Because Allison and I are extremely excited for Pitch Dark’s release, we wanted to share the prologue with you all! We hope you enjoy! And if you want to grab your copies, it’s available on Amazon and free for Kindle Unlimited members!
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LEAVES CRUNCH AS I storm through the overgrown wooded area. Branches and briars brush against my pants legs, trying to burrow into the denim. As if trying to hold me back from what’s ahead, like they know even before I do that what I’m about to walk into is going to destroy me. My heart pounds heavily in my chest as if I know what I’m about to find will change my life forever. Beads of sweat crawl down my temples to my cheeks. Not from the heat, but from the overwhelming amount of dread filling my stomach with each step I take.
When Tavers, an old friend of mine and detective from back home, called an hour and a half ago with the demand I come home because he had something important to show me, I knew deep in my gut what it was about. It was in the hesitant tone he used. Tavers isn’t the type to be soft spoken unless he’s in detective mode. I didn’t ask for details because I wasn’t ready to deal with them. I wanted to deny it. Hell, I am denying it. I won’t, can’t, believe it until I see for myself.
It can’t be her.
It fucking can’t be her.
Flashing red and blue lights blind me along with the many flashlight beams flowing around the wooded crime scene. Eyes watch me as I pass by evidence markers on the ground and yellow crime scene tape. Sympathetic eyes. Mournful eyes. Eyes that I ignore because I’m so focused on the spot I see fifty feet in front of me. I zero in on Tavers with his hands stuffed in his pockets and looking down at the white sheet I refuse to acknowledge.
My hands ball into fists so tight the joints in my knuckles protest. Tavers looks up when I’m ten feet away, and the look in his eyes tells me everything. They hold a mountain of pain and an ocean full of sympathy.
I still refuse to believe it. There’s no fucking way it can end this way. Not after all the years I’ve looked for her. Not after committing my whole life to this. God can’t be so cruel.
When I come to a stop in front of Tavers, still not looking down at the sheet and what’s underneath, he reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Niko.”
“No,” I growl and knock his hand away. “You’re fucking wrong.” I lean over and spit the last in his face.
He doesn’t flinch or back away. If anything, his expression turns even more somber, and it pisses me off.
“Niko,” he tries again, but wisely keeps his hands to himself. “I’m sorry, man, but it’s her.”
“No,” I repeat. “You don’t fucking know that.” My voice cracks at the end, and that only pisses me off even more.
“Look.” His eyes drop to the sheet then lifts them back to me. “She has her mark,” he finishes quietly.
Everything in me screams for me not to do it. It actually feels as though invisible hands are squeezing the sides of my head, not allowing me to look down. As scared as I am, I force my head to drop, but before my eyes find the sheet, I slam them closed. Harsh pants of air leave my lips as I try to control the emotions swirling through me.
A hand drops to my shoulder, and this time, I don’t push it away. I barely feel it. All I feel right now is violent anger, intense fear, and overwhelming sadness.
I pry my eyelids apart, and my gaze connects with the sheet. Air whooshes out of my lungs, and when I draw in more, my breath feels like a thousand pinpricks. The body below the sheet is small. Way too fucking small. There’s no way this can be her.
I fall to my knees because they won’t hold me up anymore. I feel so goddamn weak.
Now that my eyes are on the sheet, they refuse to look away. I feel Tavers beside me, and I want him to leave. I want everyone to leave.
I curl my hands into fists, not sure I can expose the form below the sheet. I’m so fucking scared of what it’ll do to me if I discover what I’m so terrified of uncovering. I’m not sure how I’ll survive knowing the truth, knowing I didn’t protect the one person I was meant to protect. After searching years for her only to find out I failed.
Tavers drops to his knees beside me. I feel his eyes on me as I stare sightlessly at the sheet. His hand reaches out for the material, knowing I can’t do it myself.
He grabs the sheet and slowly starts to pull it back. Brown matted hair is exposed, and the sight has my stomach churning. Flood lights surround the perimeter, and they seem so much brighter than normal. Every inch revealed seems to glow in the light.
Right as the sheet bares glowing white flesh, I reach out and grab his wrist. “Stop!” I bark. Without breaking my eyes away from the white material, I tell him, “I can’t…” I shake my head and continue. “I can’t do this right now.”
I’m a fucking coward, and I know it, but I need to confirm what Tavers is so adamant about when no one is around. I need more damn time to prepare for the impending obliteration of my soul. I’m not fucking ready. The small patch of skin I saw was dirty and showed a deep cut, and I know the rest will be even worse.
