Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
Laurel
My head hurts.
Not a dull ache. It throbs.
A sharp, rhythmic pulse like someone’s swinging a hammer inside my skull.
Opening my eyes takes herculean effort. When I manage it, my vision blurs. Clears. Blurs again. I blink, groggy, as my surroundings slowly come into focus.
I’m in a bus or maybe an RV. Not the kind tourists rent.
The kind rock stars use. Custom-designed and lavish.
Everything around me is draped in dark fabric.
Plush. Theatrical. Black velvet cushions on the seat underneath me.
I stroke my fingers over them, surprised at the softness, even more surprised to find my hands unbound.
Black curtains cover every window so I can’t tell if it’s day or night.
The only light comes from a small chandelier over the table in front of me.
It’s made of crystals that sparkle and shimmer, swaying with each subtle jolt of motion.
We’re moving. I can feel it in the floor beneath me, vibration humming up through the seat, rattling my bones.
Where we’re going? I have no idea.
Across the table from me, sitting on a long bench seat identical to mine, are two men. One is Jackson, with his twin scars on his cheeks. When he sees me looking, he smirks and deliberately drags his tongue across his bottom lip, slow, suggestive, vile.
I flinch back, my stomach curling with revulsion.
If Jackson is scary, the man sitting next to him is downright terrifying. He’s older, early- to mid-forties, a sprinkle of grey at his temples that stands out against his jet-black hair. His eyes are bright blue, almost merry, cheerful, like he knows an inside joke no one else finds funny.
It’s not his face that frightens me.
No.
It’s his tattoos.
Teardrops that extend in long lines, dripping down his cheeks on both sides. With no end in sight, they continue, disappearing under his shirt collar.
Endless. Innumerable.
A body count etched in ink.
And I’m trapped in a moving box with him.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.
It’s okay, I tell myself. Carrson’s on his way. He’ll find me.
My fingers twitch, just a tiny movement, as the urge to touch the tracker in my shoulder almost overwhelms me. I stifle the gesture. Force my hands to lie still in my lap.
It doesn’t matter. Somehow the man with the tattoos knows. His eyes sweep over me, and a slow smile spreads across his face.
“Everyone says you’re a smart girl,” he drawls, syrupy-slow, soaked in Southern charm like barrel-aged bourbon. “So I’m guessing you know what a Faraday cage is, right?”
I nod once. “It’s a box made of metal, usually wire mesh, that blocks electric fields and electromagnetic signals.”
He lifts a finger, the nail painted black, and drags it down one inked cheek, drawing my gaze to those endless teardrops. Maybe it’s an itch. Maybe it’s a warning.
“Very good. I’m impressed,” he says, like he’s a professor and I just aced my final exam.
“You’re sittin’ in the middle of one right now.
Whole damn bus is rigged top to bottom. That little tracker in your shoulder?
” He clicks his tongue, then grins wide, sharp.
“Dead as dirt. No signals in, no signals out.” A beat and then he adds, “No one’s coming to save you. ”
My heart stutters.
“Wh-who…” I lick my lips and try again. “Who are you?”
The man leans back, cool and confident. He stretches his arm across the seat back.
“Me?” He smiles. “Name’s Silas Creed. Run a little organization called the Jackals. You may have heard of us?”
The Jackals.
The rival gang that fights with Ashford House for dominance. The one responsible for the tainted cocaine. For the fifteen-year-old who died.
He watches recognition settle over me like he can taste it. His grin widens, as if he enjoys the flavor of my dismay.
Movements slow, almost languid, he leans forward, his elbows on the table. His voice is rich with honeyed charm. So sweet it’d make your teeth ache, but underneath the sugar, there’s something rotten, unhinged.
“And you’re Laurel Turner, in the flesh.” Silas exhales a soft, delighted laugh, his gaze never wavering from my face. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”
THE END
To be continued in:
Pretty Savage
The Order. Book Two: Defy
Because The Order isn’t finished with Laurel yet…
and she’s not done with them either.
Rules will be broken.
Blood will be spilled.
She's not here to play nice.
She's here to make them pay.
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***
Wait! What about Preston Lowe?
Laurel’s prom date.
