Twisted Love (Twisted 1)

I did it once at some stupid karaoke spot my uncle dragged me to, and I never sang again. Not because I thought I was bad—I was Alex Volkov; I could do anything—but because singing felt too raw, too personal, like I was baring my soul with each note leaving my throat. That held true even when it was a stupid pop song. All music, no matter how cheesy, was grounded in emotions, and I’d built my reputation on having none—unless I was with Ava.

Desire pumped through my veins.

I had her all to myself before Jules got home from work in an hour, and I was going to take advantage of every second.

“But if you really want an early birthday present…” I spun Ava around, and she laughed, the sound filling the room with its warmth. “I have something in mind.”

“Oh? What’s that?” she teased, looping her arms around my neck.

“I could tell you or…” I kissed my way down her chest and stomach until I reached the sweet perfection between her thighs. “I could show you.”

I yanked myself out of the scene, my heart pounding. Like all my memories, it was so vividit might as well be happening in real time. Except it wasn’t, and all that surrounded me was emptiness and cold air.

My chest cracked. Now I remembered why I’d held off on reliving the good memories—every time I returned to reality, it was like losing Ava all over again. I was a fucked-up Prometheus, suffering for eternity, except instead of having my liver eaten by an asshole eagle every day, it was my heart breaking over and over.

I lay there until the shadows lengthened and my back ached from the hardwood floor. Only then did I force myself to stand and limp to my car.

The house next door was dark and silent, matching the weather. I’d been so caught up in my misery I hadn’t realized it was storming. Rain fell in furious sheets, and angry bolts of lightning split the sky in half, illuminating the barren winter trees and cracked pavement.

Not a hint of sunshine or life to be found.