Tavers, understanding my need without me telling him, recovers the small portion he revealed.
“We’ll wait until she’s in the morgue. Give you a bit to prepare,” he says quietly beside me, sounding so fucking clinical.
I bare my teeth, wanting to turn and plow my fist through his jaw. I keep hold of my temper only because he knows how hard this is for me. He’s been there since the beginning—actually, before the beginning—so he knows the time and emotion I’ve put in searching for her.
I stagger when I climb to my feet. Ripping my eyes away from the sheet, I turn on my heel without a word and march back through the woods to my truck.
I speed away from the scene with only one thought on my mind.
How in the fuck do I prepare for something I know will rip out my heart and end me?
I stand in front of the slab of metal that holds my unresolved and painful past. A past that’s consumed my life for fifteen years. A past I’ve fought hard to uncover but have been unsuccessful. And finally, a past that will ultimately destroy my future.
My hands shake and sweat beads on my forehead as I reach out for the sheet. I have to lock my knees in place for fear of them buckling on me. I grip the material in my hand, not afraid to admit I’m scared as shit to pull the sheet away. Not only has Tavers said it was her, but the medical examiner’s report says it is as well. Even now, I refuse to believe it. I won’t believe it until I see for myself. If only I can get my damn hand to work and move the sheet.
Last night at the crime scene, I wasn’t prepared. I’m still not, but I know this needs to be done. Not only for her, but for me as well. I need to know.
I notice a small patch of brown hair peeking out from under the sheet. My hand detours from the material and instead picks up the lock of hair. It feels brittle but oily at the same time. I watch as I rub it between my fingers.
Pain like I’ve never felt before forms in my chest. One so powerful, I’m not sure it will ever go away. It’ll be a part of me always.
I gently lay the lock of hair back on the metal slab as if just that length of hair is precious. Which it is. Every single part of this girl is precious.
I close my eyes tightly and pull in a deep breath before forcing my hand to slowly pull the sheet away. When I open them again, every bit of breath I have in my lungs comes out in a painful hiss. The sheet slips from my grasp when I drop my hands to the cold metal table to hold myself up. My heart slams against the walls in my chest, and a pain grips me so sharply it feels like it’s piercing my insides.
I’ve seen plenty of victimized people in my line of work, but I’ve never seen something as gruesome as what I’m seeing now. And what makes this unbearable is the fact that I’ve loved this mutilated woman lying dead in front of me since I was a child.
“Aislin…” I breathe through a thick throat.
Her once thick brown hair is now matted and dirty with chunks of it missing. Her beautiful face with what used to be stunning green eyes looks gaunt and is covered with bruises, open lacerations, and multiple old scars. Her eye sockets are sunk in, and her cheekbones stand out way too much. Her graceful neck has fingerprint markings, where someone wrapped their hands around it and squeezed. I don’t pull the sheet lower, but I know what the rest of her body must look like. I read the report, and the motherfucker who did this to her didn’t leave any place on her body unmarked. She was malnourished and dehydrated. The fucker starved her and deprived her of fluids for God knows how long. Not only that, she was also sexually assaulted so many times and in such harsh ways that the medical examiner was surprised she lived as long as she did with such severe internal injuries.
She’s been missing for fifteen years. A huge weight in the form of guilt settles on my chest, leaving it feeling crushed at the thought of her enduring that abuse for all those years.
My eyes hit on something, and the pain in my chest bears down even more. Right below her left ear is a birthmark. A star. Memories of me calling her North assault me. I always claimed that no matter where we were, I’d always find her because she was my beacon. My North Star.
As much as it hurts to look at her mangled form, I can’t tear my eyes away. This is my punishment for not protecting her, for not finding her in time, for failing her. I should be shot dead, point blank in the head, for not being there for her when she needed me. For not finding her like I always told her I would. We promised each other as kids we’d never leave the other. We would always be there to protect each other from the harsh life we both lived. That promise was ripped away from me and broken beyond repair. No, I didn’t leave her, but I didn’t work hard enough at finding her. There had to be something I could have done. Some clue I missed. I was still a kid when she was taken, but I was her only chance. Everyone thought she’d run away. She was a troubled child living with a shady drug addict mom. No one believed me when I told them she wouldn’t have run away. She wouldn’t have left me—at least, not without telling me first.
