Abaddon’s Girl
In a blur, he was in front of them, ripping the dead deer off the table so violently it shattered the glass wall of the beach house.
“What the fuck?!” he growled, voice coated in rage.
My stomach twisted in knots at the scene. Blood splattered. The pungent, raw smell of dead flesh hung thick in the air.
A few of his men had been feeding—right on the kitchen counter, the same damn kitchen that shared an open space with the living room.
“We were only hungry… that’s all,” one of them mumbled, heads bowed low. Their fear was visible. They trembled like leaves in a storm. Of course they did—he was Abaddon, after all.
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