Cursed Angels
Dani René
Anna Edwards
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Also by Dani René
Also by Anna Edwards
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Copyright © 2019 by Dani René & Anna Edwards
Published by Dani René & Anna Edwards
Cover Design by Raven Designs
Edited by Candice Royer
Proofed by Kim BookJunkie
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in the 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 owner.
Prologue
Samara
A promise is a lie.
A vow is meaningless.
A haunting memory has more power than a happy recollection.
I know this because I’ve lived with mine for eight years. As far as I bury it, as deep down as I shove it into the dark depths of my subconscious, it has its way of worming up through the muddy images I hide.
As if I’m lying on the table.
As if I’m still in that cold room with its steel bars on the windows.
As if I’m still begging them to stop. Crying for him to save me. Pleading with someone, anyone who will listen, to break the chains and let me go.
Freedom is a fairytale, because even now, after all this time, I’m not free of them or what they did.
And I’m not free of him. The boy I gave my heart to.
For years, I trusted him, and for just as long, I loved him. We were meant to seek revenge for our best friend.
Our escape was planned. We knew how and when we’d do it.
Until we couldn’t.
Until they found out.
That wasn’t the first time I learned promises can be broken. That vows become meaningless, because my parents did it. And then he did. He left me, and he didn’t look back.
It was the last time I felt the agony of having my heart torn from my chest because I vowed something to myself. I promised I’d never allow anyone in again.
Trust nobody but yourself.
When I finally escaped on my own, I was still haunted by what I’d seen. What I’d experienced. I couldn’t un-see the vile images that haunted me since that night.
The dreams still came to me.
Blood.
Pools of crimson.
Always the same metallic-smelling liquid.
The room where they turned us into perfect creatures. Where we were taken as children and turned into their vision of what perfection is.
The night I lost my best friend still plays in my mind. She calls to me. Cries out. But I can’t save her because she’s already gone. They did that to her. She was perfect porcelain. I was what they called a broken toy.
All my plans for revenge were put on hold. Until I could fight. Until my body was ready to take the punishments again. It’s been eight years. I’m ready.
He was meant to be by my side. The night he left I broke. Now, I’ve finally put my pieces back together. I’m no longer broken.
Today, I’m the doll they wanted to create.
A killing machine.
Today, I’m the monster.
Chapter 1
Samara
The Warehouse is empty as a chilly breeze sweeps through. Then again, I’ve always been cold, so perhaps it’s just me. My sleeping pattern is still haphazard after eight years. The screams still ring in my ears. The smell of blood still stings my nostrils. And the ache in my chest still stifles my breathing.
Memories haunt me more than I care to admit. I try to appear calm, cold, but deep down, it hurts. It always will. The images of him leaving me, walking away. The memories of that place seem to grip me in a feral hold I just can’t release myself from.
Even after the horrors, it’s still him who haunts me. It’s him who visits me in my nightmares to remind me he left me there. The further I push him into my subconscious, the more he torments my mind. Archer will always be there. Taunting me with his promises. His sweet words that meant nothing.
Running my hand along my face, I tug at my dark hair, hoping the bite of pain will stifle the images of his smile, his eyes, and his face from my retinas. Only, it can’t. Why? Because I’m a girl who loved a boy. What a useless fucking emotion. Love.
Sighing, I push off the bunk bed and head into my bathroom to get freshened up. Today is my last day in The Warehouse. Tomorrow, I’ll be heading back to the place of my nightmares. The one town I swore I’d never return to. On the outskirts of Salem lies a house, a dark, nightmarish place where children were taken. Violated in repulsive, horrific ways. Once their minds were broken, they were killed.
The brick-and-mortar resounds with the screams and cries they would elicit from us. The state did nothing to stop them. The cops were paid off to shut their eyes and move along.
Orphans. Poor, innocent, parentless kids who were sent there. Most never made it out. Some, like Archer and me, were the lucky ones because we got out. Only, I’m not so sure I was lucky, because my escape came with a price.
People might say I am because I’m free, but what is freedom really? When your mind is still stuck in the horrors you faced. That’s not freedom. No, this is worse than death. That’s why I’ve made it my life’s mission to make sure each one of those bastards dies.
By my hand.
