The Death Club (Dead Men Walking, #1)

by Caroline Peckham

People always hated others for being different, but really they just

I don’t die on the ground like a pigeon fallen from its perch, I die like a warrior with fire blazing all around me and the whole world roaring my name!

Although I had heard that there were some people who liked reading stories like mine about fucked up men like me and fantasised about taking them to bed, so maybe that was where I’d find my people. The readers who understood that sometimes a bit of choking was perfectly acceptable or maybe even desirable and wouldn’t judge me for it.

"I'll love you until death and beyond, my girl," I promised her in return.

"We're all just pawns on their chessboard, aren't we?"

“Oh my god, I don’t know my own power.”

It was always best to hold onto something sweet when life got bad.

All’s fair in love and gore.

I was getting nervous and when that happened, I started talking. The word vomit was coming, and I couldn’t stop it because I had questions.

‘por favor deja de hablarme’ whenever we started chatting, and that definitely meant ‘hello, how are you.’

all is fair in death and chaos - and if my time has come to pass, let me go with a blade in my hand, and without any class.

I’d always wanted to kill a Lionel. There was something about that name which just screamed evil overlord to me, and I felt it was best to rid the population of them just in case they ever tried to rise up and rule the world like some kind of megalomaniac dragon king.

I was a strong, independent woman just like Beyonce.

Damn bastard tastes like sugared sin.

"Te destriparé como a un cerdo uno de estos días," I spat at him, but it only made his smile widen. "You wanna say that in English so I can slap your bitch face for it?" Niall challenged, stalking closer to us.

Blue’s my favourite colour. It’s the colour of all things free.

I’m a pretty little Fae with lilac hair being screwed by a sexy snake man in the land of Solaria.