Several beats pass of complete silence, and I watch their bodies twist and writhe together, blissfully unaware of a voyeur in their midst. The girl drops to her hands and knees, hiking her skirt up over her pale ass, and the guy positions himself behind her.
A low moan is the only indication of their union, and I find myself hardening beneath my jeans. I pull my hood tighter around my head and rub my palm down over my cock, trying to relieve the ache.
“Oh, fuck, Jace. Yes! Fuck me harder. I want them to hear me in their graves.” She mewls like a cat caught in a sphere of pleasure, and fuck if it isn’t the sweetest sound I’ve ever fucking heard.
I undo the fly of my jeans with shaking hands, keeping my gaze trained on the pair, and yank myself out enough to wrap my palm around the shaft. Pumping it in tune to the sounds spewing from the girl’s mouth and ignoring the guy’s grunts of satisfaction, I can almost imagine it’s me over there, unloading my seed into her until she’s delirious.
Fuck, I need to get laid. It’s been way too long.
But for now, my hand will have to do. I piston my hips harder, sparks shooting up my spine and to my balls at the same time a high-pitched scream pierces the night sky, filling my body with pleasure I’ve never fucking known. Coming on a hiss, I pump myself dry, sticky semen dripping onto my brother’s casket.
Well, shit.
Trying to regulate my breathing, I wipe my hand on the dirt to my side and swipe my free, not-gross hand, across my forehead. Sweat pours down either side of my face from the exertion, and I shiver at the realization that they’re still going at it.
Or, at least, the guy’s got his face buried between her legs, finishing her a second time. I roll my eyes and refocus on my ritual. Reaching into my bag above the grave, I grab the salt and sage. After I light the bundle and toss it on the gold casket, I watch as the flames rage for a moment and then dissipate, kind of the way Murphy lived and died.
How fitting.
I dump the salt in a circle around the sage, repeating our family mantra as I complete the circle.
“Dia thar gach rud.”
God over everything.
Not something the Ivers clan actually lives by, but we still insist on the branding.
God hasn’t existed for us in years.
When I’m satisfied, I peek out over the grave again and see the couple has disappeared. Climbing out, I dust myself off and shoulder my bag, leaving the mess for the groundskeepers. They’ll clean it and claim vandals have once again attacked Murph’s grave, but I’ll know the truth.
His murderer returned, making sure his soul stays dead.
I walk over to the grave the couple fucked in front of, studying the name in the moonlight. Something glimmers, catching my eye, and I bend down, fingering a gold, heart-shaped locket.
That guy must’ve fucked it right off her.
Pocketing the jewelry, I scrub a hand over my chin, an unsettling feeling taking root in my bones at the owner of the tombstone.
Dominic Harrison.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sav R. Miller was born in Baltimore and moved to Kentucky at the tender age of seven. She's been writing pretty much ever since, and graduated in 2018 from university with a BA in English, a minor in cultural anthropology, and a certification in technical writing.
Currently, Sav lives in central Kentucky with her fiancé and a Labrador/Boxer mix named Lord Byron. She loves filthy romance books, the Tiny Meat Gang, Diet Coke, and the Lo-Fi Beats playlist on Spotify. In that order.
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Acknowledgments
They say it takes a village. Usually, they’re talking about kids, but it applies here, too, I think. These words are my own, yes, but they came to life with the help of others. I couldn’t have done this without you.
To Devin, the love of my life. I don’t know how we’ve survived this quarantine cooped up together without a single fight, but whatever. Clearly, what we’re doing works. Thank you for supporting me and my dreams, indulging me when I need a tip about the mafia or torture, and not thinking I’m a total psycho for how this book ended. I know, I know, there was no voyeurism when I pitched the second epilogue to you. But, it is what it is.
To my dog, Lord Byron, the actual love of my life (Devin, if you’re reading this, let’s be honest: you know the score). You are the warmest, sweetest, cuddliest moose-sized puppy, and I am so glad you came into my life less than a year ago. I love all eighty-plus pounds of you.
Emily, Clara, and Sarah – y’all made this book what it is. You guys rock. I’ll never be able to repay you.
To Emily a third time, because I’m sure I’ve driven her absolutely insane since we met. My bad. But thank you for being a constant source of light, encouragement, and always being around to bounce ideas off of. You double rock. I don’t know what I’d do without your friendship.
To Justine, who picked up my project when I was frantic and transformed this manuscript into what it is now: thank you. I can’t even begin to express my joy in having you and your help.
To Clarise, cover designer extraordinaire. You’re seriously the best. This cover is above and beyond everything I ever imagined.
To Eleanor, interior formatting expert. This book is as beautiful as its outside, because of you. I’m glad, because I honest to God have no clue what I’m doing when it comes to that crap.
To Annie, for the teasers and companionship you’ve given me. I love knowing that when I’m still up at four in the morning, you’re up and available across the world.
To my parents, my sisters, my nieces, and nephew: you guys are a constant source of stress and happiness. I can’t imagine life without you (but also, please don’t read this book). To everyone that supported me in this endeavor, in my book-writing journey in the beginning. Thank you. From the very bottom of my butt (definitely bigger than my heart).
To the bloggers and bookstagrammers that agreed to review and promote this release, I LOVE YOU GUYS. Seriously, thank you for taking a chance on me. I hope you loved Caroline and Elia’s journey as much as I did.
And finally, to the readers - thank YOU. Without you, authors wouldn’t exist. Well, we would, but it’d basically be us screaming into the void about the things that trouble us. So, ya know. Thank you for giving us an outlet to pour our emotions into.
And to anyone I forgot, this is all for you.
Sweet Surrender: A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (King's Trace Antiheroes Book 1) Page 25