The difference between her and I was I had parents who cared. We lived in a shitty neighborhood filled with drugs, gunshots in the night, and gangs. My parents always protected me as best as they could. They even protected Aislin when they could. They knew of our bond and how much we cared for each other. I begged and pleaded with my parents to talk to the police, but even they thought she ran away. I went to the police station myself and told them they were wrong. The detective on the case just looked at me with sympathy and told me to go home, that there was nothing more they could do if she didn’t want to be found. She was only fucking thirteen. I wanted to punch the ever-loving hell out of the asshole, but I knew it wouldn’t do me any good. I left, but I wasn’t giving up.
My options were limited at such a young age, but once I got older, I made it my life’s mission to do whatever I could to find her. I chose my career with hopes it would help me. For years, those around me who knew told me I needed to give up the search, but no matter how convincing they were, no matter the lack of evidence, no matter how much time had passed, I just couldn’t. I still felt her light deep in my chest. I knew she was still alive and waiting on me. I refused to give up when I knew down to the very core of me that she wasn’t gone. Her light was still too bright and the bond we had was still too strong for her to be wiped from the earth.
But now she’s here, brutally beaten and raped to death by some sick fuck. I was too fucking late. The light I’ve felt for years has finally gone out, leaving me in pitch-black darkness. The place in my chest where my heart should reside is now just an empty space.
I tip my head back and bellow to the ceiling as rage and pain take over my body. I want to rip something apart. I want to find the guy who did this and skin the flesh from his bones. I want to hear his screams of pain and pleas for mercy then laugh in his face when I deny him his dying wish. And once I do finish him off, I want to piss on his lifeless body and toss it somewhere for the vultures to feast on.
I push back the tears threatening to fall and lean down until my forehead rests on Aislin’s dirty one. I place my trembling hands on either side of her cheeks. She’s so fucking cold now when she used to be one of the warmest people I knew. I kiss her forehead, wishing with everything I am that things were different. Wishing I could have saved her.
“I’m so sorry, North.” I whisper my broken apology to her lifeless body, using the name I gave her as a kid and hoping she can hear me wherever she is. “I swear on my life I will get this bastard, and he’ll pay for everything he’s done to you. I vow to you, you will be avenged. I’ll always love you.”
I give her still beautiful face one last look before I kiss her soft but scar-riddled forehead and gently pull the sheet back over her. A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe it away. I turn and walk to the metal door that separates me and my past from me and my future. A future that looks bleak, but is now filled with more determination than ever before.
Check out the incredible cover for Pitch Dark by A.M. Wilson & Alex Grayson!
This twisted tale releases September 15!
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One girl disappeared. After fifteen years, her cold lifeless body was found on the damp forest floor. Not an inch of her was unmarked by the horrors she endured. Alone, malnourished, abused in horrific ways; this was how she died.
One girl was found walking the streets, covered in dirt and scars. She had no memory of who she was, where she came from, or what happened to her. Even though the marks on her body attested to years of heinous abuse, her strength shone through at every turn.
Revenge and justice were sworn.
Years of searching brought up nothing but dead ends. Detective Niko James was too late to save his childhood friend, but he vows not to let down another.
The clock is ticking and the trail is pitch dark.
About A.M. and Alex:
Avid readers and writers of suspenseful romances, both A.M. and Alex enjoy torturing their readers with twisted tales and crazy dark scenarios.
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Dark romance fans get readyyyy…something sinister lurks!
Pitch Dark by A.M. Wilson & Alex Grayson releases September 15.
ADD TO YOUR TBR → http://bit.ly/2utq2Aq
HERE’S THE SNEAK-PEEK FROM A.M. & ALEX:
“D’you mind if I sit?” I ask gently. I want her to feel like she has control. If she asked me to leave, I would. I need her to trust me enough to open up. I already assumed it’d be hard, but two seconds in her room is enough to tell it’s going to be a mountain of a task.
The girl gives one short, sharp bob of her head, and I scan the room for a safe place to sit. A lone chair set by her window has a white plastic seat and metal legs. It looks uncomfortable as hell for a piece of furniture in a hospital room, but it’ll do. Forcing myself to go slow, I cross the room and drop my ass into it. I drop my elbows to my knees and lean forward, clasping my hands together.
“I’m Niko.” She doesn’t respond. By her stare and the steady rise and fall of her shoulders, I’d guess she’s concentrating on breathing. “I thought we could talk. Is that okay with you?”
