Sabre makes me step outside my safe zone.įrom that uptight dress to the hair she wears in a damn bun, down to those black rimmed glasses. I’ve lived in the shadows my whole life, afraid to see what is beyond my own little corner of the world. He’s a biker with a filthy mouth and a dirty mind and he sets me on fire. I know every adjective in the English language and I can’t describe Sabre. Did you ever wonder what Skull’s reaction was after meeting with Colin? And where did the recording Beth talked about come from? Read on! Also included is a sample of some great new book coming out by brand-spanking new author Becca Taylor! Turn the page for all the pretty extras, including a previously released novella of Sabre, Latch, and Annie-Craved-containing an all new epilogue. For now Look for Conquered, The final book in the trilogy, April 2016 He will not die until I can breathe again. That thought brings me a very small sliver of peace-for now. Pistol barely moves, this pain hardly detectable under the deluge of other pain he endures. “Not tonight, carbon, not tonight.” I take my cigarette and, finding that one untouched spot around his collarbone, I push the lighted end of the cigarette to it and curl my nose at the smell of burning flesh. How many times did I pray for that very thing? Ask God for that very same thing? How many times did it go unanswered? Not as many as Pistol’s will. “Dejame morir,” Pistol wheezes, more blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. I light a cigarette, letting the smoke circle around me. “I’ll be waiting,” I tell her, ending the call. “When I said I would help you out, I didn’t know I would be keeping a man alive just so you could kill him,” Teena’s voice comes over the phone. I use the phone on the wall, hit speaker, and dial the number. I tear the tape from my hands and go to recline against the wall, watching as the blood trails down his neck to his chest, and right there, just below his collarbone, I see it: a bit of unmarked, unblemished skin. I use my hands to stop his body from spinning listlessly.

The thought of not having him to take my anger out on again is what makes me stop. I go a little too far when blood spews from his mouth and his body heaves with the force it takes for him to gasp. I pound into him over and over, each time telling him I know what he tried to do. “The hija I never would have known existed if you had gotten your way,” I add. “The hija who is two and does not even know who I am,” I tell him, pummeling him again and again. The hija you helped steal from me,” I growl, slamming my fist into his rib. Now that my hands are taped, I circle his body. He should figure out by now that he dies when I’m done, not before.

I might not have heard it, except he begs for the same thing every time. “Mátame,” Pistol says, the word coming out barely more than a soft whisper.

Burned by Jordan Marie