When I escaped, I hid for days making sure they couldn’t find me. I stumbled upon The Warehouse. It’s a refuge for people like me. Those with no name. I colored and cut my hair to shoulder-length. I became a warrior. Instead of letting the atrocities I’d faced break me, I allowed them to make me stronger.
I’ve been in this place for almost eigh
t years. My birthday is coming up, but nobody here knows. I’ve kept as much of my past a secret as I could. There is only one woman who knew me, and she’s dead.
When I walked in here a scared sixteen-year-old girl, she showed me not all adults are evil. Not all of them are out to hurt and maim. I allowed her to instruct me. Train me. With her voice in mind, I’ve decided to go back. To face the nightmares and finally lay them to rest. If I ever want to move on, this is the only way to do it.
Absentmindedly, I reach for the pendant that hangs from a silver chain between my breasts. The shape is that of a blade, with a jewel concealed in the handle. Hidden inside the gem is a rare poison. I’ve managed to have another four made. Those I’ll take with me when I exact my revenge.
Every one of those assholes will die. I’ll sit back and watch them choke, gurgle, then I’ll slice them like they did me. I want blood to flow, to pool on the floor at my feet. The sizzle of excitement races through me. Diana always taught me revenge isn’t meant to be taken lightly. She told me about her own childhood, which was as dark as mine, if not darker. We shared a common hatred for the people who took from us something they were never meant to have.
Then she told me how she finally overcame it. How she returned to her past and took back not her innocence, but her revenge. And that’s what I intend to do.
Stalking into the makeshift kitchen we set up in a corner of the enormous building, I find the boys chuckling about something. When I notice Hunter’s holding a Playboy magazine, I can only shake my head. He glances up, taking in my appearance with an appreciative stare. “Hey, sweet thing.” Pinning my glare on him, I meet his deep green eyes, which glisten with mischief and desire.
“Call me that again and I’ll cut your dick off,” I bite back, knowing he’ll throw me a cocky response. We’ve known each other for eight years; he was here when I arrived. Diana put us together in combat, and since then we’ve been training together and fucking for about the same amount of time.
After he wore me down, I allowed him in. He was the first man I fucked willingly. Relationships are nonexistent in my world. But over the years, I’ve found I enjoy sex with him. The way Hunter gives it is the only way I take it. Rough and hard.
“You’d be sorry if you did that. But it makes me wonder, though, would you keep it to fuck that tight little cunt every night?” He chuckles darkly.
I may love my kink, but that’s one step too far. The thought has me shuddering as I scrunch my nose at him. “You’d be so lucky.”
“Why don’t you two just fuck and get it over with?” JT retorts on a smirk from behind his laptop screen. He’s our IT guru. Need someone or something found, he’s your man.
“Shut it,” both Hunter and I snap at the same time.
“Besides, he’d be so lucky to get pussy in that outfit,” I respond, pointing at the tight tank top molded to Hunter’s thick muscles. Prominent veins line his arms and hands, making the space between my thighs tingle. The ink that adorns his skin is colorful, adding to his tough appearance. Only, I’m not afraid. I’d easily take him down, and he knows it.
Grabbing a sandwich from the plate Hunter is nursing, I take a bite, savoring the mustard and beef flavors. “Not bad, Hunt. Maybe there is hope for you.” Winking, I turn to the fridge and grab a bottle of water. Settling in the chair beside JT, I lean in to steal a glance at his screen. Lines of code fill the display, which I don’t understand.
“I’ve got all the info you need,” he informs me.
“Thanks.” Opening the bottle, I take a long swig. I need coffee, but I’ll stop on the way into town and grab some. There are a few more items I need to get before I can get on the road. As I get up, I shove my phone into my pocket and my gun into my shoulder holster.
“Going somewhere, Buttercup?”
“Out.” My one-word response earns me an arched eyebrow from Hunter. Shrugging on my leather jacket, I offer him a cocky wink. I make my way to the door and twist the handle, but before I can step outside, Hunter is behind me. The spicy scent of his cologne swirls around me. If I was capable of something more, he’d be someone I could see myself with. His messy, light-brown hair always looks like he’s just run his fingers through it. His body is beautifully toned, lean muscle with taut abs, and a delicious V-shape which points to a thick erection. The smirk he wears is enough to melt panties, and I’m sure he takes full advantage of it more often than not.