The one who thought he got away with everything.
His fate will SHOCK you.
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It’s raw. It’s dark. It’s the justice you’ve been waiting for.
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***
Also by Dr. Melissa Dymond/Lexi Davis
Holiday Star- a celebrity holiday romance
Holiday Wedding- a holiday romance with suspense
Holiday Love- A best friend's brother, fake dating holiday romance
Paging Dr. Hart- a medical romance with suspense
Deeply Examined- a Dark Medical Romance.
Hold Me For Now- a spicy dark romance novella
Pretty Vicious. The Order. Book One: Obey- Southern Gothic Dark Academia Novel.
Pretty Savage. The Order. Book Two: Defy- Southern Gothic Dark Academia Novel.
Claimed By Her Monsters- a Why Choose Paranormal Monster Romance Novella
***
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Let me introduce you to Dr. Adam West.
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Here's an excerpt from Chapter 4.
Adam
I shift nervously as I listen to the chime of Jessica’s doorbell echo somewhere in her apartment.
It’s fall, the air crisp enough that I pull my jacket tight and shove my hands into my pockets.
There’s the sound of rushing footsteps and the rattle of chains as she unlocks her front door.
I glance around one last time before she opens it, scowling.
I don’t like where she lives, not one bit.
It’s a run-down neighborhood. Not quite a slum, but the kind of place that will turn into one within the next decade.
There’s graffiti on the dumpster across the street, next to a neon-lit convenience store.
The concrete steps that lead up to her place are chipped and stained.
It’s all so disgustingly familiar. I used to live down the road in a shithole just like this one.
Bright light shines out when she swings the door open, making me squint. I blink against the glare and see her standing there, with the glow outlining her. It highlights her hair, lighting it up like a damn halo.
“Hi,” she breathes out, smiling up at me.
Something pulls in my chest, sharp and fast. An answering grin lifts one corner of my mouth before I can stop it.
I attempt to straighten my features. I’ve thought about it a lot and decided to keep my walls up this evening.
She seems to enjoy the commanding doctor persona, and I like the distance that it places between us.
The last thing I need is to fall for Jessica Jones.
Screw her, yes.
Love her, no.
My life is carefully organized. Everything in nice little compartments. I don’t need her disrupting it more than she already has.
Without greeting her back, I push into the small living room of her apartment.
My mood darkens even further when I see the threadbare carpet, worn couch, and tiny TV.
Are those actual rabbit ears on her TV? Like the twin antennas that people used in the 1980s to get reception.
Does she not even have cable, for god’s sake?
I toss my brown leather satchel onto a chair near the door, followed by my jacket, then turn to her. I’m not sure what my expression reads, but it must be bad because Jessica takes a step back and raises her hands as if to ward me off.
“Are you okay?” she asks warily.
I take a slow, measured breath before answering. “Fine. And how are you this evening?”
She blinks, then brightens with a teasing smile. “So formal, Dr. West,” she teases, batting her lashes. “I’m doing well. Extra good, actually, since I got a certain surprise gift from you today.”
Some of the tension leaks from my shoulders. “Do you like it?” I ask, softer than I intend.
Her grin widens, easing a knot inside me I didn’t know was there.
“I love it!” she exclaims, then grabs my hand and drags me after her, chattering excitedly. I snatch my satchel from the chair as we pass by.
“It’s so pretty!” Jessica says. “Exactly what I would have picked out for myself.”
She tugs me into her bedroom and waves to the large bed located in the center. “Look! Isn’t it amazing?”
The bed looks good, but it takes up the entire room. That’s how cramped her bedroom is. Irritation flashes through me that she lives like this. Jessica the prom queen deserves a real crown. A palace. Not this.
“What do you do for a living, exactly?” I demand, my tone harsh.
Again, she steps just out of my reach, until the backs of her legs are pressed against the mattress, and I instantly regret my words.
I could have googled to find out more about her, but I deliberately hadn’t.
It’s better not to know. I’m here for one thing only.
To satisfy my desire and hers too. I’m not here to get to know her.
She lifts her chin, and even I can admire that spark of bravery in the face of an angry man.
“I’m a teacher. Just like my parents before me. High-school math.”