Oblivion

SINS OF OPHELIA ASTER

BOOK THREE

L.K. REID

Contents

Author’s Note

Prologue

1. Ophelia

2. Ophelia

3. Ophelia

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Also By L.K. Reid

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Copyright © 2023 by L.K. Reid

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Author’s Note

Thank you very much for downloading this free sample of the Prologue and the first three chapters of Oblivion. Please note that this is an unedited version and is also subject to changes in the future.

I would also like to point out that you should read Ricochet and Equilibrium before reading Oblivion, otherwise, nothing will really make sense.

While I would love to say that there are no massive triggers at this very beginning, there are mentions of child abuse, drug abuse as well as acts of violence that might be triggering for some people. Therefore this is intended for 18+ audiences, and if you have any questions about anything, please feel free to contact me on Facebook or Instagram at @authorlkreid or through an email at authorleilakreid@gmail.com.

Enjoy and don’t forget to preorder!

Prologue

Storm

4 Years Old

It was dark.

It was so, so dark, and I was hungry. But mommy said I had to be a good boy to eat. I had to be good, otherwise she wouldn’t let me out.

I was bad—very, very bad.

I ate the bread from the counter, and daddy got mad. He was so mad, and I started crying.

He doesn’t like it when I cry.

Mommy doesn’t like it when I cry either, but I was hungry and they weren’t here. The bread wasn’t tasty, nope, but my tummy hurt so much and mommy always gave me bread when I was a good boy.

I promise, I promise, Mommy, I won’t take it again.

“Mommy,” I cried out, trying to open the door. She told me to stay in the wardrobe, and she would let me out later. But I was scared.

I am so scared.

“Daddy,” I tried to yell out again, but my voice only echoed around me. “Please let me out. I’ll be a good boy. I promise I won’t eat again without you. I’m scared… Mommy.”

They weren’t coming.

They weren’t coming and it was so cold. My blankie wasn’t with me and Mommy said I didn’t deserve it.

And my hand hurts. Daddy squeezed it too hard, but he loves me. Mommy told me he loves me, he just didn’t know his strength.

But I had to stop crying. If they came back and saw me crying, they would keep me here. And I didn’t wanna be here anymore.

Maybe if I sat down and kept quiet, they would come back. They must. They’re probably just taking their medicine now, but they would come for me.

Mommy told me it was a very special time when they take their medicine, and I had to keep quiet. If I didn’t they became very angry, and I didn’t like it when they got angry.

It hurts when they get angry, and Daddy tells me he hates me.

He told me all the time, but Mommy said he loves me.

Maybe if I was a good boy, they would also buy me that toy I saw on the big box. He had a cape, and he was a superhero. He saves people.

I want to be a superhero when I grow up. I want to be just like him, flying around with my cape. I use my blankie as my cape now.

Mommy told me I couldn’t get it because I was a bad boy, and bad boys couldn’t get gifts. But I was trying to be good.

Look, Mommy, I’m sitting. I’m a good boy.

I pulled my knees up, wincing as my hand connected with the ouchie there. I fell when Daddy pushed me, but it wasn’t his fault. He just needed to take his medicine and I was in the way. He told me I was always in his way, but I didn’t want to. Blankie wasn’t with me, and I needed my blankie.

And he got angry. He didn’t want to push me, he told me so himself. He cleaned the red goo that came out of my knee, and I promised I’d stop crying. And I did.

I saw it on the big box one day. The lady bit her lip and she stopped crying, and I did too. Daddy smiled when I stopped crying, and my tummy danced as well. I smiled too.

But they got angry yesterday because I was bad again, and Mommy hit me. My face hurt, but I knew she wouldn’t have done it if I'd behaved.

I think it was yesterday.

My wardrobe wasn’t getting any light from the room now, so I think it was yesterday. I learned to count days, because Mommy told me to make sure she woke up after one day at least when she takes her medicine.

And she told me, light means day and dark means night. And when the dark goes away, that means it’s a new day. She told me I was so smart, and she gave me a cookie. It was melty, and so tasty, and I was so happy.

Maybe she will give me a cookie again.

I crawled to the other side of the wardrobe where I pulled a robe from above. I was cold, and without a blankie my hands started shaking. Maybe Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t notice it.

My nose scrunched as I reached it, but it smelled like Daddy, and Daddy has those sticks he likes to light up. It smells like that. I think.

It didn’t matter. I would just sleep here until they come back for me. I knew they would, they just play like this.

I pulled the material around me, when something fell out of it. I couldn’t see it properly, but lifting it I could see it looked like Mommy’s medicine. Oh no, she would be so angry if I touched her medicine. It looked sharp, pointy. I think I saw the doctor using it on the big box.

Mommy told me it is for her ouchie, and she felt better with it. That’s why I shouldn’t touch it. I could destroy it, and she would be so mad.

And I didn’t want Mommy to be mad.

It was long, almost bigger than my hand, but I dropped it down. Maybe Mommy wouldn’t notice it. Or maybe I should put it back inside the robe.

I pulled it up, but the sharp part stuck in my hand, and it hurt. I tried shaking it off and it fell off. I got another ouchie, and Mommy is gonna be very angry that I touched her medicine.

I shouldn’t have.

But as I pushed myself closer to where her medicine fell, the door swung open, the light illuminating my wardrobe. I closed my eyes because the light hurt.

It wasn’t day yet. I counted. It was dark earlier. I didn’t see any light coming through that little hole in the door.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

It was a man. A very big man, and he was smiling. It wasn’t my Daddy, and I didn’t know him. Sometimes Daddy’s friends were staying at our house, but I didn’t see this man before.

I could see his face now, my eyes becoming better with the light. He had a scar above his eye. He got an ouchie as well.

“What happened there, boy?” He looked at my hand from where the red goo started dropping on the floor. The same color as when I cut my knee. When Daddy pushed me. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” My lower lip wobbled, but I bit on it, trying not to cry. “Please don’t tell Mommy. She will be angry because I touched her medicine.”

“You touched her medicine?” He looked at the floor, his eyes seeing Mommy’s medicine.

“I’m gonna be a good boy. The bestest boy, but please don’t tell Mommy.”

Something passed over his face, and he looked at me again. He smiled then and extended his arms to me. Mommy sometimes lifted me up, but she said I was too heavy now and she didn’t want to have to carry a little shit around. I was a little shit, she told me that.

