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basking in the gothic glory of Parsons Manor.
I’m the type to stare dead into your face with a frozen smile after being asked a question while my brain processes the fact that I didn’t even hear the question.
His eyes. One so dark and bottomless, it feels like staring into a well. And the other, an ice blue so light, it’s nearly white, reminding me of a husky’s eyes. A scar slashes straight down through the discolored eye, as if it didn’t already demand attention.
I’m wearing the same sweatpants I’ve been wearing the past week, there’s a mysterious stain on my crotch, and no, I don’t want to fucking come over.
There’s someone watching me. I can feel it. I’m as sure of it as I am about the existence of gravity.
They’re a shitty color, just like his shitty personality and even shittier stroke game.
Well, in this case—if you don’t want to get caught and charged for murder, dispose of the body yourself.
All I want to do is break her. Shatter her into pieces. And then arrange those pieces to fit against my own. I don’t care if they don’t fit—I’ll fucking make them.
I created an entire organization built solely around ending human trafficking. I started out as a hacker exposing the truths of our corrupt government. And then, as I became more aware of their true nature—the depravity of their sickness, it turned into personally snuffing out every single one of these sick bastards, starting from the bottom up.
No one can do this job and lose their fucking shit,
No—the girls in this warehouse are far tougher than he could ever hope to be. He's just a whiny bitch trapped in a man’s body.
my hand nearly shaking from the fury of having to unhook a fucking collar from a little girl’s neck.
UNKNOWN: Sneaking off with random men, little mouse? If I catch his hands anywhere near you, they’ll end up in your mailbox by morning.
but then he went and topped it off by implying Addie wasn’t anything special. She’s the first of her kind to exist, and there will never be another like her.
His face turns beet red, like the apples my mother used to pluck for me from the orchard as a kid. Always loved those things.
An array of emotions filter through his eyes. Pretty sure I see the five stages of grief in there, too.
