Skulls and Stitches

SKULLS AND STITCHES A Dark Suspense Romance N.J. Weeks Copyright © 2023 by N.J. Weeks All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. 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. Cover Designer: Pia with Crimsonsdesigns Editor: Stevi Mager, SML Editorial Proofreader: Taylor Robinson, Taylored Text Ebook ISBN: 979-8-9871626-0-6 Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9871626-1-3 Hardcover ISBN: 979-8-9871626-2-0 Created with Vellum AUTHOR’S NOTE Skulls and Stitches is a dark, suspense, romance novel that contains explicit content not intended for readers under the 18 years of age. This content includes: Explicit sex scenes, graphic violence, grief, loss of a parent, loss of child, alcohol use, drug use references, death and profanity...lots and lots of it. To my daughters, Love yourself enough to do what your heart tells you to, even if it feels scary. Never underestimate your worth. Never dim your unique light to appease others. Pursue your passions fiercely, because sometimes our dreams are what saves us when nothing else can. To my readers, If you wish spooky season lasted year-round, prefer your romances dark/mysterious with a healthy dose of spice and Jack Skellington was your first animated crush…this book is for you. Contents Prologue 1. Sienna 2. Sienna 3. Sienna 4. Carmine 5. Sienna 6. Sienna 7. Carmine 8. Carmine 9. Sienna 10. Carmine 11. Sienna 12. Carmine 13. Sienna 14. Carmine 15. Sienna 16. Carmine 17. Sienna 18. Carmine 19. Carmine 20. Sienna 21. Carmine 22. Sienna 23. Sienna 24. Carmine 25. Carmine 26. Sienna 27. Carmine 28. Sienna 29. Carmine 30. Sienna 31. Carmine 32. Sienna 33. Carmine 34. Carmine 35. Sienna 36. Carmine 37. Sienna 38. Carmine 39. Sienna 40. Carmine 41. Sienna 42. Carmine 43. Sienna 44. Carmine 45. Carmine 46. Sienna 47. Carmine 48. Sienna 49. Carmine 50. Sienna 51. Carmine 52. Sienna 53. Sienna Epilogue Thank you for reading! Afterword Acknowledgments About the Author Prologue Carmine Alone with my thoughts—an arguably dangerous place to be—I sit at my desk, feening for a cigarette. Thankfully, I spot a half-empty pack of Parliaments near my computer. I reach for the pack as I feel for the lighter that I keep in the pocket of my black and white pinstriped suit. Wasting no time, I take a smoke out, gliding the filter along my lips, wetting it slightly as I light the end. The crackling flames of the fireplace echo in the study as I lean back in my chair, taking a long, much needed drag. With each puff of smoke that I breathe in comes a brief ping of relief. Though, I’ve learned relief through vices that aren’t her are fleeting. Every high fades just as quickly as it comes. It’s simply a band-aid on my damned soul. The bittersweet sting of obsession has poisoned my bloodstream. Visions of her taunt me, permeating my bleak heart. My living flesh betrays me, because inside, I am already dead. I have money, power, endless connections, but I crave more … I crave her. All I want is for her to know I exist. The man who still holds her heart hostage is a weak fool. In time, she will see that her shattered soul is best suited as my prisoner, not his. I may be a stranger to her now, but I am confident I can corrupt her just enough to convince her it is me, Carmine Moretti, that she belongs to. As I exhale, I watch the smoke ominously gather in the direction of the black box sitting on the bookshelf. It’s a haunting reminder of what was risked in order to be where she is today … alive. If she only knew what is inside that box, she would, no doubt, see me as the monster I am. Although, I hold on to the hope—delusional as it may be—that in time, she will find solace in the shadows that define my existence. I have always considered myself to be a man of few words. Yet, lately, I am overwhelmed by the incessant urge to put onto paper the thoughts that consume my mind. It’s unsettling for my dimmed conscience to feel as though it is being jolted back to life by this peculiar combination of guilt laced with desire. This unfamiliar concoction of emotions is taking over me. It grabs hold of any free space my mind allows me to have, when it isn’t obsessing over the moment, I can be a shadow lurking in the dark no longer. The cigarette dangles from my mouth as I twirl the crimson ink pen in my hand, trying to conjure up the words to say. The idea of me writing anything is comical. I write checks, not poetry. Words have never been my thing, violence is. But I fear that if I do not release these words into existence, I will embark on a vicious rampage that I may not be able to come back from. As I impatiently wait for the moment that I can claim the one my aching soul yearns to call mi reina, I will settle for pen and paper. I must write a letter to the one my soul has been knocking at my flesh to join. Here comes a poem for the broken-hearted. An anthem for the lover who lost the battle but is determined to win the war ahead. A letter to the one I desire, with every fiber of my wicked being. I will make her mine, even if it’s the last thing I do, because every breath I take without her next to me is a burden I can no longer bear. Fuck it. Here goes