I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew what heavy was. And I didn’t want this man to be angry at me because I’m heavy.

“No,” I shook my head. “Mommy said I’m a little shit, and she can’t carry me around. I’m too heavy.”

“It’s okay, son.” He smiled again. “I’m strong. See.” He lifted his arm showing big muscles. Maybe he was stronger than Mommy. “Come on now. Come here.”

I stood up, taking one, two, three steps to him. His hands came around my middle, and as they connected with my stomach, I winced because I forgot my ouchie there. But I didn’t cry. Mommy said I could never cry when other people touch me, even if I had an ouchie.

That one lady was here one day, and she saw my ouchie. Mommy said if I cried again, they would take me away from her, and I didn’t want them to take me away from Mommy and Daddy.

The man lifted me up, stepping back into the room.

“See,” he told me, “I can lift you, and you’re not that heavy. I have a son almost your age, and he is heavier than you.”

“Really?” I asked him, because I couldn’t believe somebody could be heavier than me. “But Mommy told me I’m a heavy bur.. bud… bor-”

“Burden. She told you you’re a heavy burden.”

I nodded against his neck when he cupped the back of my head, stroking slowly. It felt nice, and suddenly I felt sleepy.

“Would you like to meet my son? Maybe you can play with him.”

“But Mommy—”

“Your mommy told me it’s okay. She told me I can take you with me if you want to come.”

Mommy said it’s okay? See, she wanted me to have friends. I knew she loved me, but she needed her medicine.

“If Mommy said so,” I smiled at him.

“She sure did.” He started walking towards the door, leaving the room. I didn’t see Mommy or Daddy, but it didn’t matter. I would have a new friend, and maybe Mommy would buy me that toy if I am a good friend.

“What’s your name, boy?”

Mommy didn’t tell him? Oh well, maybe she was excited because I was going to have a friend.

“Storm. But Mommy calls me Stormy sometimes.”

“Storm,” he said, looking at me. “Well, Storm. My name is Nikolai, and I think you will love what I have prepared for you.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. There will be lots of kids, lots of new friends, but first you will come with me to meet my son, Theo. My wife can’t wait to meet you.”

I was going to have friends. Lots and lots of them.

I couldn’t wait.

Chapter 1

Ophelia

Present

Shallow souls and broken hearts.

I should’ve tattooed it over my ribs as a constant reminder of everything I was surrounded with. Redeemers, sinners, liars, heroes and villains, and I always belonged to the last category. Maybe it was by choice, or maybe by the already written destiny I had to live with; my burden to carry, my demons to entertain.

And for so long I’ve danced with them as if they were my friends. My only companions when the dull pain in my heart turned into a constant thrumming, I always turned to the shadows when things became too much too bear. When real life became a constant reminder of every tragedy I’ve caused, my pretty demons whispered sweet nothings into my ear, pulling me back into the oblivion where I didn’t have to feel.

There was no sadness.

No happiness.

No love.

No fear.

No grief.

Just the pure nothingness where I could be who I was always supposed to be—the killer. Baba Yaga, the queen of the night, of pain and fear… The one they all whispered about, but no one ever dared to say my name out loud.

And I longed to be seen. To feel the soft touch on my skin, even if it lasted only for a few seconds, but at least I would’ve remembered what it felt like.

I had it. I had it all, and I’ve lost it, because oblivion was much sweeter than his promises of tomorrow.

I lied to myself, to him, to all of them when I said everything was going to be okay, because it wasn’t. Nothing would ever be okay, but for a few moments when everything seemed perfect, I liked to pretend. And this… This was my last sacrifice for the one I loved, even if he hated me forever. My mind longed for happiness, but my soul was far too tainted to surrender itself to the feelings that didn’t invoke misery every step of the way.

The scars on my back were nothing compared to the ones I carried deep inside myself, where all my fears and all my love laid hidden beneath the thick layers of broken pieces that I couldn’t bear to even touch.

And I could’ve had a beautiful life. Maybe even a peaceful one, but the restless soul would always remain inside of me, and no matter how much my mind and my heart fought against each other, it was that third part of me, the core of who I was, that damned me every single time.

And this time, I broke my own fucking heart.

There was no one else to blame for the knife I pushed through my chest when I took off from the clubhouse, running away from the one good thing that had happened to me. I’ve allowed my own fears to get the best of me, and instead of going forward, I went backwards, ruining everything.

One step forward, ten backwards; same old story, same old me.

Some people shed their old skin like snakes, changing every year, working on themselves, improving who they were. Me? I apparently didn’t know how to change.

I wished that there was a manual on how to fix everything that was wrong with me; everything that didn’t only hurt me, but the people around me. I wished I could go back in time and run as far as I could, instead of going into that basement when I was seventeen years old.

I wished I wasn’t born with a dark mark on my heart, the one that every member of my family had. Maybe then I would’ve been a better person; less bitter, less vengeful and more forgiving.

My eyes flickered down to the destroyed snake tattoo on my forearm and I traced the scars with the forefinger of my right hand, wincing, even though the pain wasn’t there.

But the memories still were.

Like a kaleidoscope of pictures, they played in front of my eyes, reminding me of every fucked up thing I'd done. Every bloody trail I’ve left behind, every broken heart and every destroyed life, they all danced in front of my eyes, laughing at the regrets swirling in my mind.

And the most fucked up shit I ever did—I broke a man that didn’t deserve to be broken.

I broke the only person that ever gave a fuck about me. Maybe I wasn’t the one holding that knife, but I was the one that lured Nikolai. I was the one he wanted and I let him hurt Storm.

But tonight was not the time to wallow in self-pity.

Not even when my eyes traveled from the ancient looking grandfather clock that probably stopped working ages ago, all the way to the large framed picture just above the fireplace, where the face of the man I despised with all my might, stood smiling, frozen in time.

He looked like a proud father, with his hands around the much smaller man I only saw in pictures Cillian sent me. Nikolai Aster stood there, hugging a guy that was my age, smiling at the camera as if he wasn’t the boogeyman we all feared over the years.

But even a boogeyman wasn’t immortal, and if I could’ve, I would’ve dragged him out of hell and back, just to hear him scream one more time. Just to see the fear in his eyes as the tip of my knife pressed to his skin, when he realized that I was no longer the little girl he could manipulate.

I used to be nothing more than a puppet for his sick, fucking games, and I was naive enough to think that anything I ever did would be enough for him.

