Semua Bab Alpha Picked: Bab 61 - Bab 70

*** Sal ***I hate him. I hate him so much for causing my best friend so much suffering and for neglecting the little girl who sincerely has been the sunshine in my life.I want revenge, I want to destroy him like he's tried to destroy Helen. How much suffering can one woman endure? And why should she have to?Brad has been my rock and will fully support me as I finally put an end to that pathetic waste of organs. The inspiration for a traditional and particularly sadistic Mafia torture method hit me from nowhere and excitement and anticipation fill me at the thought: scaphism. Well, the Spanish Mafia version of scaphism, since we don’t use the boats like they used to. I remember papa teaching me about our history and him telling me this was the most gruesome and harrowing form of torture and execution. I think it’s a fitting end for Alan Jefferson.Years ago, a slow death was given to those vile creatures who didn't deserve mercy. It involved mutilating the person in question before

*** Alan ***I take off my hoodie and lay out all the supplies that I have bought from the local shops. There are hundreds of paracetamol tablets, razor blades, bleach, cell batteries, rope and notepad and pen.I write letters to my mother, Melanie and Helen and tell them how each one was responsible for me ending my life. I tell each one how I felt unable to continue living after the way they abandoned me, humiliated me, and left me with nothing. I tell them how their cruel ways hurt me and left me feeling unable to cope.I sealed each note into the envelopes provided by the hotel and set them on the table. I have absolutely no intention of actually killing myself, but they do not need to know that. I just need to make them believe they are the ones responsible for my ‘attempt’.My cunning plan is to take a few paracetamols and scatter the rest around the room. Then I will make some superficial marks on my arms with the razor blades. I am going to pour bleach into a cup and on my pho

*** Sal ***We had papa’s funeral yesterday. I hated every minute because now I know what he did, and I am so angry at him. My whole family life feels like a big fucking lie and I am finding it hard to come to terms with when mami acts nonchalant about everything and papa is too bloody dead to explain why. Why did he have a mistress and who the hell is this brother who threatens my position?This past week I have alternated between overwhelming grief and explosive anger, and in the midst of it all is the fact that I have a half brother I know nothing of, not to mention there is someone out there who poisoned my father. As much as I am angry at him, he is still my papa and I want vengeance. I want that twisted bastard’s head on a big fucking stick for poisoning my papa.Today when I woke up, I went to use the bathroom and got the shock of my life when I saw a flash of bright red blood in my underwear: my period. I wept with sadness that mine and Brad’s little bean isn’t yet growing ins

FANE My cell chimed with a new text, and my heart dipped to my stomach. I didn’t have to fish my phone out of my purse to know who was trying to reach me.It was Brooks.I chewed the inside of my cheek while I continued down the sidewalk, debating whether I wanted to read his text. It wouldn’t be anything good.Did I really care to see what he had to say?My leaving him had probably settled in. I was sure his text would be hate-filled and nasty. I didn’t need that kind of negativity in my life right now, which was why I’d left him in the first place.My phone rang, startling me. I pulled it from my purse and Brooks’ name lit up my screen. Fear clenched my gut. I forced myself to exhale and silenced the call. Then I did the unthinkable—I blocked his number. It was a bold move, but felt right.Leaving Brooks hadn’t been easy, but it was what was best. I deserved better. It had taken me a long time to see it, but I didn’t deserve to be treated the way he’d treated me.No one did.Which

FANE Holy shit. Thorne Beckett was still in Crescent Creek, and he was a tattoo artist now.This was the guy I’d had a crush on from the sixth grade all the way through high school. I’d been a sucker for his short-cropped dirty blond hair and those big brown eyes of his.“So, you’re a tattoo artist,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound stupid while I situated myself on the sofa. There was a chance he didn’t remember me. “That’s exciting. I always thought your art was amazing. It’s cool to see you stuck with it and figured out how to create a job with your talent.”“You knew I could draw?” Thorne asked, his beautiful brown eyes locking with mine.I nodded, feeling my cheeks warm with color. “Yeah. I saw you doodling when we had history together senior year almost every day. I sat diagonally from you.”Please remember me. I did not want to sound like a stalker.“Oh, right,” he said, a wide grin spreading onto his face.Not much about him had changed. Well, except he had tattoos now. Lots of t