Monster Of Ruin: A Dark Serial Killer Romance (The Dark Angels Book 4)

My eyes blink open and I reach over, realizing I’m alone. Disappointment wraps around me as it becomes clear that I once again thought I was getting more. I fooled myself with the euphoric emotions that my fucked up and his fucked up might actually fit together.

But I’m alone. Again.

The sun has just risen, and the warmth of the sun is shining on Elliott’s bed.

I bite my lip as I vividly recall the things he did to me last night. The way he touched me and fucked me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

Which makes waking up alone that much more painful.

When I asked what he was going to do with me, and he said, keep me forever, I believed him. But I obviously took it differently than what he meant. I thought he meant he wanted a relationship, but he clearly meant I’ll just be locked in this hell forever. His toy to use when it suits him.

I’ll live my life out being alone and unloved.

Frustrated, I toss the blanket off me and go into the big bedroom to look out the window. Not surprising, Elliott’s truck is gone. I roll my eyes and grab some clean clothes to go take a shower.

As I wash myself, I begin to scrub harder the more I think about everything. I don’t know if I’m more upset or pissed. Soap splashes onto the walls as I roughly try to wash away the emotions that are impossible to get under control.

I rub between my legs and suck in a breath at the tenderness.

“Of course, you make it impossible to forget.”

I quickly finish in the shower and get dressed. I don’t bother looking in the mirror anymore because I hate the reflection that stares back at me. A woman who has given up.

As I walk toward the kitchen, I pull my hair into a bun, not caring how I look. When I step into the kitchen my stomach drops as my heart pounds in my chest.

On the table, there is a huge bouquet of red roses, red carnations, and pink lilies. My hands are shaking as I slowly walk toward the table. There’s no note, but on the table is a manila envelope.

I push the flowers aside and shake my head when I notice the vase is plastic. Obviously, nothing has changed because he still doesn’t trust me to have anything I can possibly use against him. I sigh and stare at the envelope.

A part of me doesn’t want to look inside because I know what it is, but another part of me, a bigger part, needs to know.

I grab the thick envelope and sit down. My breathing quickens as I open the flap and blow out all the air in my lungs. I reach inside and pull out the thick pile of papers, flopping them down on the table. My stomach is in knots and my throat feels tight as I glance down and read.

Text messages. Page after page of texts between my father and someone else.

“I need a favor.”

“It won’t be cheap.”

“You do this and a million will be in your hands.” 

“I’m listening…”

“I need someone gone.” 

“Who?”

“It needs to look like an accident.” 

“Who?”

“But I need proof it’s done before the accident happens.”

“Who the fuck is it?” 

“My wife.” 

I gasp as my eyes fill with tears.

“She cheating?” 

“She’s worth thirty million and I need that.”

“There will be a lot of eyes looking at that.” 

“Which is why I need you.” 

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the words I’m reading. My father is an evil, heartless, monster. He hired someone to kill my mother for her life insurance. He didn’t care that he was taking her life. That he was taking my life. He only cared about himself, and nothing has changed.

Page after page I continue to read the words my father wrote. No emotion at all. It was a business deal done by the devil himself.

“It’s done.”

As if that wasn’t enough, he attached a photo. A photo of my mother dead in the driver’s seat of her car with his hand holding an empty needle.

I sob uncontrollably at the sight. My stomach churns and burns, and I can taste the acid in my throat. I run to the kitchen sink and dry heave, but nothing comes up. My tears hit the sink as I try to catch my breath.

My sadness is slowly replaced by anger, and I wipe my mouth as I stand up and go back to the table. I should stop reading at this point, but I can’t. I need to know everything.

“Fabulous work. Now get the car to the highway and make it look like a car accident.”

“It’s over.”

Another photo of my mother’s car crushed by an eighteen-wheeler. The photo that they all saw. The photo that had everyone heartbroken for my father.

As I flip the page my anger intensifies.

