More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
An undead psychopath to whom she was mildly attracted, but that was another stupid problem entirely.
One moment, he was kissing her. The next, he was terrorizing her, screaming in a rage about how she was his property.
Get dressed, find a car, and drive it through the invisible wall. Get home, call the cops, then cry into a bottle of whiskey.
Best case scenario, it was a pack of cops coming to rescue her. Worst case, it was Simon coming to kill her.
“I’m not the Clown, darling. I’m the Puppeteer. Did you hit your head last night in your pathetic attempt at escape?”
He was eating a bag of popcorn, smiling as though she were providing the best show in the world.
“Are you just dense? Please tell me you’re not an idiot.”
“Don’t call me names, you overdressed crimson pimp. I’m well past my limit, and I’m done taking shit from somebody who looks like they fell out of the bargain bin at a Halloween outlet.”
There was a sultry sinfulness to him, even if he was a murderous psychopath.
She stood, cracked her neck, then turned to face him. She slapped him. Hard. Right across the face.
“You said you couldn’t hurt me.” “I didn’t. I slammed your hand in the proverbial car door. That’s all. You’re better now.”
He seemed to ride the line between manic amusement and violent fury like the edge of a razor.
“Get out, Simon.” She glared at him. He smiled. “Make me.”
“Wait. The only reason you’re being nice to me is because you don’t like feeling my pain?” She narrowed an eye at him. “Yes?”
“Would it help if I said I’d like to do dark and sinful sexual acts to you, as well?”
“You hit me hard.” “You deserved it.”
“If you hadn’t broken my glasses, you wouldn’t have to stare at them, so this is your fault.”
Come, darling.
“You need to understand your cage before you can try to pick the lock.”
Not that he didn’t enjoy tugging her around on his strings—he would never, ever get sick of that—but this made for a lot less fussing.
Better she be shouting and swinging her fists than hiding in a corner. It made his heart hurt less, at any rate.
ripping his stolen property back out of Cora and then devouring the rest of her whole. Or maybe not whole. Maybe he’d keep her for a while.
She wasn’t in a panic anymore—but she was sad. It bothered him.
And you get to spend time with me. You should feel honored.”
“I wanted to turn you into a doll because I want you, Cora. I wanted to keep you.
“What about terrorizing me?” “Okay, that part I do for fun.”
She slapped him hard on his chest. He caught her hand in his and kissed her fingers before she tugged and freed herself.
This is incredibly problematic.
He wanted her in his lap. Straddling him.
She found herself sitting in his lap sideways, her head tucked against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head.
“Go fuck yourself with a corn dog.”
“Sounds squishy. But I suppose if you’re into that, I’m willing to try anything once.”
We can be your friends. We can be even more than that.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I prefer you angry. I hate to see you like this.” With the pad of his thumb, he carefully wiped her tears away. “Never mind the terrible heartburn it gives me.”
“Now, unless you want this moment to grow incredibly awkward for both of us, I do recommend you get off my lap.”
But she wasn’t as frightened when he was around as she was when she was alone. And that…that was deeply troubling.
When he wasn’t chasing her, yanking her on strings, or shooting her, he wasn’t totally insufferable.
But the strange and monstrous shadow that stretched off him onto the wall beside them was…petting the hair of her shadow.
She opted to eat her ice cream and try not to watch the grinning, nightmarish shadow as it snuggled—straight up snuggled—against hers.
“Why do I get the feeling the fact that you have a fucked-up Peter Pan shadow is one of the least messed up parts of this place?”
He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it slowly. Then he grinned and licked the side of her finger.
“We aren’t friends, Simon—” “Quite true.” “—and we aren’t lovers, either.” “I wouldn’t be so quick to make that call.”
“Careful, Cora. We’ve only just met, and you’re already running out of things for me to have sex with.
Pretty soon, I’ll start thinking you’re jealous. Or…what’s the word? Projecting?”
Are you okay?” “Yeah…I mean no. But I guess.”
Something tells me that a door with a deadbolt doesn’t keep that whack-job out.”
We’re not…bad people.” “You say that in a way that makes me not believe you, Jack.”
“So, the circus is just randomly baby-birding us bits of people.
“I prefer not to be called ‘fat man’ or ‘tub of lard’ or ‘overproved loaf of bread’ like Simon insists on doing.”
“Kinda! Kinda not really. Mostly, maybe.”