All I needed was love; just a dash of love, a dash of patience and maybe a little bit of softness, but he didn’t know how to give that. At least not to me and not to my siblings.

But he knew how to shower Vincent Brown with everything he ever failed to give us.

I stood up and walked toward the picture, my body already knowing what I needed. And I needed to see. I needed to make sure before I did what I was about to do.

But when my eyes zeroed in on Vincent’s, I could see that there was no resemblance, not even a little bit. He wasn’t Nikolai’s son, or my brother, but he was something.

He was someone my own father loved more than he loved me. I could see it in the way his hand squeezed Vincent’s shoulder. I could see it in the proud, honest smile Nikolai wore—he was beaming, and I wanted to know why.

What was it that this scrawny, little kid with glasses had that I didn’t?

And what was it that made this kid hate me enough to lead my father back to me, when all I wanted was to be left alone?

My finger traced over the glass protecting the picture, and before I could stop myself, my hand wrapped into a fist, and with all my might, I smashed against the glass, letting it fall down over the fireplace, and all the way to the floor.

Wet, hot blood ran down my arm from the cuts on the side of my hand, but the pain never registered. I pulled out the knife I kept strapped to my boot and pressed the tip into the throat of the man I used to call father.

But he never deserved that title.

He never deserved anything from me, yet I gave and gave and gave until there was nothing else to give. Underneath all my hatred toward him, there used to be a seventeen-year-old Ophelia, still hoping that her father wasn’t the monster she saw that night.

And as I ran the blade along the length of his body, cutting through the picture, that little Ophelia ceased to exist.

There were parts of me I wished never survived the darkness they threw me into. Parts that were far too weak to do what was right and what needed to be done, but not anymore.

These people—Vincent, the Outfit and the Syndicate, they had no idea what was coming for them.

The furies from hell were nothing compared to what I have prepared for them, and standing here, looking at the shattered glass and cut picture, the new determination set inside of me.

I turned around and walked through the living room and then the dark hallway, where picture after picture of Nikolai and Vincent stood, and I marched straight into the kitchen.

Dark cabinets, pristine floor, and I couldn’t wait to see Vincent’s blood decorating this place. I couldn’t wait to see his lifeless eyes staring back at me, because we both knew I was coming for him. The two bodyguards he always had with him were proof that he was afraid. And he had every reason to be. All the data Cillian managed to get from Vincent’s computer, all those files with my name on them—Saudi Arabia, China, Russia, United States, Germany, France, every single mission I did. Photos of people I’ve killed. People I’ve loved and people I’ve lost.

But two photos pissed me off the most—Storm and Maya.

They never should’ve messed with the people I loved, because even when those people, my people, hated me, when they wanted nothing to do with me, I would still burn the world for them and laugh as I watched it wither into nothingness.

And Vincent Brown deserved only nothingness.

I rounded the tall counter placed in the middle, and I had no doubt that the little weasel never even stepped inside this kitchen to cook. People like him had someone to do it for them, but it wasn’t until I saw a white plate right next to the microwave that I started laughing.

Cookies.

Dozens of cookies, and the melted chocolate on them sent a zing of happiness through my veins.

Might as well eat while I wait for him to come home.

* * *

My tongue darted out, licking off the chocolate from my thumb, when bright lights illuminated the living room from the outside, and the unmistakable sound of a car door slamming echoed through the room.

It was time.

I placed the plate down on the floor, with half of the cookies missing, and crossed my legs, waiting for him to enter. Flexing my fingers, I could see the door unlocking, and I wondered how long it would take him to realize that there was somebody else in the house with him.

His voice filled in the empty space, bouncing off of the walls as he babbled incessantly about the new program he was developing, and a crooked smile pulled at my face, because I knew that after tonight he wouldn’t be programming anything.

“Alright,” he said, his footsteps echoing off of the marble floors. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

My heart thundered in my chest, the pure excitement coursing through my veins, and as soon as his silhouette appeared at the entrance to the living room, every muscle in my body pulled taught, ready for impact.

The bright lights almost blinded me, but I blinked through the sharp light, looking straight at him.

“I hope you don’t mind,” I started. “But I ate half of your cookies.”

“What the fuck?” He screamed and jumped backwards, holding onto the wall as if that would help him tonight.

Unless he had a gun somewhere on his body, there was nothing helping him.

His bodyguards were held up.

His security system was down.

And I was ready.

“Hi, Vince,” I smiled and stood up, crossing the room toward the now destroyed picture. I could see the traces of my blood on the shattered glass and on the floor. I could feel his eyes on my back. “You have a really nice house,” I looked at him over my shoulder. “Sorry for the mess, but you know how it is. Sometimes you just need to smash some things.”

“What are you doing here?” He took another step backwards, inching closer toward the security panel on the opposite wall. If only he knew.

“Do you know who I am?” I looked at him, and frowned at what I was seeing.

His small frame barely filled the white shirt he wore, and the suit pants he had on were most definitely not tailored to his size. The black-framed glasses on his face seemed to be too big for him, and his entire appearance screamed of a person that didn’t like to be seen.

Maybe he liked to be heard, but never seen.

“Death,” he bit out and started pressing the emergency button on the panel, frowning when it did absolutely nothing.

But really? Death?

After all these years I would’ve thought that they would become at least a wee bit innovative with all these nicknames they were gracing me with.

Baba Yaga.

Psychopath.

Death.

I mean, I didn’t ask for a lot, but come on. It would’ve been nice to hear something new, especially from him, considering the height of his IQ and all these things he allegedly accomplished by himself.

“I mean, death is probably what’s coming for you tonight,” I grinned and stepped closer, twirling the knife in my left hand. “But that isn’t my name.”

“Stay away from me!” He yelled out, plastering his body to the wall.

Instead of hugging him, Nikolai should’ve taught him how to defend himself. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been in this situation where it was quite obvious who was the predator and who was the prey.

And I didn’t come here to play games.

“Stay away from me,” I mocked, laughing at his terrified expression. It was easy for him, hiding behind his computer screens, hired bodyguards and Nikolai Aster, thinking he was untouchable.

But no one was untouchable. That was one thing my dear daddy taught me. Everyone had a weakness, and it was always just a matter of time before that weakness would be found. And once it was, even a thousand guards wouldn’t be able to save him from the fury living inside my bones.

