There Are No Saints (Sinners, #1)

by Sophie Lark

But there’s another thing my mother always said about me: I’m a stubborn motherfucker. And I don’t take advice from anybody, least of all her.

And I realize . . . she’s everything I dreamed of and more. More vengeful. More strategic. More effective. More fucked up.

Mara slips her hand into mine. Her fingers interlock with mine. They fit together like links in a chain. “I shouldn’t like you now,” she says. “But I do.” I shouldn’t like her, either. But I do.

She’s electric. I touch her, and the current runs through me. She lights me up, turns me on, fills me with energy. The cost is the loss of control.

“It’s up to you what’s good and what’s bad. There is no god outside you. You are god. This is your world, your life. YOU decide what to feel.”

Mara has an incredible ability to treat the bizarre as normal. To continue on in her daily life no matter what happens to her.