Ruin (Rhodes #1) by Rina Kent

                             “What do you want from me?”

                             Although trepidation creeps in her features, she neither trembles, stutters nor swallows. Her voice is smoother than the room’s silence.

                             I glare at her and she stares back, unwavering. Straightening, her breathing evens out and her gaze shines with determination as if telling me she won’t back down. That she’s different. Challenging me. Taunting my demons.

                             Did she figure that I thrive on fear? Is that why she hides it?

                             My left eye twitches. So many complications over a nobody. Who the fuck is this girl to alter my clear courses of action?

                             With firm composed steps, I stride towards her. She doesn’t cower away. Instead, her chest bumps forward, pressing her breasts against the thin material of her more-sinful-than-sin dress.

                             I stand a few inches from the bed and lower my head until I breathe tequila and a hint of citrus.

                             Her eyes meet mine. Then it clicks.

                             I don’t know if it’s because of something she sees in my face, but her short-lived courage abandons her as fast as it came. Her shoulders hunch, and she wraps her arms around her waist.

                             I smirk when the familiar shivering takes hold of her body.

                             That’s it. Fear. The more I collect, the better I experience the thrill.

                             Who says blood is the joy of it all?

                             Mae may be the next level of entertainment. After all, there is no limit to the amount of sadistic deeds my demons can offer.

                             First thought: paint those blue eyes black.





                             Chapter Six

                             Mae



                             He’s anything but what I imagined him to be.

                             I fell prey to stereotype and expected a monster in the form of a man. Mean looks, and perhaps some scars marring his face.

                             Yet, the stranger is... aristocratic.

                             He holds himself with an effortless gentleman’s posture. His jet black hair is pulled back with style, in striking contrast against his fair skin. His facial features are well-defined as if a veteran painter spent aeons putting every detail in the perfect place. If I met him in one of Dad’s parties, I would stop and stare at the outstanding creation. Then, after one look into his lifeless eyes, I would run. The soulless pools of ink overshadow his beauty. There’s nothing in there. Nothing.

                             Despite his noble demeanour, everything about him screams danger. As if he would shred me apart. To my horror, his gaze looms over me probably considering how to rip me to pieces.

                             My head throbs with the effort to wrap logic around my current situation.

                             I’ve been kidnapped. My stalker, turned into my captor, hovers a few inches away from where I sit.

                             A scream forms at the back of my throat. My mouth opens but no sound escapes.