“What do you want from me?” He asked. His eyes were darting all over the place, looking for an exit, for something to hold onto. He should’ve realized by now that no one was going to come to save him.

He should’ve known better than to poke the bear. Somebody should have told him what would happen when the said bear found out what he did.

“I came to play poker with you,” I grinned as I knelt down to pick up a shard of broken glass. Then I looked at him, playing with the broken piece, moving it from one hand to the other. “Why do you think, you fucking idiot?”

The audible gasp that came from him fed the demon inside of me that wanted his blood. I’ve spent months pretending to be somebody else. I have spent months pushing this side of me aside, trying to be a better person. Trying to bury the anger that was the one constant companion over the last few years.

But my past wouldn’t let me. The people I wanted to forget couldn’t forget me, and if this was the version of me they wanted, so be it.

I would be as cruel as they made me to be.

“Are you going to kill me?” His voice trembled as he asked, pressing his back harder against the wall as if he could somehow disappear into it.

“No, darling,” I answered as I stood up then started walking toward him. “I am going to play with you, and you are going to tell me everything I want to know.”

“I can’t!” He bellowed, terror lacing his every word. “They’re going to kill me if I open my mouth.”

“Well,” I chuckled and stopped right in front of him. “What do you think I will do, Vince?” I pressed the pointed end of the glass against my thumb, letting it break my skin. I watched as the crimson dripped down my thumb. “Did you know that a human body can lose up to forty percent of its blood before succumbing to oblivion?”

“N-No,” he whimpered, shaking his head.

“Oh, Vince,” I murmured, approaching him slowly. Lifting my blood stained thumb, I pressed it against his cheek. “You and I are going to have so much fun.”

“P-Please,” he begged. “I don’t know anything.”

My hand shot down to his throat, my fingers wrapping around, pressing against the pulse point on his neck. I pressed my forehead to his and closed my eyes. “Don’t lie to me, darling. I hate it when people lie.”

“I-I’m not…” he trailed off, choking in my hold. “Ly-ing.”

“Vince, Vince, Vince,” I laughed, hitting the wall with the back of his head. “I am not a patient person, but for you,” I opened my eyes, “I will be a fucking saint. I would like to cut your throat open right here, right now, but I won’t do that.”

“D-Don’t—”

“You thought my father was a vicious person?” I chuckled. “He was an angel compared to me. The things I have planned for you… You are going to love it.”

“They’re going to find you,” he smiled weakly. “They’ll make you pay for what you did.”

“Let them. But you won’t be here long enough to see that happening.”

I pressed my lips against his bloodied cheek and pulled out my knife from the strap around my leg. “I will bury you alive,” I whispered before hitting the back of his neck with the handle of my knife.

He tumbled down on the floor like a sack of potatoes, right at my feet.

Right where he belonged.

I knelt down next to him, caressing his arm with the tip of my blade and pulled out the phone from my back pocket, dialing the last number I’d called just before coming to the house.

“It’s done,” I said as Cillian picked up, not even waiting for him to speak first.

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” was all he said before he hung up.

The games were just about the start, and The Syndicate, The Outfit and the Albanians had no idea what was coming for them. Because I wasn’t going to pretend anymore. I wasn’t going to sit tightly while they tried to ruin my life.

Chapter 2

Ophelia

The black Range Rover pulled up in front of the house not even ten minutes after my call. Turning off the engine, the lights shut down and a few seconds after the door on the drivers side as well as the passenger side opened, revealing two figures when I only wanted to see one.

The first one was my friend, my confidant, the person I could call in the middle of the night to help me bury the body, and I knew he would always come. The second one… I tried to kill the second one, but the bastard kept coming back. I tried to erase him from my life, but he obviously didn’t take a hint.

I called Cillian, but Kieran… Kieran wasn’t supposed to be here.

I got up from the porch I was sitting on, scowling at Cillian who kept grimacing as he approached me.

“Please don’t start,” he said before I blasted.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” I asked, pointing at Kieran who was standing next to the car with his hands in his front pockets. “I called you, not him.”

“I know, but he was with me.”

“Kill—”

“I know, I know, but cut him some slack. He’s been worried about you.”

“He’s been worried about me?” I scoffed. “Why?”

“Because you’re acting like a lunatic!” Kieran answered instead, his voice grating on my nerves. “Again. You’re on a path of self destruction, just like…” he trailed off.

“Just like before, you mean?” I thundered and came down the stairs to where Cillian stood. “Newsflash, Kieran, I am not yours to worry about.”

“Goddammit, Birdy!” He yelled out and closed the distance between us in three strides. “You don’t really get it, do you?”

“No. Why don’t you enlighten me, Kieran?”

His hand wrapped around my upper arm, pulling me closer to him. “I will always worry about you,” he breathed out. “I don’t give a shit whose bed you’re warming right now, but here,” he pressed his other hand against his heart. “You still belong to me.”

“Kieran,” Cillian started in a warning voice. “We talked about this.”

“Let go of me, Kieran,” I gritted out.

“Not until you start behaving like a normal person.”

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. “Kieran,” I looked up at him. “I have a knife I’m not afraid to use.”

“You already used it on me, but if you really wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it already.”

“Kieran!” Cillian yelled out. “That’s enough.”

He pulled him away from me, and I finally felt I could breathe.

I made a terrible mistake allowing him to think that he had a place in my life now. After everything we’ve been through, all the heartache, hate, pain and destruction we caused to each other, it would’ve been the humane thing to let him down slowly. To tell him that what once was would never be again.

But no matter how many times I told him that there was no us, there never would be, he pushed harder, trying to prove… Something. But I wasn’t sure if he was trying to prove it to me or to himself. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to hold onto the past because the future terrified him, or if he truly believed that there could ever be anything else between the two of us.

“No, Cillian,” he thrashed against Kill’s hold. “She needs me. She needs us.”

God, every new word sounded more and more pathetic, and I couldn’t take this anymore.

More than a month ago, after Nikolai attacked the clubhouse, injured Storm and shattered everything I had, Kieran had showed up at the hospital, unannounced, pretending to be a white knight, trying to push through the wall of guards stationed in front of Storm’s room. He almost got himself killed.

He almost got Atlas killed, while he was trying to remove Kieran from a livid Indigo. Kieran somehow got it in his head that I was his responsibility. That the night we all spent together meant more than it actually did.

