Ruthless Destruction

Ruthless Destruction Degenerates and Sin, Book One CM Wondrak © 2023 Candace Wondrak All Rights Reserved. Book cover by Quirah Casey at Temptation Creations No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. No books by Candace Wondrak were created with the use of AI. Electronic books by Candace Wondrak are only available at Amazon. If you are reading elsewhere, please note it is an illegal, pirated copy, uploaded without my permission. I, the author, nor the distributor received payment for the copy, and if prosecuted violation comes with a fine of up to $250,000. Please do not pirate books. Then, Brianna Chapter One – Brianna Chapter Two – Brianna Chapter Three – Gareth Chapter Four – Brianna Chapter Five – Brianna Chapter Six – Gareth Chapter Seven – Brianna Chapter Eight – Gareth Chapter Nine – Brianna Chapter Ten – Brianna Chapter Eleven – Gareth Chapter Twelve – Brianna Chapter Thirteen – Brianna Chapter Fourteen – Gareth Chapter Fifteen – Brianna Chapter Sixteen – Gareth Chapter Seventeen – Brianna Chapter Eighteen – Brianna Chapter Nineteen – Gareth Chapter Twenty – Brianna Chapter Twenty-One – Brianna Chapter Twenty-Two – Gareth Chapter Twenty-Three – Brianna Author's Note: So, let's get one thing straight: the love interest in this series aren't good guys. They're bad. One or two might be serial killers. They have impulse control issues and aren't gentle. The things they do will cross some lines. Also note: this series will end up reverse harem. Some more in depth triggers you'll find in this series: killing, swearing, sex, non-con/dub-con, self-harm/suicide, and I'm sure more as the series goes on. You've been warned. One last thing: fuck AI 'written' books. Then, Brianna The sun beat down on my head, the heat of the dry summer air stifling, choking. It didn’t bother me. I was too engrossed in my current sketch. I sat cross-legged with my butt in the dirt, my sketchpad open and resting on my knee, a pencil in my hand. My mom was in the house, finishing up what little packing was left. We had to leave today, so while she was busy making sure she grabbed everything that was hers—and mine—I sat in the backyard, about fifteen feet away from the swing set, drawing my heart’s desire. I was never as calm as I was when I was working. My mom ridiculed me any chance she got; no one wanted to be an artist these days. I was growing into a pretty girl, a mere twelve years old, so wouldn’t I rather be working on my makeup skills and growing my fan club online? Become an influencer. It’s easier when you’re younger. But I didn’t care about followers or looking perfect. All I cared about was art. Dad said I had a one-track mind when it came to art and its many forms. He was right. There was never a better day to have a one-track mind than today. Mom and I had to leave the house. The divorce had finalized, but she’d gotten full custody of me. She’d fought tooth and nail for me, though I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like she loved me. She only loved me because she could use me. That’s what love was to Nicole Dent. Hmm. Wonder if she’d change her last name back to her maiden name. Wonder if I’d have to change my last name, too. My eyes flicked up off the sketchpad, the pencil in my hand pausing just for the quickest of moments. I looked at what I was drawing, my real-world reference. I might’ve sat in the sun, but my reference lay under the shade of a pine tree, its body mangled. A raccoon. A small one. Bright red blood dotted the browned pine needles near it, a signal of what had happened to it. Its death would not be in vain. I was drawing it. Well, my version of it, anyway. Lately, I’d taken up the habit of drawing a thick black line on my sketches. On one side of the line, I drew as lifelike as I could, and on the other… Skeletal. Musculature. More in-depth. Mom didn’t like my sketches, so I’d started to hide them from her. But, we were going to live in some tiny apartment in the city, so odds were I wouldn’t be able to hide it from her for much longer. I took up sketching again, my wrist moving effortlessly over the page as I continued to shade in the raccoon’s fur on the left side of the line, but within five more seconds, I heard my mother shouting for me from the house: “Brianna! It’s time to go!” As much as I didn’t want to go—if I’d had a choice, I’d have stayed here with my dad, because at least he acted like he was interested in me as a person and not someone he could mold into whatever shape he wanted—I had to get up and go, lest my mom come out here and see my drawing. No, Mom wouldn’t understand as she gazed upon the raccoon’s body, at the blood on its fur and its caved-in skull. She’d shrink away from the small, gory scene and ask me: what the hell’s wrong with you, Brianna? So, to stop that from happening, I got up, flipped my sketchbook closed, and tucked my pencil into the spiral. I turned away from the animal corpse, hurrying past the swing set to the house. My mom waited for me just inside the back door, and when I reached her, she took me by the hand and pulled me along, through the hall that divided the first floor of the house, to the front door, where her car was waiting, packed with our last belongings, ready to go.