More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“I have a job that I trust only to the elusive Black Wolf.” The nickname has me inwardly groaning. It isn’t enough that the locals refer to me as a fucking werewolf, of all things, but the cartel has adopted this showy supervillain reputation, thanks to Julio, who made it a point early on in my criminal career to use a childhood scar as a means of branding me a dangerous sicario.
“Do not incline my heart to any evil thing. To practice deeds of wickedness with men who do iniquity; and do not let me eat of their delicacies.”
Because it’s finally sank in. I’m alone. Completely and utterly alone.
These days, I try to document as many moments as I can, because I’ve come to learn that the mind is not a reliable enough storyteller of the past. Its memories are an ever-changing landscape that moves and slides with time. Like a viscous liquid that can be poured into any shape.
Live. Fall in love. But don’t ever let some ungrateful prick put out your fire. You find someone that burns with you. For you. You’re aces, kid. Always remember that.
It’s possible there’s nothing there for me, and going would be a complete waste of time and money. Or maybe this key unlocks more than I realize.
the island’s dark folklore has always given me the impression of a southern French Transylvania, darkly enchanting, and the locals are said to be friendly, if not a little strange for their beliefs in the spectral and macabre. This island alone boasts more ghost stories than all of Louisiana combined.
Sever all ties. Because in this world, what you love most is the first thing they’ll strip away before the bullet even hits your skull.
The fact is, I don’t know what I want. Like I’m rummaging through life’s big pantry, trying to decide what tastes good. My heart is starving for something I’ve never had before, but the ache in my chest feels masochistically good. It’s a reminder that I’m still alive. That I still crave something from this world. And the beauty in all that rejection lies in never having to mourn the end of something that was never there to begin with. Like cutting open a dry vein with no fear of bleeding out.
I wish I could say that this little reality check was a complete turn off to me, but hello catnip, meet kitten.
something tells me, once I’ve had a taste of this girl, once won’t be enough.
“Because it’s like any destructive force of nature. Too much creates imbalance. And a love that strong would consume a person. Put everyone around them at risk. Love kills.”
“My name is Thierry James. Bergeron is my mother’s name. My father is Russ James.”
“You’re right. You can’t change who I am. But you’ve already changed what I want.” “What is it that you want?” “To hear you scream my name.”
The girl is mine.
“Seriously? You’re not going to throw one of those possessive and jealous alpha male fits, like something out of a mafia romance?” “You’re free to wear whatever you like, catin. Just as I’m free to kill anyone who looks at you in it.”
Thinking on that for a moment, I stare up at him. “And now that you’ve torn me open, are you disappointed?” “No. Unfortunately, I’m twice as intrigued.” “Why is that unfortunate?” “Because all I think about is how badly I want to stick you into a jar and keep you for myself.”
I reach out to cup her cheek, and something aches inside my chest. A gnawing, twisting pain, like a steel blade winding through flesh. At first, I think it’s a heart attack coming on, and wouldn’t that be fitting, but it isn’t. It’s her. So fucking beautiful, it hurts. La lune. Les étoiles. Ma Céleste. The moon. The stars. My Céleste. It’s here, in this moment, that a ludicrous thought enters my mind, and I realize what lengths I would go to, to keep her. I would take on the most dangerous cartel in Mexico for this woman.
“I don’t want anything else, but you, chère,” I say, raggedly. “No one else.”
“The Goatman is merely an idea perpetuated by those who need to believe in something. He’s like a scapegoat for their shit lives. They sacrifice for him, believing that success will be theirs. Blah blah blah. Faith is a very powerful thing. Even when it’s not entirely based in fact.”
“Because I’m too fucking selfish to give up what I love for anyone. God, or devil. Heaven, or hell.” “Did you just … indirectly profess that you love me?”
“Je t'aime, ma ‘tit moiselle.” “I love you, too,” I say against his lips. It’s the first time I’ve said those words to any man who wasn’t a father to me, in some way.
life I intend to live one breath at a time and savor every moment fate has handed me. Because ghost stories aren’t meant to have happy endings. But mine did.
