Royal Savage
Copyright © 2015 Victoria Ashley
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means such as electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the author of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Design by:
CT Creations
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Josh Mario John
Photographer:
Lane Dorsey
Editing by:
Charisse Spiers
Interior Design and Formatting by:
Christine Borgford, Perfectly Publishable
Royal Savage
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
About the Author
Books by Victoria Ashley
I CAN’T CLOSE MY EYES . . . I refuse to. Every time I do, all I see is blood, death, and pain. I can feel it—almost taste it.
It doesn't matter that I'm still breathing; I no longer need it, I no longer want it. I despise it along with everything else around me.
The only thing I long for is to fucking fade away and pretend as if I’m not standing here covered in blood; crimson fucking red from head to toe, with my heart pounding so viciously that my chest feels as if it’s going to burst the fuck open.
My lungs burn as I inhale another long drag from the cigarette I’ve been holding. The smoke fills my lungs, expanding them and sending a cooling sensation throughout my shaking body. I long for some kind of relief, but it fucking brings none. I take another drag anyways, waiting for what’s to come next. I know what’s coming, because I called them: red and blue flashing lights.
I stand frozen in the window, numbly watching as they grow near, the sounds of sirens getting louder with each passing second.
Taking one last drag, I toss the cigarette at the glass and turn away. I could care less if this motherfucker burns down. There’s nothing left here for me. Not anymore.
My body starts moving, mindlessly checked out and lost somewhere in this never ending nightmare of my world at its end. I feel the hatred start to build, the animosity of the night overwhelming me.
I bring my blood-covered hands up to rub my face as I growl out, releasing some of my pent up anger. I growl out until my throat feels raw, but just like the cigarette it does shit to relieve this pain that is slowly killing me.
I walk slowly and in a daze, passing three breathless bodies before I stop in front of . . . her. Blood covers her blonde hair and her once pink, plump lips are now ice fucking blue. I reach over to pull her into my arms, feeling my heart die a little more with each breath that she doesn’t take.
That’s when the door flies open and I hear them piling in. Heavy footsteps take over until that’s all I can hear, besides the erratic beating of my dead fucking heart.
A buzzing fills my ears, my heartbeat speeds up at an uncontrollable rate, and all I see is red as I’m yanked to my feet, two officers fighting to restrain me. I don’t care if they fucking take me away. I will rot in fucking hell for her, but I’m not done saying goodbye yet.
I feel the cuffs snap around my wrists, hard; too fucking hard. My hands may not be free, but that won’t stop me. Rotating my shoulders, I swing my head back as hard as I can, slamming it into a nose that I hear crack. That shit is broken. I know that for sure, and so does he by the way he curses and steps away to hold his bleeding nose.