There Are No Saints (Sinners, #1)

by Sophie Lark

I’m probably recovering faster than most people. I’m used to getting over things that really fucking suck.

I do not love men: I love what devours them.

Maybe the common denominator is me. Maybe I am fucking crazy. And maybe that’s just fine. I’d rather be crazy than be like half the people I meet.

I’ve had a long and ugly history of people not believing me. Stories twisted, facts changed, people who weren’t what they seemed to be. It really starts to fuck with your sense of reality. Every time someone tells you that you’re wrong, it didn’t happen like you said it happened, it couldn’t, you’re a liar, you’re a child, you don’t understand . . .

And yet . . . not all of us were drawn to Prince Charming. Some little girls ate up the stories of ball gowns and castles and knights who slayed the dragon . . . While some little girls read the stories of a dark pathway into the woods . . . a twisted mansion with black windows and fog covering the grounds . . . That’s where we wanted to go. No matter what we might find inside . . .

I stare at him, mouth open. “You’re joking.” Cole smiles thinly. “You know me better than that.”

“When god handed out tits, I got in line three times.”