I hated unnecessary scenes. I hated it when people couldn’t accept the facts.

“Kieran,” I murmured, ready to get this over with. “Let me get one thing straight and I don’t want us to ever again go back to this topic.”

“Ophelia, come—”

“Shhhh,” I lifted my forefinger and pressed it against his lips, shutting him up immediately. “I am talking, and I would truly appreciate it if you didn’t try to interrupt me.”

Both of them had their eyes plastered on me, waiting for what I was about to say. Cillian seemed calm, collected, but I knew that there was a tempest hiding behind the facade he was putting on. Kieran on the other hand looked like a rabid animal, shaking as Cillian held him in place. They might have been twins, sharing almost everything, but their personalities were worlds apart. Where Kieran would always do things before thinking about the consequences or asking for permission, because he thought it was his God given right to do whatever the fuck he wanted, Cillian always thought things through. He was the planner. The one with the solutions. The quiet one, who used his words like knives, cutting through people when they least expected it.

Cillian didn’t need brute force to make people understand or do things he wanted them to do, which was why he could also understand things from my perspective. Kieran couldn’t.

“What happened between the three of us, happened only because I was proving a point. To myself, to Storm, to anyone that was willing to listen. There was no love in what I did, and I thought I made myself clear that day. But in case you need another reminder, Kieran… I am not in love with you,” I accentuated every word. “I used to be, a long time ago. I used to worship the ground you walked on, but that was then, and that Ophelia doesn’t exist anymore.”

I took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eye. “I will always care about you, that’s true. But love has nothing to do with it. I killed the last piece of you that lived inside of me when my knife tore through your skin, Kieran. I don’t need you behaving like a love sick puppy whenever you see me, when there’s so much more at stake.”

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered.

“But I do. I mean every single word, and it is time for you to fucking let me go. I am not a chess piece on this fucked up board of redemption you are trying to play. I am not the one you need to apologize to—Maya is.”

He winced at the mention of her name.

“I don’t have time for lost boys and redemptions. Both of you know this very well. So you can either fucking help me to get through this or you can leave. It’s up to you.”

“We’re not leaving,” Cillian said. “I told you already that I am in this with you.”

“Then fucking control him!” I blasted. “These people are not playing around, and if we’re not careful, one of us is going to pay with their life, and I don’t want any of us to fall into their clutches.”

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore traveled to us, and I knew it was just a matter of time before one of the neighbors noticed us standing here.

“We need to get out of here,” I said, looking around us. “His guards will soon realize that things weren’t adding up, and whatever was in that syringe I emptied inside of Vincent won’t last forever. Now, are you in or are you out?” I looked at Kieran.

Seconds passed by as he stared at me, but it felt like an eternity before he spoke again. “I’m in.”

“Good,” I nodded. “Now help me to carry him to the trunk. Kill,” I looked at Cillian. “I need you to take Vincent to the cabin. I’ll meet you there tomorrow or the day after at the latest.”

“Where are you going?” Kieran asked when I turned toward the house.

“None of your fucking business, K.”

* * *

The familiarity of Santa Monica hit me as soon as I crossed the border into the city, feeling as if it was years since I last stepped in here, when in reality it was only three days.

Sons of Hades needed a break from me, and I needed a break from the constant anxiety that was crippling me every time I sat next to Storm’s bed, begging some invisible force to wake him up. But the stubborn bastard kept his eyes closed even after the doctor removed him from life support, deciding that it was time for him to breathe on his own.

His vitals were good, his body was healing, but his mind was far out of our reach. I wanted to blame the doctors for putting him in an induced coma to help his body heal, but it’s been a month and a half since they did that, and I just wanted him to wake up.

It didn’t even matter anymore that he would probably want nothing to do with me, or that these were the last moments I would ever have with him. If I knew that he was alright, I could disappear from his life.

I would, because there was no other way.

Kieran thought that this would be the perfect opportunity for me to run back into his arms, as if he didn’t know that my own heart didn’t belong to me anymore.

It was there, right in this hospital standing in front of me, with the person that wanted to set me free. And I fucked it up—as per usual.

I’ve spent half of my life blaming other people for the mess of my own creation. It was much easier putting blame on others because then you didn’t have to look in the mirror to see the real monster standing in front of you.

I was taught very well by Nikolai and his goons. The master of manipulation taught me everything he knew, but he never taught me how to stop loving when it was useless hoping for the other person to love you.

I had no idea how my own mother stayed with him all these years. I had no idea what it was that Storm saw in me, when it was clear to everyone that could see us that I wasn’t worthy of his time or his kindness. I was extremely good at running, at destroying the lives of other people, and they all had every right to hate me.

I wasn’t going to apologize for who I was. Not to them.

Only one person deserved to hear my apologies, and he laid still on the sixth floor of UCLA Santa Monica, unmoving, unconscious, and it was all because of me.

Deep inside I always knew that there was a connection between us, a wicked hand of fate, but I never imagined that my father was the one that destroyed Storm’s innocence. And I regretted pulling him back into that world of darkness.

It was no wonder that he didn’t want to open his eyes. There was nothing worthy in this world.

But here he has you.

He didn’t want me, not anymore. Not after what I did and what I said. I always did the same thing to those I loved—I pushed and pushed and pushed until they stopped coming back. And the devastation in his eyes as I uttered those disgusting words just before we were brought in front of my father, would haunt me forever.

I often wished that there was a machine that could help me turn back the time, if only to fix the mess I’ve made. Or at least this one. If I knew what would have happened, I never would have let him come inside the Clubhouse with me. I would have told him to stay far, far away, until I’ve dealt with Nikolai.

Those were all silly, little dreams of a woman that wanted to change things that were unchangeable, and I needed to face the results of my own actions.

Unmounting the bike in the parking lot in front of the hospital, I took off my helmet and brushed through my hair with my fingers. The reflection in the mirror on the bike showed how tired I was. The dark circles around my eyes were indication enough of how far I’ve pushed myself this time.

People usually went to Malibu to relax and chill, and I went to kidnap Vincent Brown.

Three days with little to no sleep turned me into a cranky bitch, and I just hoped that it wasn’t Indigo’s turn tonight to stay in the hospital. They all watched over Storm like hawks, and if it wasn’t for me threatening Indigo and Creed with my knife on that first day when we brought him into hospital, I would’ve been blacklisted as well.

