The Devil's Silver by Marysol James

Author:Marysol James [James, Marysol]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary, Romance, series, marysol james, Women, suspence, MC
Published: 2018-10-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Three weeks later

On the fourth day of the New Year, Silver woke with a start, his throat closed and his heart pounding. Yet again. He was barely breathing, and that feeling of suffocation was sadly, sickly familiar.

For those horrible and never-ending six fucking years, he hadn’t felt like he could get enough air. It had had to do with the bars and bells and mind-numbing routine, of course… but it had much, much more to do with the fact that he’d lost any and all control over his own body, and in the worst possible way. Only once and only for about twenty minutes – but it had been more than enough.

God, he remembered their weight pressing down on him like it was yesterday. He was sure that he’d never forget the sour mixture of emotions that he’d felt in those moments: helpless, hopeless, small, pathetic. Panicked and wanting to die. Angry and embarrassed and humiliated. Shamed and ashamed.

“Motherfuckers,” he said aloud and hearing his own voice brought him fully out of the lingering clutches of the nightmares, back into his own bedroom where he was safe. “Fuck them.”

He glanced at his cell phone and saw that it was just past three o’clock. He knew damn good and well that there would be no more sleep that night – the past few weeks had shown him that, over and over again – so he dragged himself up and out of bed. He wandered to the kitchen to grab the bottle of whiskey and a glass, then went to the living room.

He poured a triple shot, idly noted that the bottle was getting pretty low. Well, he’d spent far too many nights just like this, alone in his living room and staring at the walls, drinking and waiting for morning to come and offer the reprieve and predictability of light, work and schedule.

Weary and worn down, Silver drifted over to the window and looked out at the quiet, still street. There had been a time when he’d very much liked the calm of a sleeping world, of being the only person awake in the wee hours – but this was different.

He drank his whiskey and thought about the maddening conundrum that was Jolene Angeles. Despite receiving three pretty damn great job opportunities before Christmas, the woman had declined the interviews politely, but very firmly. His contacts had told him that she’d been resolute: she wasn’t even slightly interested in leaving the employ of The Road Devils. Not for any fancy office job or title or bump in salary.

Was she sticking around just to torment him? To make a point?

He drank again, pondered that issue as hard as he was able to at 3 a.m. and being as fucking exhausted as he was from the accumulation of sleep deprivation. And his mental faculties were undoubtedly messed up – he was starting to forget things at work, and he was zoning out in the middle of conversations with the guys – but he was still able to recognize paranoia when he saw it.

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