Read Online Vein of Love (Blackest Gold Book 1) by R. Scarlett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: R. Scarlett
Ads: Link
and then focused on the large pot, reaching, darting clumsily forward. “Sorry, I’m—sick—”
Molly puked, apologizing through each heave.
Illya rubbed her back until it was over. “Don’t even worry; Tensley will take care of it. It’s what he deserves.”
Molly’s knees buckled and Illya wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her through some sort of back entrance with a lot less people. They stopped in the backyard, and the hazy scent of gardenias calmed Molly’s stomach.
“He killed him,” she said slowly, rubbing her temples.
“They provoked his demon side. Please, stop for a moment. You don’t look well.” Illya led Molly to a wrought iron bench near a small fountain of a winged angel levitating over the water. Ironic.
Molly sat heavily. “His demon side?”
Illya nodded, placing an ice-cold palm on her sweaty forehead. She flinched back. “We were cursed with two sides—some indulge more in the demon side.”
“ Demon side ,” she repeated, shaking her head. Illya had a faint, lilting accent, but from where, she couldn’t tell. “Wow. I just saw someone die. Like…dead. On the floor. Heart yanked out. And he did it.” Molly looked over at Illya, stomach muscles aching from her violent retching. “He’s a monster.” She vigorously shook her head. “I’m not—I’m not marrying him. I’m not doing anything with him!”
Illya shook his head. “He’s not—you just caught him at a bad time.”
A bad time? Was there a good time? Maybe he only killed people on Tuesdays.
“I need—I need to go.” She pushed out of his grip, walking past blooming violet and fuchsia rhododendrons toward the gate. So much beauty…to mask the death. Illya’s soft footsteps followed, and Molly looked back when she felt steady enough. “Illya, please. Don’t follow me. I’m fine.”
His brows lifted, but after a second, he stopped moving. As she walked away, she double-checked to find him standing where she’d left him and sighed unevenly. She speed-walked away from the townhouse, hitting several shoulders and murmuring distracted apologies.
Molly slipped her hand into her skirt pocket for her cell but paused when she felt the crumpled piece of paper first. She yanked it out, unrolling it to read the scribbled writing.
One side: Shoot the Freak
The other side: Athena
Molly furrowed her brow, flipping the paper back and forth, straining to put the pieces together. Nothing added up, nothing made sense, and she pulled at the paper to straighten it out—as if that would help.
Shoot the freak?
What does it mean?
WHEN MOLLY ENTERED her tiny apartment, she rushed into the closet she used as a bedroom and shoved the bit of clothing and toiletries she kept there into a bag. She couldn’t stay there, not when Tensley was going around snapping people’s necks. If she was quick enough, September wouldn’t find her and ask questions.
She snatched a few loose papers from her research for the museum and for her parent’s house. When she was done packing, Molly stopped, eyeing the tiny room with its exposed red bricks and squeaky floorboards.
She’d only been there a few months, but it was a place she felt safe, a solitude.
And now it was gone.
The curtain—aka the door to her room—swished, and she twisted to see September dressed in her Danny’s diner striped shirt, arms crossed. Shit.
“Who was that guy, Mol?”
“He, uh, was a friend,” Molly muttered, turning back to stuffing her bag.
September frowned. “He kissed your hand.”
Her stomach dropped. “Uh, yeah, he’s foreign. I think.” You have no idea how foreign.
“So…what’s going on?”
“What do you mean? Aren’t you supposed to go to work right now?” Molly did one more quick sweep of her room, keeping her eyes down.
“Oh no—don’t switch topics. Where do I start? The fact that you’ve been avoiding me, or that you didn’t even seem to care
Molly puked, apologizing through each heave.
Illya rubbed her back until it was over. “Don’t even worry; Tensley will take care of it. It’s what he deserves.”
Molly’s knees buckled and Illya wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her through some sort of back entrance with a lot less people. They stopped in the backyard, and the hazy scent of gardenias calmed Molly’s stomach.
“He killed him,” she said slowly, rubbing her temples.
“They provoked his demon side. Please, stop for a moment. You don’t look well.” Illya led Molly to a wrought iron bench near a small fountain of a winged angel levitating over the water. Ironic.
Molly sat heavily. “His demon side?”
Illya nodded, placing an ice-cold palm on her sweaty forehead. She flinched back. “We were cursed with two sides—some indulge more in the demon side.”
“ Demon side ,” she repeated, shaking her head. Illya had a faint, lilting accent, but from where, she couldn’t tell. “Wow. I just saw someone die. Like…dead. On the floor. Heart yanked out. And he did it.” Molly looked over at Illya, stomach muscles aching from her violent retching. “He’s a monster.” She vigorously shook her head. “I’m not—I’m not marrying him. I’m not doing anything with him!”
Illya shook his head. “He’s not—you just caught him at a bad time.”
A bad time? Was there a good time? Maybe he only killed people on Tuesdays.
“I need—I need to go.” She pushed out of his grip, walking past blooming violet and fuchsia rhododendrons toward the gate. So much beauty…to mask the death. Illya’s soft footsteps followed, and Molly looked back when she felt steady enough. “Illya, please. Don’t follow me. I’m fine.”
His brows lifted, but after a second, he stopped moving. As she walked away, she double-checked to find him standing where she’d left him and sighed unevenly. She speed-walked away from the townhouse, hitting several shoulders and murmuring distracted apologies.
Molly slipped her hand into her skirt pocket for her cell but paused when she felt the crumpled piece of paper first. She yanked it out, unrolling it to read the scribbled writing.
One side: Shoot the Freak
The other side: Athena
Molly furrowed her brow, flipping the paper back and forth, straining to put the pieces together. Nothing added up, nothing made sense, and she pulled at the paper to straighten it out—as if that would help.
Shoot the freak?
What does it mean?
WHEN MOLLY ENTERED her tiny apartment, she rushed into the closet she used as a bedroom and shoved the bit of clothing and toiletries she kept there into a bag. She couldn’t stay there, not when Tensley was going around snapping people’s necks. If she was quick enough, September wouldn’t find her and ask questions.
She snatched a few loose papers from her research for the museum and for her parent’s house. When she was done packing, Molly stopped, eyeing the tiny room with its exposed red bricks and squeaky floorboards.
She’d only been there a few months, but it was a place she felt safe, a solitude.
And now it was gone.
The curtain—aka the door to her room—swished, and she twisted to see September dressed in her Danny’s diner striped shirt, arms crossed. Shit.
“Who was that guy, Mol?”
“He, uh, was a friend,” Molly muttered, turning back to stuffing her bag.
September frowned. “He kissed your hand.”
Her stomach dropped. “Uh, yeah, he’s foreign. I think.” You have no idea how foreign.
“So…what’s going on?”
“What do you mean? Aren’t you supposed to go to work right now?” Molly did one more quick sweep of her room, keeping her eyes down.
“Oh no—don’t switch topics. Where do I start? The fact that you’ve been avoiding me, or that you didn’t even seem to care
Similar Books