I understood that they wanted to protect him, even from me—especially from me—but at this point I didn’t give a fuck what any of them wanted. They tried to kick me out, threatening me with violence while the pain of almost losing him still shone in their eyes. But I wasn’t budging. I wasn’t leaving before I knew that he was alright. That I didn’t destroy his life.

I was torn between the need to stay next to Storm and care for him, and yelling at him even though he couldn’t hear me. My anger was still there, still brewing in the pit of my stomach every time I saw the faces of members of Sons of Hades. Forgiveness came hard to me, and the environment I grew up in wasn’t filled with forgiving people. No, you paid with your life for the mistakes you made.

You screamed into the night, begging for death if they even thought that you could betray them. And Sons of Hades—they betrayed my trust. They kept their secrets close to their hearts, never really letting me in.

But I had to admit that there were no saints in this game, and each of us had something we were guilty of. We all fucked up, one way or another, and if I wanted to move on with my life, I had to stop holding on to the anger over stupid little things that didn’t even matter anymore.

Hospitals and nightclubs were the only two places busy this late at night, and when I looked down at the watch on my arm, one in the morning shone on the fancy gadget, telling me I was way beyond late. Atlas was going to give me that worried look of his, but he knew that even he couldn’t stop me from doing this.

For me.

For Storm.

For all those people that The Syndicate fucked over.

The nurse manning the reception just looked at me as I passed, not trying to stop me this time. The last time I came back this late, they didn’t want to let me in, but I’ve managed. My boots squealed against the marble floor, and I paid no attention to the people passing next to me. I had only one goal, and that was to get to that sixth floor without anyone trying to talk to me.

I was still full of rage after that encounter with Vincent and Kieran, and I had to stomp it down before getting to his room. With my luck, Indigo would no doubt be in front , and I was too tired to deal with him tonight.

The volatile relationship between the two of us would always stay that way, especially after he tried to attack me a month ago. Which in the end only ended badly for him—Atlas wouldn’t even talk to Indigo anymore, and I would be lying if I said that it didn’t make a small part of me happy seeing Indigo distressed over such a thing.

“Look who’s back,” a familiar voice piped up behind me just as I was about to step into the elevator.

God-fucking-dammit.

“Indigo,” I groaned, turning toward him with one leg inside the elevator. “What a pleasure.”

“I would say that the feeling is mutual, but I don’t have time for small talk tonight.” He looked raged, weary, but the two coffee cups he held in his hands made my mouth water and I almost forgot how annoyed I was at him. “After you,” he said, coming closer to me and pushing me into the elevator.

“Is that for me?” I asked, stepping fully inside. “Because I must say, if you have coffee for me, then I might even be willing to listen to whatever you have to say.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “It actually is. It’s a, well, a temporary truce, for all our sakes."

“A truce?” I laughed. “I thought you didn’t know the meaning of that word,” I murmured, taking one of the cups from him.

Indigo pressed the digit for the sixth floor on the panel inside the elevator and as we started ascending, he turned toward me with a look that I didn’t like all too much.

“What’s going on?” I asked, sipping my coffee. “It must be something serious if you are willing to talk to me.”

“Atlas told me you’ll be heading back tonight and I realized it was about time for the two of us to have this talk.”

“Oh, really?” I scoffed. “And how did you come to this conclusion? Was it between trying to kill me for something I didn’t do or because Atlas won’t talk to you anymore?”

“I fucked up, okay?” He grunted. “But you have to understand—things weren’t really going well for you, and it seemed as if you sent Nikolai to us, wanting to kill Storm. He’s my friend, my brother,” he mumbled. “And seeing him in that state, unmoving, with you screaming over him, it set me off. It made me realize how short life really is, and I don’t know, I just snapped. I snapped at you, and I’m sorry.”

“Wow.” I was officially shocked. “Did that just come out of your mouth?”

“You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”

“No, no,” I smiled. “Keep going. I like hearing you apologizing to me. Although, it really isn’t necessary.”

“It isn’t?” He frowned. “I thought you—”

“Hated you? Indigo, I am the type of a person that hates herself until twelve in the afternoon, and after twelve I hate everyone else. So, I don’t really hate you. I merely dislike you, and you get on my nerves, but you don’t deserve my hate when, if I were in the same position, I would’ve done the same.”

“You would?”

He was so fucking confused by my reaction, and I must say, it was almost cute.

“Is this why you wanted to talk to me? Because I must say, it could’ve waited until tomorrow.”

“Unfortunately, this is not the reason. It was more of a prelude to the real shit show that’s happening.”

I looked up at the numbers slowly changing on the screen above the panel of buttons, and something told me that whatever was about to come out of his mouth, wouldn’t be very good.

“Keep talking, Indy. We don’t have all night.”

“It’s the Syndicate,” he whispered, leaning toward me. “We found out who they were working with, and you know, the Red Manor.”

“Who?”

“Have you ever heard of Judah Blackwood?”

“Heard?” I laughed bitterly. “Indy, that guy should’ve been killed a long time ago. I’ve met him and I would like to say it was pleasant, but it wasn’t.”

“Well, I agree with you, but here’s the thing. There’s this guy Lars that contacted us, and he has information on Judah and the Syndicate. And there’s this kid, Ash, and I’m going to have to help him.”

“Have to?” I narrowed my eyes on him.

“I don’t know, it’s just this feeling in my gut. But that’s why I’m going to have to head South for a couple of days, and I wanted you to know.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because no matter what, I think you’re the only person able to bring Storm back. And Ophelia, we need him back.”

Chapter 3

Ophelia

I used to believe in miracles when I was a kid. You know, the fairytale ones, the magical fountains and wishes coming true, where the main characters ended up living happily ever after, because that magical well gave them what their heart truly desired.

I wished I could still believe in those things, maybe then I would be able to cross the threshold of Storm’s room and go to him, because my heart would still believe in miracles. But life taught me that miracles existed only in fairytales, and that good things happened only in movies.

In real life, the prince died, the princess never opened her eyes and the kingdom crumbled down like a house of cards.

Storm’s chest rose and fell steadily and all the bruises and scrapes that were visible on his face a month and a half ago were already healed. His eyes were closed, face relaxed, and I wanted to imagine that he was simply sleeping, resting after another busy day. But he wasn’t.

I hated the smell of antiseptic in this fucking place, the plain, white walls, the machines beeping rhythmically with every new beat of his heart. I despised seeing him like this, powerless, weak, when his enemies circled, closing down on us.

