Sneak peek # 7 from my upcoming novel. Out 7/15.
She’s been sitting here since dawn contemplating… She’s not sure what. Just sitting here. Watching him. Taking distant note of the novel sensation of pure hate running through her veins. It’s like acid for blood, bubbling, burning, eating away at her until every cell vibrates with the same hunger.
To hurt him.
To find a way to hurt him as much as she has been hurt.
Except, Sophie is not sure how to do that.
Cut off a limb? Take a butter knife from the kitchen and just keep sawing away to the femur, break the thick, white osseous tissue by shoving in the point, levering all her weight against it, revel in his screams as she breaks it just the smallest fracture at a time? When he’s lying on the floor with a leg missing, maybe he’ll understand this strange, empty feeling in her chest. It’s like a phantom organ. Because it feels like her heart is there. She can still feel her pulse when she puts her fingers to her throat. But… nothing. There’s really just a big hole there. There’s the endless dark of an empty universe beneath her breast.
Maybe she should skin him. Leave every nerve ending raw and agonizing and the whole world can reach in its grubby hands now because you’ve got nothing left, no walls, nothing but bloody muscles, quivering with the effort to hold you upright…
Her hands are starting to cramp from gripping the chair so tightly.
Interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open behind her.
Coming down the stairs.
She’s wearing slippers and a bathrobe and she’s carrying a teacup.
It’s deja vu. It’s only been a few hours, Sophie realizes, since she’d walked in with the first cup as the task force dragged Rafe to the basement. Her hands had been shaking then, steady now, but they hold the exact same steaming liquid.
It’s Amanda’s own stash. Something fancy and loose leaf. She seems to think if she can just get Sophie to drink enough tea, everything will be all right.
Different room, different stage. Same actors. Same scene.
“The cure for all that ails me?” Sophie snaps now. She doesn’t mean to. In fact, she wouldn’t even have noticed the harsh grate to her own words if Amanda’s face hadn’t fallen, her steps faltering, slippers stuttering against the floor.
“Can’t imagine I can make things any worse,” Amanda finally mutters.
Sophie can only snort her agreement. Takes a searing sip.
And that’s when she realizes the bastard’s eyes are open. And perfectly lucid.