The Blood we Crave (The Hollow Boys Book 3)

Will obsession be enough?

“What is it, then?” I breathe, looking up at him with curious eyes.

“This is a distraction,” he mutters, leaning towards my ear. “You should be careful with how close you get to me, Lyra. There is a fine line between me and death. One is merciful, and the other
is me.”

They all wanted a monster to fear, to point fingers at and spread vicious lies about, so they created one in him. They helped Henry Pierson mold him into the unfeeling man he is now.

No, trying to bring down a sex ring while learning how to kill people has taken up most of my time as of late. Fear for my friends has crushed my creativity and urge to scavenge for bugs. I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I can’t!” I pull her hair, forcing her to look directly up at me. “God, I want to slice you up, pet. Into pieces, slaughter everything you are so I never have to experience this horrendous thrumming in my gut every time I see you. I want to kill you and your memory, but I can’t fucking do it!”

My chest heaves, breaths coming out in spurts like I’ve run for miles on end. The stark truth wavers between us, my incapability landing in front of me.

That I am weak regarding her. The one thing I was made to do, and I can’t do it. All because of her.

There is something inside of me, a buried truth, one I will deny until my very last breath, that she has always been the only woman, the only person, I have ever cared for.

The kid I couldn’t kill. The little girl that got an entire tray of
food dumped on her head in fifth grade by Scottie Camball, so I pushed him down a flight of stairs. The woman I let watch me, haunt me, because I enjoy the way her eyes feel on my body.

My one weak spot. The first person to ever make me bleed.

And I have hated her for it every single day.

“I don’t care about you, Lyra Abbott.”

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

Dirty. Filthy. Disgusting lie.

There is a lot you can tell from a person’s handwriting.

For example, Thatcher’s wide spacing between words tells me he loathes being crowded and enjoys being alone. The narrow e loops expose how unattached he is to people’s emotions. And the deliberate slashed dot over his i? Well, that tells me two things.

How little patience he has for others’ inadequacies.

And how much he loves to cut things.

“Am I capable of answering your questions? Absolutely.” I hum, nodding my head softly. “Will I? Not likely.”

“I’m surprised. I didn’t think the Sinclairs had two brain cells to rub together, let alone were smart enough to run an entire sex trafficking ring,” Sage says