We all fucking needed him to open his eyes, to tell me to shut my mouth and to set my head straight. I wouldn’t even mind his hate if only I got to experience his touch one more time.

Realistically I knew he would wake up, it was just a matter of time—at least that’s what the doctors said. But I wasn’t known for my patience, and one and a half months was a helluva long time.

The silence was deafening as I slowly crossed the length of the room and stopped at his bedside. How was it possible to miss a person so much when they were still right in front of you?

I missed his touch, his smiles, his wicked sense of humor, even the times when he called me out on my shit, because someone had to. I missed our fights, the way he understood me better than anybody else, and most of all, I missed feeling his love.

I was always on the run, from people, from emotions, from anything that could make me weak, and he knocked me off of my feet and made me love him, and I never even got to say it out loud. If I did it right now, he never would’ve believed me.

“Storm,” I whispered, taking his hand in mine. I pulled the chair that was always placed next to his bed closer, and sat down. “I miss you, Stormy,” I chuckled brokenly. “I miss everything about you and if this is your way of telling me to fuck off, it isn’t funny.”

I traced my finger over the ink on his hands, going up his arm, praying for some kind of response.

“I know you’re a stubborn little shit, but this has gone on for longer than necessary, don’t you think? Open your eyes, love. Please,” I murmured, feeling the tears trickling down my cheeks.

I thought I'd cried enough in the very beginning when we didn’t know if he would live or die, but every single time I sat here, I couldn’t help myself.

“We need you back,” I said. “I need you. I can’t do this without knowing that you will be fine. Please,” I begged. “Please, open your eyes. I know you hate me now and I know I deserve it, but I will always love you. Forever and always, Storm. That’s what I promised and I’m not going back on my promise. So stop this, darling. Stop this nonsense and come back to us.”

I squeezed his hand with both of mine, my entire body trembling.

“I am sorry for everything I did. You will never know how sorry I am, and I know it isn’t an excuse, but I’m not built like you. I didn’t know how to let you in, how to show you the things I feel. And I know I deserve this agony, this pain, but you don’t have to punish the rest of them.” I took a deep breath and started talking again. “Indigo needs you. He’s lost without you, and I’m afraid he will do something that will get him killed. Atlas…” I trailed off. “I have no idea what’s going on with him because he doesn’t want to tell me, but I’m worried about him. I worry about them all.”

Yet no matter how much I talked. No matter how many times I told him I loved him. No matter how many sorrys I uttered, he never woke up.

Maybe Indigo was wrong after all.

I stood up and brought my face closer to his. “I love you, Storm. I love you more than you could ever imagine, and I’m sorry I was the one you decided to keep.” I pressed my lips against his forehead, closing my eyes.

I prayed in my head, pushing my energy, my everything, to him through that one simple kiss.

“I wish I'd never met you, you know?” I chuckled and dried my cheeks. “Maybe if you never saw me, you wouldn’t be lying here. I broke you. I broke us, and I am so fucking sorry.”

But my words never had the intended effect, and as I looked at his face after I sat down, there was no change. Not even the smallest flinch that would tell me he was listening.

And I wished I could keep hoping, keep praying, but the time was passing by and I had no idea how long we could do this.

All of us.

* * *

My neck officially hated me, and I realized that I had to stop falling asleep like this—with my butt on the highly uncomfortable chair and the upper part of my body on the bed. Birds chirped on the outside and only then did I realize that someone must have left the window open.

I had no idea how I missed it last night.

But after the information Indigo threw at me and my own emotional fuckery, checking the room was the last thing on my mind—and it should have been the first. With everything going on I needed to be more careful, and the last thing we all needed right now was for me to fall apart emotionally.

I had to be strong. For Storm, for the Club, for everyone involved in this.

There was no place for mistakes, and one simple mess-up could cost us our lives.

I pulled myself away from the bed, cracking my neck left and right, wincing as the familiar throbbing in my body reminded me that I had to be more careful. I wasn’t eighteen years old anymore, and after everything I’ve put my body through, even sleeping in a fucked up position meant a miserable morning.

There was no change as I looked up at Storm. The machines kept beeping, his steady heartbeat showing on the monitors, and those fucking IV fluids attached to his arms gave me goosebumps. I played this game every single morning I was here—wake up, bitch about the sleeping position I was in, look at him, look at all these machines, and feel the hope dying in me when I finally realized that there was no change.

I should’ve gotten used to it by now, but there was no way I could ever get used to this sight of him.

The sound of the door opening had me whipping my head to the side and jumping up from the chair, ready for an attack, but when a familiar face appeared, holding a cup of coffee I desperately needed, I relaxed, dropping my guard down.

“Well, you look beautiful today,” Atlas grinned.

“Shut up,” I mumbled and walked toward him. His arms spread out, welcoming me into a hug I didn’t know I needed up until that moment. “How are you?” I asked, squeezing his sides before stepping back.

He handed over the coffee cup and kept on his brilliant smile, but I hated seeing the shadows around his eyes and the demons glaring at me in his irises. Something was bothering him. Something he didn’t want to say, but whatever it was it could wait for another day.

“I’m good. You know me. Nothing can ever stop me.”

I highly doubted that, and the chirpy fucking sound of his voice betrayed him. He was masking something, but if he didn’t want to tell me, then fine. I could wait. I didn’t want to coax it out of him if I didn’t really need to, but whatever was bothering my friend had him fucked up and I would find out what—one way or another.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I heard Indigo spoke to you last night?”

Ah, there we go. One of the reasons behind those dark shadows around his eyes.

“And I hear you told him I would be here last night,” I narrowed my eyes on him.

“Hey,” he lifted his hands. “He asked, I told him, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, there’s not, except for the fact that you don’t want to tell me what’s going on when it’s clear that something’s been eating you up.”

The vein on the side of his neck ticked, and he avoided my eyes, looking at Storm instead.

“It's nothing, Phee. How’s our boy?”

“Atlas—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he blasted. “I really don’t, so please stop asking.”

“Bottling things up isn’t exactly helpful, Atlas.”

“And how would you know?” He snarled. “You’re the queen of hiding her emotions and look where that got you.” He winced as soon as the words got out of his mouth, but there was no turning back. “Fuck,” he cursed, placing his hands on his hips and looking down at the floor. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did,” I murmured, hiding my eyes from him. “I think, uh,” I looked toward the door, pointing at it. “I think I need to use the restroom.”

