Twisted Game (Filthy Wicked Psychos, #1)

by Eva Ashwood

Dark things hate the light

I’m the most comfortable like this—in front of my computers, laser focused on a task.

there’s something comforting about the repetitiveness of scrubbing data.

In an otherwise chaotic world, having those little things that work like constant rituals makes me feel calm in a way I can’t quite describe.

A fierce, wild rage burns in his eyes, and I feel like I’m falling into the swirling gray of his irises, unable to look away. They’re beautiful, in a way that a dark thunderstorm on the horizon is beautiful. Full of chaos and destruction, but breathtaking too.

They have each other, and I don’t have anyone. No one to watch out for me. No one to have my back. No one to help me as my life spins out of control.

She’s delicate and fragile, like a doll that you’d think would be easy to break. But underneath that porcelain exterior, there’s something more like iron at her core.

Malice shakes his head. “Nah. That part, I get. Sometimes the people you love turn your love against you, and it’s the most brutal weapon in the world.”

A bemused smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. For some reason, these men keep trying to feed me.

Chaos sets my teeth on edge. It makes me feel like there’s a swarm of angry wasps rattling around in my head.

At least these three men are monsters who don’t bother disguising who they are.

They’re violent and dark. Dangerous, blood soaked monsters that leave a trail of death behind them.

I barely recognize the woman staring back at me from inside the mirror, but as our gazes lock, I realize it’s not just the brothers who are monsters. She’s one too.

She laughs, and I feel a strange flush of pride at having been the one to elicit that sound from her, even if it was about something as mundane as peanut butter.

“I mean this world takes people who are sweet and good, and it chews them up and spits them out. It takes all the kindness in their hearts and uses it up, giving them nothing but pain to show for it.”

The lines are sharp and cutting, but there are some gentle curves in there, little moments that break up all the darkness.

He puts rough fingers under my chin, tipping my face up so I’m looking right at him. There’s a dark look in his eyes, possessive and dominant and hungry. “I want to mark you,” he says, his voice low. “I want to put a tattoo on you.”

Nerve endings I didn’t even know I had flare to life, and I feel like I might burst out of my skin from the overwhelming rush of it all. Like my body isn’t big enough to contain all the things I’m feeling.

I don’t understand why the filthier these men are, the more I like it.

The three of them may have turned my whole world upside down, but I’ve left my mark here too.

“There’s always enough room for a bath with a pretty girl.”