Page 1 of Painted Scars
CHAPTER 1 - KATE
“Who’s ready for dick?” I call to action the Dark Romance Book Club, alerting my TikTok followers who read along with us on our live reading sprints every Thursday.
The four club members in my lounge-room-come-library switch on their camera faces. Here, we read about morally gray men who burn the world down for their ladies and pay homage to them in our bookish merchandise.
“Me!” Harper stares into the camera with all the enthusiasm of a goth Fae that hexes people for fun, or God forbid, smiles.
I give her theplay niceeyes over the top of my phone, and she glares at me with an icy glare like I’m a pixie she’ll lift by the wings and spank until I bleed glitter.
Before Goth Fae can scare away our fans, I distract them by panning down to our bookish merchandise line. Harper models aThick thighs and stalker vibeshoodie with a biker helmet with a knife and roses protruding through the visor. Every stitch in our merch line is hand-crafted by her father, ethically produced and guaranteed not to fall apart or shrink after three washes.
Charlie, my other bestie, primps her red wig from ourBookish Wigsline. Dark romance meets cinnamon roll chaos. Our fans eat it up.
Today, though, they’re too busy losing their shit over Josh Hammond, my Yorkshire Terrier. Aptly named after my favorite stalker Golden Retriever from the novelLights Out.
I glare at my pet for trading my lap for my bestie’s. The jury’s out on whether he’s a manslut or drawn to Harper’s darkness and knife obsession like his namesake, who started my descent into stalker romance.
I swing my phone back to Charlie, demure with her cutsie finger wave and bashful smile, but no less down for the smut. Introverted and shy, she fades into the background amid the bolder personalities. Loyal as a guard dog, she’s the first to show up with snacks and a backup plan whenever something goes wrong.
Former party girls, Nicki and Becca, play up for the camera, the first pretending to give an air blow job. The second squeezes invisible butt cheeks, boobs, or cock. Not one hundred percent sure… but it’s dirty, and I love it.
The five of us are one corner of the bookish community I’ve carved out over the past three years. It started with posting reviews on TikTok of what I was reading—good, bad, and the Do Not Finishes—and it grew into a twenty-thousand-strong following.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my day job as a reporter. But it’s a far cry from the award-winning career I chased at college. Book reviews and merchandise pay the bills and fund my first love—the kind of journalism that hits back.
A motorcycle roars past my house, and like clockwork, the five of us yell, “Hot biker!” and burst into laughter. Laughing emojis scroll flood my screen.
Right. Back to the reading sprint. “Book Girlies, get your cup of tea, snacks, and blankets, and join us for a reading sprint! Here’s my arsenal!”
I slump into my chair, fluff the blanket over my legs, cuddle my hot water bottle, and get comfortable. Secretly, my blood runs cold, and I’m a Vampire Fae, despite my mother calling me a nightmare.
To my followers, I flash the goodies I share with Harper and Charlie—pistachios, Timtams, raspberries, and a tub of Belgian chocolate ice cream. Nicki and Becca are being tame with crackers. They want to look their best for wedding season. Screw diets and being good. I’m here for the book boyfriends who love their girls curvy.
“And a Belgian hot chocolate, served in our glorious mug, designed by the lovely Harper.” I lift my black mug with gold writing. “Mine says,Hot drink. Hot mess. Hot villain, and it describes me and my kind of book boyfriend.”
We came up with six new bookish sayings and had them printed on mugs, sweaters, hoodies, and stickers, and I’m giving our audience a little tease of our launch at the end of our reading session.
“Round of applause for Harper. She’s so talented.” I raise the camera from my mug to her judgy eyebrow. “Believe it or not, that’s her happy face.”
She gives me the bird, and I giggle.
Fan comments rush in.
My bestie-slash-housemate and I are the definition of the opposites attract trope. I’m sunshine, loud, boisterous, the center of attention. Bold colors in my hair and clothes, twirly skirts and dresses, and fabrics that sparkle. She says I look like a metallic cupcake vomited.
Harper’s got the personality of an overcast day—dry wit and sarcasm as a second language. Color and sunlight burn herretinas, hence the dress sense of Wednesday Addams—leather, long coats, and vampire-hunting boots. Hair to match her mood, with a sheen of blue when it hits the right light.
I better get in a quick pimp of Charlie’s biz. “Check out the new wigs Charlie dropped at Bookish Wigs.” I catch her mid-popcorn nibble, totally unprepared.
Compliments fluster my best friend, and a nervous smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.
“Oh, don’t be shy, Charlie,” I tell her. “These are amazing!”
She finally accepts the tribute, fluffing her long, curled red wig, hiding her alopecia. Fiery red is the signature of her natural hair and honorsClaryfrom theMortal Instruments, her favorite Young Adult series.
I switch the camera back to me and grin. “We’ll show you more after the sprint, so stay tuned.”
Their enthusiastic responses clog my feed.
