Sweet Destruction

Cover Designer: Sarah Kil Creative Studio Cover Photographer: Sara Eirew Model: Lucas Developmental Editing: Cruel Ink Editing & Design Copy & Line Editing: Outside Eyes Editing Interior Formatting: Black Widow Designs Published by: DCT Publishing Contact the Author: www.heatherashleywrites.com [email protected] Copyright © 2023 by Heather Ashley All rights reserved. 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. ISBN: Created with Vellum To all the girls who wish someone would burn down the world for them. WARNING This is a dark romance. For a full list of trigger warnings, please visit www.heatherashleywrites.com/triggerwarnings CONTENTS Playlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Chapter 67 Chapter 68 Chapter 69 Chapter 70 Chapter 71 Chapter 72 Chapter 73 Chapter 74 Chapter 75 Chapter 76 Chapter 77 Epilogue Also by Heather Ashley About the Author PLAYLIST Listen along here. “Papercut” by benny the ghost & Calica “Violence” by The Unlikely Candidates “The Kid I Used to Know” by Arrested Youth “Better Off Dead” by 8 Graves “I can’t get high” by Royal & The Serpent “Riptide” by Grandson “Devil” by L.I.F.T. “Dizzy” by Missio “Dead Inside” by Younger Hunger “Trouble” by Adam Jensen “Sun by Loveless” “Take Me Away” by New Medicine “BLOOD” by Mothica “NBK” by Niykee Heaton “The Worst in Me” by Bad Omens “Mental Funeral” by EHLE “Desire” by Meg Myers “Dancing With the Devil” by Alter. The screams died out a while ago. Now my only company is the steady flow of blood splattering onto the concrete floor and flesh separating under my scalpel. It’s a symphony of death. Drip. Drip. Drip. My work's only just begun. Skin, muscle, and bone are my medium and the human body my canvas. I’ve got an array of tools spread out before me, but the serrated knife in my hand is the one I prefer. The crimson staining my gloved fingers has never been more vibrant. I breathe in deeply, the smell of copper hanging so heavy in the air I can taste it on my tongue. I imagine tiny flecks of blood floating around me, soaking into my skin as I become the monster I’m usually forced to hide. The one I trap deep down until it claws at my flesh from the inside, refusing to be caged. As I make another cut, my body relaxes. The tension bleeds away like the fluids from the corpse on my table as I sink into my work. The beast within begins to calm. These are the moments I relish; the ones I live for. Another cut and my pulse steadies. Another and the icy chill of the Icebox draws my attention as goosebumps rise on my arms. With every incision, the world comes into focus. No longer am I numb. This right here is the height of my existence. This moment. For a few blessed hours, I feel. I feel everything. At least until the high wears off and I’m dead inside again. It didn't used to be like this, but it’s been so long that sometimes I forget I wasn’t born a monster. I was created. Finding your mother tortured, bloody, and lifeless on the kitchen floor at fourteen will do that to a boy. A hard knock on the thick metal door breaks my concentration. I try to ignore it, but it happens again. And again. Finally, I drop my knife. It clatters on the steel tabletop as I rip the black latex from my hands, tossing them in the burn pile. There are only five people aware of where I am, and all of them know better than to interrupt. The heavy door bangs into the wall as I throw it open. “What?” Xander stands outside, the only one of the Savage Six crazy enough to disturb me mid-kill. He’s leaning against the door frame with his hands shoved into the pockets of his black slacks, his white Roman collar askew, but his gaze drifts behind me and lights up. “You’re having all the fun without me,” he pouts, and then his frown morphs into a feral grin. Xander’s smiles are always unsettling, like the creature under your bed trying to lure you into the dark. I still can’t figure out how he managed to become a priest of all things. One look at him and even I can tell he’s not right in the head. “At least let me sit and watch the master at work. I can pray for your eternal soul.” He's not going to leave until I give in, so I relent, stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter The Icebox. Some might refer to it as my lair. It’s also my sacred space. The only spot in the world I can truly be free. A simple walk-in freezer in the basement of the Lodge, the Savage Society’s headquarters. “No use praying for a soul that doesn’t exist,” I tell him. “Stand in the corner and be silent.” I pluck a new set of gloves out of the box beside my tools and put them on. “I mean it.”