“Am I seeing you tonight?” he asks, his tone low and husky in my ear, sending heat directly to my pussy. My clit throbs at the memory of us fucking last night.
I meet his question with one of my own. “Why? You going to miss me when I’m gone?” His mouth lifts in a smirk at my question.
“I think you’re going to be the one on the phone to me every night you’re gone with your hand in those pretty panties.” The rumble of his voice is low, gravelly with need, which has my body aching for more.
I wish so badly for him to slam me against this door and have his way with me right here, but I can’t because I’m going to be late getting on the road. Because if there’s one thing about Hunter, it’s that once is never enough.
I want to wipe the cocky smirk off his face, so I lean in, allowing my lips to trail over the shell of his ear. “I’m not wearing any panties.” With that, I turn to leave. I step outside into the scorching sunlight, but it’s the heat of his burning gaze on my back and ass that has me overheating.
Pushing my sunglasses on, I slip into the driver’s seat of my Mercedes GLS. The sleek silver and chrome was the reason I bought it. Sexy, elegant, yet a monster when I need it to be, with leather seats that heat in winter and blackened windows which allow for privacy.
Heading down the highway, I can’t help my thoughts drifting to Salem. The town itself allowed me to disappear once I’d left the orphanage. As soon as I hit the street, I ran. I didn’t look back because there was nothing to miss. Not one single thing was left in that place. I’ve heard it’s been closed down; they say it’s haunted, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it is.
Over three hundred children lived there. From the age of ten up till they hit eighteen. If they even made it that far into life. The so-called owners were sick fucks. Four of them are still alive. Free and living the life that I, along with all those children, should be living. The life my best friend would have been living had they not carved her up.
She was beautiful. With big blue eyes and blonde hair, she was the perfect doll for their sick games. I didn’t realize it until one day when she’d come back to our dorm with bruises. She slowly closed herself off. I forced her to tell me what happened. When she finally broke down and let the truth out, I threw up. On the floor beside my bed. Hearing what they did only heightened my need for escape. To get her and Archer out of there.
Only, I was too late.
I tried to rescue her, but they’d made her pay for spilling their secrets. I had just turned sixteen. Even though I wasn’t the perfect doll, they took me next. They experimented, they tortured, and they abused.
That’s when Archer told me we should run. We planned everything right down to the T.
The memory of the day he left me still brings unbidden tears to my eyes. My heart once beat only for the boy with teal-colored eyes, full lips, and the sweetness of a romantic hero.
Except he wasn’t my knight in shining armor.
Turning into the parking lot, I pull into a space near the door and exit the car. The tiny store at the corner of town is where I’m headed. Hopefully, they’ve been able to fix the lockets. “Hello, Samara. How are you?” The old man behind the counter offers me a friendly smile.
“Good. Did you manage to fix them for me?” He nods. Handing me the silver, dagger-shaped amulets, I inspect them, finding them good as new. “Thank you.” After I’ve paid him, I’m on my way back to The Warehouse to collect my luggage.
The small, silver gifts I have for each member of the staff lie in the holster beside the gears. They’ll stay in the car
until I get back. Till I return to the town that took everything from me. Where my innocence was stolen. Where my best friend was murdered. And where I lost the only boy I’ve ever loved. But the difference now is I’m all grown up.
I’m stronger.
And the love I once held in my heart is gone.
It’s cold and barren in my heart.
Hate is an easy emotion to live with. Even though it slowly eats your soul, the pain is nonexistent.
Love allows you to trust others.
Hate allows you to trust yourself.
Chapter 2
Archer
The rough, hessian sack is pulled off my head. Harsh daylight floods into my squinting eyes to reveal a rundown warehouse, probably on the outskirts of Salem as we didn't travel far. Through the slits of my eyes, I take in the surroundings, marking the exits, two and three windows, and a number of soon-to-be dead men. If these fuckers think disorientating me will give them a chance to defeat me, then they are stupider than they look. The guy with the red mohawk and smart suit looks particularly idiotic. I’m the best in my field. The strongest, quickest, and deadliest. I barely break a sweat in a one-on-one fight; four-on-one is a small training session. I’m unbeatable and arrogant about it. I have no soul because I no longer have her.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. King.” I look up to the fool who dares address me, and even worse, tied my hands behind my back with only a small rope. Seriously, no metal chains. Is he that fucking dumb?
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