Her life insurance policy.

The deposit into my father’s account.

The million that was withdrawn shortly after.

The word classified stamped on everything.

I’m no longer angry, I’m filled with rage. Shaking with it.

My father had my mother killed and destroyed my life. I could’ve had a good life filled with love and happiness. I could’ve known what it felt like to be wanted. I wouldn’t have known what loneliness felt like.

But that’s not how it was.

I lived a miserable life thanks to my father. A life in the shadows of a murder.

Much like now, I was locked away with no love, no acceptance, no contact. I was lonely and sad. Wishing for more than what I was ever given.

Now I realize, I should’ve had more. I should’ve had a mother who pulled me away from the evil of my father.

I had plenty of money, spoiled with it, but at what expense?

People died, people were hurt, people suffered—because of him.

He didn’t just ruin my life. He ruined countless lives.

I’ve been living a lie.

The tears are uncontrollable as I stand up and push all the papers off the table. I pick up the plastic vase filled with beautiful flowers and throw it against the wall. It doesn’t break and I scream in frustration.

I march toward the big bedroom and once inside, I pull the covers off the bed and throw them. The pillows are next, and I flip the mattress. Nothing is breaking. Nothing gives me the satisfaction that the sound of shattering glass would give me. Watching it crash to the ground and slip into a million pieces.

Like my heart.

I’m breathing heavily as I lean against the wall.

“All my life you treated me like I was an inconvenience. You made me question if I was worth loving because you never showed me any.” I shout and kick the door causing it to slam against the wall. “You treated everyone else better than me. You didn’t care what happened to me.” I push the door over and over slamming it against the wall. “You’re a murder!”

I want to cry, but my anger is in complete control. I want to grab him and slam his door against him over and over while I tell him I know all his secrets.

“You don’t care I’m being held hostage because you want me dead too!”

I sink to the ground, panting as I scream into my hands.

I hate him.

All my life I’ve craved his attention and love. But the truth is, I never loved him. He never let me get to know him enough to feel anything toward him. I resented him for everything he made me feel as I got older. His dirty money was his way of bribing me into submission and I did it. I took that money and tried to shop my feelings away.

“Fuck.”

I dig my fingernails into my arm until I break the skin. I watch the small bit of blood rise to the surface and narrow my eyes. I press my nails in harder and wince against the pain, but welcome it at the same time.

I keep pressing harder, scratching to feel even more, and when the blood slowly runs down my arm I watch with satisfaction.

My breathing is still heavy, but I’m able to hear Elliott’s truck pull up. I push myself up off the floor and look at the marks I’ve given myself.

“I’m done paying for your sins.”

Slowly I walk to the window at the end of the hallway and look out. Elliott closes the door of his truck and glances up toward the window. I stare at him, feeling like a different person than I was when my eyes opened this morning.

He walks toward the house, and I wait.

“1. 2. 3. 4. 5.”

It takes him five seconds to get inside on a normal day. Five seconds before he enters his home and my hell. Five seconds before I lose my mind.

I bang my fists on the locked door while I kick at it as well.

“Elliott! Elliott!”

I continue to scream his name as I pound on the door.

“Fuck Clara, what?” he shouts.

“Open the fucking door.”

“Back up.”

I do as he asks because the freedom I’m trying to find has nothing to do with what’s behind that door.

Not anymore.

He opens the door and just as quickly slams it, locking it behind him. His dark eyes stare into mine and my heart races. He lets his eyes run down my body and they snap back up to mine as he moves toward me grabbing my arms.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“You still want my father?”

His eyes bounce between mine as his hands gently wrap around the blood covered cuts I’ve caused.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“I’ll help you if you help me.”

“Anything you want, it’s yours.” His hands tighten on my skin, and it causes pain that I desperately need.

“I will not pay for his sins any longer.” I search his eyes as I swallow roughly. “It’s time to set me free, Elliott.”