Page 1 of Shades of Ruin

Prologue

My blood is hot and tingly as it courses through veins that feel stretched taut and thin, like pumping cream through a smallpaille. I can feel the shudder of the heartbeats in my chest, thumping loud and heavy. A pretty rhythm, I think, as adrenaline twists and swirls its way through my body. I’ve been accused of not having a heart at all, but I fight that lie with every breath I take. Ihavea heart—it’s just a little more twisted than most.

I shift on my feet, cringing at the sound my shoes make scraping across the gravel ground behind the large estate. The waiting is the hardest, balancing at the precipice of something beautiful and transcendent while patiently biding my time until the perfect moment arises. I’ve grown accustomed to having my needs met in an instant, and delaying my gratification while I hide in the shadows is the only part that hasn’t gotten easier with practice. And I’ve had a lot of practice.

I look down at the watch on my left wrist. Any minute now. She always sneaks out this way to indulge in her dirty little habit after engaging in even filthier things upstairs. Asmile turns up the corner of my lips when I think of all the ways Satine Daubert has found herself tied up and used. She’s rather a favorite here, which makes her a very naughty girl indeed.

The unmistakable crunch of stilettos stomping through the gravel sounds from the far side of the estate. She’s nearly here. I duck into the cover of the roses climbing along the dark, stone walls, careful to mind the briars. I see her far before she sees me—her brown eyes fixed on the faint light of the moon in the sky, my eyes latched only on her.

She’s beautiful, even if she is a complete wreck. It’s clear she’s been handled roughly; her curly hair is askew, and there are black rings of mascara under her eyes. She’s been crying, I realize, not that there’s any shortage of tears at this place. Half the people here get off on inflicting pain and terror. And the other half gets off on feeling it. It’s a lovely little nightmare for everyone involved.

She digs into her tiny silver purse and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She’s still crying, wet tracks fresh and warm against her prominent cheekbones. Digging out a cigarette, she sucks the filter between her red, plump lips and attempts to flick on the lighter. Her fingers tremble too much as she tries several times to get a light.

“Shit,” she gasps as the silver Zippo clatters to the ground.

Claiming the opportunity, I emerge from the shadows and stalk toward her. She startles at my sudden approach, the cigarette falling from her open lips as she shrieks in surprise. Her heart is beating faster; I can hear it in the still silence of the night. She takes a step back as I bend down to retrieve her lighter from the ground and flip it on, drawing the flame close to my face. It takes a small moment for recognition to flare in her dark eyes.

“Y-you,” she stammers, the word an accusation. The pretentious sound of it riles my rage.

“You’ve been a naughty little whore, Satine,” I answer, toyingwith the lighter as I flick it on and off. She backs away until she trips over her heels and lands hard against the gravel, the tiny pebbles digging into her palms like pieces of glass. Prowling toward her, I straddle her hips and sink to my knees, ignoring the way the rough ground stings my skin.

“I told you to stay away,” I hiss. I wave the lighter in front of her face so close it could singe her pretty eyelashes off. “Did you obey?”

“N-n-no.” She’s looking at me like I’m crazy. And maybe I am. But realizing she’s absolutely fucked won’t do anything to save her. In fact—I look down at her with a smile on my face—nothing will.

“You had better start praying, Satine,” I whisper, dragging my lips over the exposed skin of her neck. I stroke the Zippo down the side of her cheek before igniting it again. This time, the charred stench of scorched hair fills the air.

“Please, please, please,” she starts to plead as more tears fall down her cheeks. She fears me. More than those bastards upstairs. More thanhim. And I love it. Her terror makes me feel more alive than anything has in a long time.

“Shhh,” I hum, caressing her face with the lighter as I pull my true weapon of choice from my pocket. Cold steel—dependable and pristinely sharp. I grip the firm handle of the chef’s knife in my hand as a shiver of arousal ripples across my heated skin.

“Didn’t you know?” I slide the blade up the center of her body before slotting it against one of her ribs directly below her heart. Bending down low, I whisper the last words she’ll ever hear. “Naughty little whores deserve to burn.”

I set her clothes aflame a moment before driving the knife into her. It slides between her ribs like a hot knife through butter and pierces her heart, the gruesome act smooth and silent. She’sdead before she can even scream, flames ravaging her still warm corpse as the blood starts to pool and trickle down her ribcage.

She’ll be such a pretty addition to my collection.

Chapter One

GREYSON

The darkened horizon is aglow with the warm, burnished orange haze of bonfires blazing on either side of the black, stone turrets of Pandemonium. Thick plumes of smoke writhe against the night sky, drowning out the usual flicker of stars. The rich scent of cedar logs burning instantly conjures the phantom taste of charred marshmallows and cinnamon biscuits on the tip of my tongue. I take a moment to indulge in the nostalgia before banishing thoughts of the past to the dusty corners of my mind where they belong.

Tonight isn’t a night for reminiscence. It’s a night to let my inner demons come out to play. And when it’s Devil’s Night, the flames of Hell burn hotter than ever.

I adjust the black demon mask that’s strapped to my face so tight I can barely breathe through the sculpted leather that covers me from my forehead to the top of my lips. Fucking Finn is taking full advantage of the Halloween festivities and making the rest of us suffer for it. Every high-level member of the club was sent a mask for tonight’s party. Six in total. I demanded mine be black or I wasn’t fucking coming at all.

Leave it to Finn to make costumes a requirement for getting my cock wet tonight—he’s always excelled at torture.

I’m alone as I walk up the black, stone steps to the entrance of the most exclusive kink club in Chicago. Usually, I schedule a playmate or two to be on their knees and waiting for me inside, but I had an itch for something different tonight. I want a new experience, and that’s a high expectation given I’ve fucked every regular sub at the club five times over in positions you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

I have a reputation at Pandemonium for being a wildcard. I’m an infamous sadist, my tastes are unpredictable, and I get bored very easily. Most cower under my touch, a few of the tougher ones crave it, but I’m weary of both. I want new blood. And with this mask on my face, I don’t want to be just Gavin Greyson. For tonight, I want to be one of Satan’s most brutal demons. And I want some fresh flesh to tear into.

The wide, flame-lined expanse of Hell, Pandemonium’s main play area, is full of masked and unmasked members in various states of fuckery. Horned devils thrust their naked cocks into the cunts of sweet little saints as feathers flutter to the floor with an aria of ecstasy-laced moans. There are flashes of leather, screams of pain, and cries of pleasure. It seems Finn wasn’t the only one with a flair for dramatics tonight.

There are countless angels in scraps of white and bits of fluff—most subs playing into the stereotypical innocence you’d associate with a Heaven and Hell theme. A few of the braver ones don devil horns and tight, red latex suits that show off every curve of their bodies. It looks like I’ll only have two flavors to choose from tonight, and my anticipation falls a little because of the lack of variety.

Our most popular dominatrix, Eve, nudges my shoulder as she takes a seat beside me at the bar. She’s the only girl amongst Finn’s exclusive members, and she could give any of the othersadists in this club a run for their money. Like me, she’s masked. Hers is emerald green and adorned with serpents that slither beneath her eyes and across her cheekbones, the mask stopping above her green painted lips. She looks as naked as Eve did in the garden, her dress completely sheer apart from some green beading that takes the shape of a snake sliding across her breasts and down between her legs.

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