a secret. A big secret. It’s working. What she’s doing, the way she moves? The way her body fits on top of mine, forming to me, warming me? It’s got me feeling some type of way. I want to throw her off and pin her down, fuck her until she can’t even walk and then make her crawl out of my goddamn house. But then I’d just want to drag her right back, because she’s under my skin, and what she’s doing? It’s hot.

“You have to be careful who you give pieces of yourself to, because even a little bit here and there adds up to a hell of a lot eventually, and it’s not worth it, losing yourself to them, giving yourself to people who don’t give a fuck about you. You keep pouring yourself into other people and you’ll just wind up empty.”

“Yeah, well, that sure keeps things interesting, doesn’t it? A win was always a win to me, no matter how it came about, but where’s the fun in winning if it’s always by default? If I’m the only man left in the race, does it even really matter if I cross the finish line? Because I’m not entirely sure that’s a win for me anymore, Seven. I think everyone else just lost.”

“Once upon a time, there was a woman—a woman with a gorgeous little body and a mouth made of sin. The only thing sweeter than this woman’s pussy was the thirst she had inside of her, a thirst for fucking and fighting, for tempting fate,” he says, and I let out a whimper, gripping to him tightly, as another orgasm starts to take over. Fuck. It hits me so intense I buck against him, my fingernails tearing skin as I bite his palm. “Jesus Christ,” he growls, yanking his hand away from my mouth, griping instead to my jaw, shoving my head away, forcing the side of my face into the mattress. His mouth is back on my ear, tongue swirling around it before he says, “This woman, she tempted fate so much it was a goddamn miracle she wasn’t dead, but she was lucky, I think, because fate brought her a man, one who would kill for a sip of the thirst inside of her, who would start a war over that sweet, sweet pussy.”