Kill Switch
(Sprache: Englisch)
"Sending Damon to prison was the worst thing Winter could've done. It didn't matter that he did the crime or that she wished he was dead. Winter thought he'd cool off in jail and be anything but the horror he was, or that at the very least she'd have time...
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"Sending Damon to prison was the worst thing Winter could've done. It didn't matter that he did the crime or that she wished he was dead. Winter thought he'd cool off in jail and be anything but the horror he was, or that at the very least she'd have time to disappear before he got out. But she was wrong. Three years came and went too fast, and prison only gave him time to plan. And while Winter anticipated his vengeance, she didn't expect this. He doesn't want to make her hurt. He wants to make everything hurt. Damon knows he needs to get rid of Winter's father, giving her, her sister, and her mother nowhere to run. The Ashby women are desperate for a knight in shining armor. But that's not what's coming. It's time Damon took control of his future. It's time he showed them all that he will never stop being the nightmare they think he is. Damon won't have to break into her home to do it. As the new man of the house, he has all the keys."--
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Chapter 1Winter
My ballet slipper brushes the hardwood floor as I slowly step down the long hallway. The glow of the candles on their pedestals lines the dark walls, and I fidget with my fingers as I glance from left to right at every closed door I pass.
I don't like this house. I've never liked it here.
But at least the parties are only twice a year-after summer recitals in June and following the premiere of the annual Nutcracker performance in December. Madame Delova loves ballet, and as my school's benefactress she considers it a "gift to the masses to descend from her tower once in a while to entertain the villagers and allow us into her home."
Or so I overheard my mom say once.
The house is so big that I don't think I'll ever see all of it, and it's filled with things that everyone is always gushing over and whispering about, but it makes me nervous. I feel like I'll break something every time I turn around.
And it's too dark. Even worse today with the house lit only by candlelight. I suppose it's Madame's way of making everything look like a dream, the way she kind of looks herself: surreal, too perfect, and porcelain. Not exactly real.
I press my lips together, pausing before I call out, "Mom?"
Where is she?
I step softly, not sure where I am or how I'll get back to the party, but I know I saw my mom come upstairs. I think there's a third floor, too, but I'm not sure where the next stairwell is to get to it. Why would she come up here? Everyone is downstairs.
I clench my jaw harder with every step away from the party I take. The lights, voices, and music fade, and the silent darkness of the hallway slowly swallows me up.
I should go back. She'll get mad that I followed her anyway.
"Mom?" I call again, scratching at the tights on my legs as the costume I've been wearing since this morning chafes my skin. "Mom?"
"What the fuck is the matter with you?" someone yells.
I jump.
"Everyone is uncomfortable around you,"
... mehr
the man continues. "All you do is stand there! We talked about this."
I spot a sliver of light peeking through a cracked doorway and creep closer. I doubt my mom is in there. People don't yell at her.
But maybe she is in there?
"What is going on in that head of yours?" the man bellows. "Can't you speak? At all? Ever?"
There's no response, though. Who is he mad at?
Leaning into the doorframe, I peer into the crack, trying to see who's in the room.
At first, all I can make out is gold. The golden glow of the golden lamp shining onto the golden desk set. But then I shift to the left, my pulse hammering in my chest, as I see Madame's husband, Mr. Torrance, cross into my view from behind his desk. He stands, breathing hard with his jaw set, as he looks down at whoever is on the other side.
"Jesus Christ," he spits out with disdain. "My son. My heir . . . Can anything come out of that fucking mouth of yours? All you've gotta say is 'Hello' and 'Thank you for coming.' You can't even answer a simple question when someone asks you. What the hell is wrong with you?"
My son. My heir.
I inch down and then up, trying to see around the edge of the door, but I can't see the other person. Madame and Mr. Torrance have a son. I rarely see him, though. He's my sister's age but goes to Catholic school.
"Speak!" his father bursts out again.
I suck in a breath, and on reflex, I take a step. But I accidentally go forward instead of backward and hit the door. The hinges creak, the door creeps open another inch, and I rear back.
Oh, no.
I scurry away from the door, and whirl around, ready to bolt. But before I can escape, the door opens, light spills across the dark hardwood floors, and a tall shadow looms over me.
I clench my thighs, the silvery ache burning like I'm about to pee my pants. Slowly, I turn my head and see Mr. Torra
I spot a sliver of light peeking through a cracked doorway and creep closer. I doubt my mom is in there. People don't yell at her.
But maybe she is in there?
"What is going on in that head of yours?" the man bellows. "Can't you speak? At all? Ever?"
There's no response, though. Who is he mad at?
Leaning into the doorframe, I peer into the crack, trying to see who's in the room.
At first, all I can make out is gold. The golden glow of the golden lamp shining onto the golden desk set. But then I shift to the left, my pulse hammering in my chest, as I see Madame's husband, Mr. Torrance, cross into my view from behind his desk. He stands, breathing hard with his jaw set, as he looks down at whoever is on the other side.
"Jesus Christ," he spits out with disdain. "My son. My heir . . . Can anything come out of that fucking mouth of yours? All you've gotta say is 'Hello' and 'Thank you for coming.' You can't even answer a simple question when someone asks you. What the hell is wrong with you?"
My son. My heir.
I inch down and then up, trying to see around the edge of the door, but I can't see the other person. Madame and Mr. Torrance have a son. I rarely see him, though. He's my sister's age but goes to Catholic school.
"Speak!" his father bursts out again.
I suck in a breath, and on reflex, I take a step. But I accidentally go forward instead of backward and hit the door. The hinges creak, the door creeps open another inch, and I rear back.
Oh, no.
I scurry away from the door, and whirl around, ready to bolt. But before I can escape, the door opens, light spills across the dark hardwood floors, and a tall shadow looms over me.
I clench my thighs, the silvery ache burning like I'm about to pee my pants. Slowly, I turn my head and see Mr. Torra
... weniger
Autoren-Porträt von Penelope Douglas
Penelope Douglas is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Their books have been translated into twenty languages and include the Fall Away series, the Hellbent series, the Devil’s Night series, and the stand-alones Misconduct, Punk 57, Birthday Girl, Credence, and Tryst Six Venom. They live in New England with their husband and daughter.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Penelope Douglas
- 2024, 640 Seiten, Maße: 12,9 x 20 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Berkley
- ISBN-10: 0593642023
- ISBN-13: 9780593642023
- Erscheinungsdatum: 12.03.2024
Sprache:
Englisch
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