Arrin hopped into the bathroom to clean up his hand. As he waited for the water to warm, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. It was the first time in months he’d had a look at himself, and he’d changed so much he briefly thought he was looking at someone else. Did the lean, bruised, and cut face with the hollow black eyes devoid of hope really belong to him? Yeesh! What a monster! No wonder people felt justified in trying to beat him to death.

He looked away from the uncomfortable sight of what he’d become and began to wash his hands. As the blood mingled with the water and flowed down the drain, he was reminded of all the other blood on his hands that couldn’t be seen. There were so many… and now Meara was one of his victims too. Could Tracine...

Please subscribe to keep reading.