Never Die for a Sinner (Never Ever #6)

Prologue

Worthless . . .

My knuckles turn white from gripping the porcelain sink in front of me so hard.

Pathetic . . .

My hands shake—the empty bottle beside me a testament to my fading self-control.

Trash . . .

My eyes snap up to meet themselves in the mirror. The ice-blue is dull, rimmed in red from a lack of sleep.

It’s been three days since I’ve slept through the night. Three days of torture from my mind that doesn’t let me rest.

I fucking hate myself. I hate the voices in my head.

I hate the taste of whiskey, and I hate that I can’t live without it.

I hate that he’s still here . Still alive, clinging to his useless corpse in my mother’s house.

I grab for the bottle, reminded that it’s empty, while I stare at my own reflection.

The same eyes that stare back at me belong to him .

I fucking hate them. I hate myself for looking like him.

I hate that I can’t get the voices out of my head. His voice reminding me how worthless I am. Reminding me I’ll never be more than what he’s reduced me to.

Mostly, I hate that I’m out of whiskey.

In my sleep-deprived mind’s eye, I don’t see my face anymore. I see his. The same black hair. The same darkness hidden in blue eyes. The same monster.

In a flash, my fist snaps out, the glass slicing my skin as the broken shards rain down into the sink and over the rough cabin floor beneath me.

Seeing my broken reflection somehow offers a calming clarity that I wasn’t prepared for.

The pain in my knuckles barely registers while my mind goes blank of all things except how to end this.

The same man who took my mother, my brother . . . Who almost took my entire fucking family from me, is alive in the same house where she sleeps.

The ghost that lives across the hall . . .

I won’t let him try to take her, too.

And suddenly . . . the voices stop.