She nods again.
“Can I get you something to drink?” This time, she gives a punctuated shake. Okay, so she’s good with using nonverbal communication. That’s a start at least. I can work with yes-or- no questions.
“Do you know where you are?”
Her gaze flits to the open door and the hall beyond. Once again, I’m left staring at the state of disfigurement this woman has been left in. It’s obvious these are signs of abuse, but from who? Her pimp? Was she attacked for trying to leave that life? A victim of domestic violence? Could she be connected to the person who took Rebecca?
I don’t realize I’m staring until she shakes her head again, and the movement pulls me from my thoughts. I trail my eyes over her wounds again, and the sight makes me sick. I grind my back molars together to get ahold of myself. Once I feel calm, I ask another question.
“Do you know your name?”
She shakes her head. Damn. I try a different route. “Do you know how you got all these cuts?”
At my words, she glances down at her arms. She runs her right index finger over a spot of dried blood on her right thigh. “Yes,” she croaks in a quiet voice that startles me.
“Can you tell me how?”
“All of them.” She goes on as if I didn’t speak.
I try to keep my expression neutral but I’m confused. “All of them? What do you mean?”
“I know how I got all of them.” She faces me with a blank stare. “I remember them all.” The sound of her voice sends a shiver down my spine. Monotone and quiet, it reminds me of nothing. That void of hopelessness. Of no going back.
“Who did this to you?” I prod gently.
She shakes her head again, and my stomach sinks. “I can’t remember. I remember the shadow man and the screaming girl. And the pain,” she goes on in a hollow voice. “I remember being hurt, but not who did it. I think… I think I did it.”
About A.M. and Alex:
Avid readers and writers of suspenseful romances, both A.M. and Alex enjoy torturing their readers with twisted tales and crazy dark scenarios.
Find A.M. Online:
Find Alex Online:
Whispered Prayers of a Girl by Alex Grayson is LIVE!!!
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A tortured soul meets a damaged family…
A lonely man, a widowed woman, a carefree boy, and a broken girl… Can the four come together and help heal each other? Or will fear of the unknown and guilt of the past keep them apart?
Her whispered prayers break her…
At night, as she’s drifting off to sleep, I press my ear to the door and listen to her heart-wrenching pleas. Her words are agony to my healing heart, but I cherish the sound of them, for that’s the only time I ever hear my beautiful daughter speak. Since her father died two years ago, she’s grown quiet and withdrawn. Cat’s Valley was to be our new beginning, a place where my family and I can heal, but what we find there is so much more.
Scars mar his body. Pain has left him in pieces…
Four years ago, I lost the two things I cherished most in the world. They were ripped from my arms in the most painful and cruel way. Since then, I’ve kept to myself, preferring to stay away from the pitying looks and murmured rumors. Everything changed when she and her children barged into my life. It was an accident, and I don’t deserve them, but now that they’ve stepped into my life, I’m not sure I can let them go.
*This book is intended for mature audiences, ages 18+. It may be enjoyed as a standalone!
Exclusive excerpt from the pages of Whispered Prayers of a Girl:
“I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve whatever could happen between us.” I want to object, but he continues before I get a chance. “But there’s something I want more than my self-loathing for wanting something I shouldn’t.”
“What?” I rasp.
“A chance to know what it feels like to kiss you.”
AS PART OF THE RELEASE MADNESS YOU COULD WIN A PRE-LOADED KINDLE FIRE!
Alex is giving one lucky reader a brand new, pre-loaded Kindle Fire! Included in this amazing giveaway is a copy of Whispered Prayers of a Girl and OVER 100 MORE STORIES FROM AN AWESOME LINEUP OF AUTHORS!
To enter, CLICK HERE!
Alex Grayson is the bestselling author of heart pounding, emotionally gripping contemporary romance including The Jaded Series, The Consumed Series, and two standalone novels. Her passion for books was reignited by a gift from her sister-in-law intended to distract Alex and help her pass the time while her husband was away for work. After spending several years as a devoted reader and blogger, Alex decided to write and independently publish her first novel in 2014 (an endeavor that took a little longer than expected). The rest, as they say, is history.
Originally a southern girl, Alex now lives in Ohio with her husband, two children, two cats and dog. She loves the color blue, homemade lasagna, casually browsing real estate, and interacting with her readers. Visit her website, www.alexgraysonbooks.com, or find her on social media!
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