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Bloody Fabulous: Stories of Fantasy and Fashion The Chosen (Black Dagger Brotherhood #15)

What kind of incident? Liam asked.

The only thing they had in common was the long, empty ditch at their feet.Where did you get these? I whispered.

Taming My Prince Charming (Finding My Prince Charming #2)

Amplify released them a few days ago, Cole said. I don’t think I need to tell you that these aren’t doctored, no matter how hard Gray’s cronies try to spin it on the news shows.I shook my head, feeling like I was about to crawl out of my own skin. I would have backed away if there was room to move. As it was, the walls were folding in over my head, falling down over me, crushing, crushing, crushing.I had to get out of this room. My palms were drenched in sweat, too slick to open the door. Cole grabbed my arm and forced me to stand in front of the desk, forced me to look down at the photos and see them, absorb the blood, the bone, the vacant eyes.

The Darkest Touch (Lords of the Underworld #11)

These are the people we’re dealing with, he said. This is reality. These are people who won’t hesitate to kill anyone who interferes with their orders. This is what hesitation has cost us. This is why we have to fight. Revolutions are won with blood, not words. These photos have been out for days, and what have they done to get people involved—angry enough to stand up and protest? Nothing. Ruby, even this isn’t enough. They all think they’re fake.Let me go! I struggled out of his grip, the floor rising and rolling under me. That face, I knew that face—the girl in green—

No one is going to fight for us, Ruby—we have to fight. We have to end this. Match force with force. Every second we waste circling back and debating the same shit is a second we could be saving these kids from something like this. What do you think sparked this? They were beaten to death. Was it because they tried to escape? They were caught in the middle of a fight? Did some PSF snap? Does it matter?

Oh my God, I was going to be sick. I pressed my fists against my eyes, trying to remember how it was I usually went about breathing. These pictures are from Thurmond—this is Thurmond. That girl—that girl in green—Not the Children’s League, O’Ryan said over the hurricane of sound shredding my overloaded nerves. It couldn’t be them. So who?

I heard the echo of it even when it switched off, white spots sparking behind my eyelids.Answer me, three-two-eight-five. He leaned over my face, thrusting the mangled flash drive in front of it. What was on this? Tell me, and I promise that you’ll live.

Dear Rockstar (Dear Rockstar #1)

O’Ryan gripped my chin in his hand. Three-two-eight-five, you should know I have no qualms about putting your kind down.Orange. I sucked in a sharp breath, licking the blood that had run from my nose over my busted lip. Orange.

He turned back toward the PSF, motioning him forward. My leg was demanding my attention, burning up my concentration, but my eyes slid over to the younger man and I reached...I reached...O’Ryan held up the White Noise device in one hand, his service pistol in the other.

The gun came up in his hand, sliding up my throat, under my chin. The White Noise device rubbed along the edge of my ear.It would give me no greater pleasure than to see your brains scrambled and leaking from your ears. Splattered against this floor. Tell me why you’re here, three-two-eight-five, and I’ll stop this. It’ll all be over.

The building shook, throwing him back a step and rattling both the nearby table and the simple light fixture hanging over us. The pop and snarl of distant gunfire. A strange, sweet symphony of hope.Footsteps pounded down the hall, heading out toward the exit. O’Ryan shoved himself away from me and went to the one-way window lining the wall, cupping his hands against it to try to see through it. He knocked against the mirrored surface, waiting. My line of sight was shrinking again, heading into black. The door in the corner, the one we’d come in through, had no handle. It could only be opened from the outside.

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