“Phee—”

He stepped toward me, and I stepped back.

“No, no, it’s okay,” I smiled, but even I knew that it looked broken. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay. I just need to go to the bathroom.”

I turned around and started marching toward the door.

“Ophelia, please. Don’t go,” he called out after me.

“Just stay with Storm, Atlas. I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t want to fall apart in front of him, and hearing my only friend here saying something like that, shook me. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know what a fuck-up I was, but knowing it and hearing another person say it were two different things, and both of them sucked.

Zozo wasn’t in Santa Monica at the moment. Indigo sent her North as soon as she got out of the hospital, keeping her as far away from me as possible. It sucked, but it was what he needed to do to protect his sister from the villain living inside their house.

I didn’t go back to the clubhouse after that day. I couldn’t. I still had nightmares of seeing them, Zoe, other members of the club, Storm bleeding out in my hands… Every time I closed my eyes I could hear it—the screaming, the gunshots, the words I tried running away from me.

It’s your fault.

It’s your fault.

Indigo said those same words to me as soon as we got to the hospital, and I believed him. In their eyes, it was all my fault. In my eyes I knew I never should’ve gone to the clubhouse. I knew I should’ve ran away long before that day, because if I did, my father never would’ve come for them.

He only did it to bring me back, to show me he still owned me—body, mind and soul. He wanted to take the one good thing from me, but it backfired.

I rushed toward the bathroom, holding onto that cup of coffee as if it was my lifeline, and as soon as the doors closed behind me, I collapsed against the wall, hating this weakness coating my bones.

Pain was a powerful thing. It could bring the strongest men and women down to their knees, and having a constant reminder that you were the reason for everything bad that was happening right now, sucked.

My phone started vibrating in my back pocket, pulling me away from the misery and self-loathing I was drowning in. As soon as I pulled it out I could see several missed calls and Cillian’s name blasting on the screen.

“Hello,” I answered as I pressed the phone to my ear.

“Oh, thank fucking God,” he exclaimed. “Why the fuck weren’t you answering your phone.”

“I was sleeping,” I murmured.

“Then fucking sleep less!” He shouted.

“Hey, hey, what got in your panties today?”

“The Syndicate, Ophelia. They know your location, they know where Storm is, and they have a bounty on your head.”

“What?” I pulled myself up, leaving the coffee cup on the floor. “What are you talking about?”

“Somebody talked, Birdy. Someone told them Storm is still in Santa Monica. Someone told them you’re there as well, and they’re definitely not coming for an afternoon tea. You need to get the fuck out of there.”

“I can’t leave him.”

“Both of you need to get out. They’ll be there in one hour. You don’t have much time.”

“Where do I go, Kill? I can’t leave Storm. He’s still in a coma, it’s not like we can just wake him up.”

“Find a way, Ophelia. They’re coming to kill you. I mean it, get the fuck out of there. I’m arranging a car for you. It will be there in half an hour.”

“Kill—”

But the line cut off before I could say anything, and I knew he wasn’t joking. The Syndicate was coming for us, and after my uncle took over things were even worse than before. Or at least they seemed to be. They were relentless in their pursuit of me, and I’d be damned if I allowed them to catch me.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I cursed, picking up the coffee cup and throwing it in the bin next to the sink. I looked up at the mirror, seeing the dark circles around my eyes, my disheveled hair, and the tiredness sinking into the lines of my face.

“Think, Ophelia. Think,” I said out loud, and I knew there was only one option.

We had to wake him up, one way or another.

I rushed out of the bathroom, running toward Storm’s room, when Atlas came out, barreling toward me.

“Oh, thank God,” he said, out of breath.

“Atlas, we have a problem.”

“Storm is awake,” he said at the same time I did.

My entire body seized, muscles locking in place, my brain repeating his words over and over again.

“What?” I said, my eyes widening. “What did you just say?”

“He’s awake. And he’s asking for you.”

I didn’t want his first day to end up like this. I didn’t want him to have to run for his life when he'd just opened his eyes after over a month of sleeping, but we had no other choice.

“Atlas,” I started, trying to calm my racing heart. “The Syndicate is coming for us,” I whispered, looking around us. Everyone looked suspicious. The doctors, nurses, even the family sitting in front of one of the rooms.

Any one of them could’ve been the mole that told them where we were.

“There’s a bounty on my head, and they’re not going to stop until I’m dead. That includes Storm as well.”

“Shit!”

“Call Indigo, call other guys, and tell them to prepare a car for you and him. We need to get him out of here.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, looking at me skeptically.

I’m going to say goodbye, I wanted to say, but I knew if Atlas was aware of my plan, he never would’ve let me do it.

They wouldn’t be able to get out of here without someone distracting the soldiers the Syndicate would send. And I didn’t want to have anyone else dead.

“I’m going to see him. You need to bring a wheelchair for him.”

“The doctor checked on him already,” Atlas said. “He’s okay, but he’s asking for you, Phee. And he’s fucking mad.”

I gulped, knowing that in a few seconds I would need to say goodbye. I would need to break my own heart once again, and his as well, but it was for the best.

Storm didn’t need me. He shouldn’t have to live with someone who could only bring damnation to him. And I needed to say goodbye—to him, to this fairytale I was holding onto. I had to go my own way.

Find out what happens next in Oblivion on January 21st, 2023

PREORDER NOW

Also By L.K. Reid

SINS OF OPHELIA ASTER

Ricochet

Equilibrium

Oblivion

Delirium

SECRETS OF WINWORTH

Apathy

Temptation

THE DARK SIDE OF PARADISE

Divine Violence

Funeral For Dreams

STANDALONES

How Our Hearts Break

NOVELLAS

Serendipity

ANTHOLOGIES

Once Upon A Nightmare

(The Crimson Throne)

About the Author

L.K. Reid is a dark romance author who hates slow walkers and people being mean for no reason. She lives with her two cats, Freya and Athena, and she’s still figuring out the whole “adult” thingy.

In her opinion, Halloween should be a public holiday, and she also has a small obsession with all things historical—especially Greek mythology. During high school, she wanted to be an archaeologist, and ended up studying law, but obviously neither one of those professions worked out.

If she isn’t writing, she’s most probably watching horror movies, listening to music, reading, or plotting upcoming books.

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