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January 3 - February 13, 2025
My mother used to say beautiful things were wrought from the most unimaginable pain.
When she died, I know people expected me to mourn her. That’s what kids are supposed to do when they lose a parent. Then again, most parents don’t try to sell their kids to their crime-lord boyfriend, who deals almost exclusively with sex trafficking.
“You have to donate something.” Liam raises his brows. “We’re trying to improve your image here. Do you know how bad it’ll look if you attend a charity function and don’t actually do anything?” “I don’t really give a shit how it looks. This was your idea.”
the way his veins bulge against the Medusa design covering the back of it. Her serpentine hair stretches out over each of his fingers, her eyes practically glowing even though the design is just line work and shading.
“The fun,” Aiden says, letting his gaze drop to my mouth, then lower and back up, “is that I know what to call you when I collect my dues.” My eyebrows scrunch together, and his jump. “You weren’t for sale to him, angel, because I already paid for you.”
“Fate.” He gestures between us. “It’s working right here, right now.” Oh, good. My childhood crush is a crazy person.
“Yes, just like that, angel. You’re fucking magnificent, coming for me like this. Such a good girl for your stranger.”
My gaze flickers to the red velvet sofa at the foot of my bed; the green dress that little angel left behind is draped over the arm, taunting me.
The golden halo etched into the skin beneath my thumb begs to differ.
Dr. Kal Anderson looks like Hades himself, if Hades were well over six feet tall and unbelievably attractive.
Fuck, the lotion.
If Riley Kelly is alive, I’m going to track her down and make her wish she wasn’t.
Unfortunately for her, my obsession hasn’t lessened. And when an artist has a muse, even if that muse is toxic and life-ruining, they don’t stop seeking them out.
You’re being ridiculous, Riley. There’s no one out there. No one is coming for you. No one knows you’re here.
There’s no other explanation for why my name would be coming from beyond the closed bathroom door.
“Angel! It’s me—” “Angel—” Angel, Angel, Angel. Rage boils in my chest, percolating so quickly I can hardly catch my breath as it spills over.
Maybe I am a monster.
“That’s it, pretty girl. I knew you could do it. Knew you’d look so good coming on my cock.”
“Take it,” he mutters, and I can’t tell who exactly he’s chanting to. “Take my cock, pretty girl. Fits you perfectly.”
“And you, Riley fucking Kelly, are beautiful in a way that’d make the constellations weep.”
“The only thing wrong with me is that I’m not currently suffocating with your thighs wrapped around my head.”
“When I said I wanted to see all of you, I meant all of you. Now, be quiet and let me enjoy my meal, or I’ll find something to gag you with.”
“Goddamn, you’re such a good girl, taking me at both ends. You look fucking perfect getting stuffed full like this.”
“I know, pretty girl. Fuck, I know. Feels so goddamn good to be fucked, doesn’t it? To be owned?” I’m losing it, losing the last vestiges of my sanity as they break off and evaporate into her soul. “Take it, Riley. Own me. Claim me right back, and make me blow inside this sweet, filthy cunt.”
It’s obsession. Addiction. I’m a fucking addict. A fiend for this pink-haired angel.
