Sanctum (Sacred Series Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  K. Michelle’s Works

  Blurb

  Quote

  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

  ASYLUM

  ASYLUM / PROLOGUE

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  © Copyright 2019 by K. Michelle - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited.

  Cover Design: Books and Moods

  Editing and Proofreading: BohoBooks Publishing

  Think Series

  Sooner Than You Think

  Later Than You Think

  Do I scare you, Little One?

  Do I make your knees shake and hands tremble?

  Does your heart race and your lips quiver around me?

  I’m your worst nightmare, lurking in the black oblivion that surrounds you.

  Always watching. Always waiting.

  They call me Priest, and I’ll make you repent for your sins.

  But I won’t be able to protect you from mine.

  Do I scare you, Cohen?

  Does my mere presence heighten your pulse and warm the blood in your veins?

  Do I stir the deepest parts of you? The parts you buried deep inside long ago?

  Admit it, Cohen, I’m a thrill, scattered within the deepest layers of your mind.

  Always tempting. Always enticing.

  You found me in the woods. You were a danger, and I was naïve.

  But now I want the wolf that hunts me.

  Call it a truce. Call it a surrender.

  He needs justice. I need answers.

  It’s us against them.

  Cohen may have claimed me, but Sanctum wants to own me.

  They plan on collecting.

  But so am I.

  Love me with your demons.

  They distract mine.

  k.m.

  My eyes lock on to her. She doesn’t know I’m watching. Even if she did, I don’t think she’d care. She believes she blends in, that no one is watching or paying attention to her. She prefers it this way. Although the guys around here in Lake Meadows notice her, they don’t have the balls to act on it. Dessa Collins is a force to be reckoned with. A force I can easily overpower. She flips her straight icy-blonde hair over the shoulder of her black leather jacket, those ocean blue eyes checking her surroundings. A little more, Little One. Almost there.

  Her gaze slams into mine.

  There you are.

  My hard glare fixes on to the same eyes that have haunted my mind. After a four-year-long hunt, I’ve been waiting not so patiently for this moment. The chase is what I love so much, and it makes me hate her. Why do I hate her? Easy. She’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted to love. She doesn’t back down. No cowering. No shyness. No nervousness. Not. One. Fucking. Bit. She arches her full eyebrow, challenging me. I don’t dare remove my cool hazel eyes from hers, my glare holding strong. A rare smile tugs at my mouth, and I can’t help it. The feeling is foreign as the left side of my lips slightly pulled upward. And I let her have it because she deserves it. However, a pissed off glare replaces her cocky-ass attitude. She stands and snatches her belongings. Cute. A white tee is partially tucked into her ripped black skinny jeans, outlining the ass my eyes are glued to as she stomps away.

  I can finally breathe.

  I’ve been keeping tabs, studying, and memorizing her for four years, but I can physically see her now—feel her blood pulse under my fingers, the heartbeat in her neck on my tongue. The only difference now?

  Now I’ve made it my job.

  Slowly lifting my window, I’m extra careful not to make any noise as my legs swing over the ledge and wiggle the rest of myself out of my bedroom. I take one last look at my bed, where I stuffed clothes under my comforter to make it look like I’m sleeping, even though no one ever checks on me. It’s better to be safe than sorry. Carefully, I gently shut my window, but not entirely, so I don’t have a problem getting back inside.

  Running through my backyard and into the woods, I’m racing to the one place that’s mine. The one place I don’t have to see anything I don’t want to see. Here, I’m not forced to watch my dad and Vex kill and hurt people. The cold, windy October night adds a bite to the air, and I throw my hood over my head.

  About ten minutes later, I’m inside my tree fort. Evan said a hobo probably made it, but I don’t care. Once I found the hidden fortress, it became my spot. Christmas lights drape over splintered pieces of wood, and I pull batteries from the pocket of my sweatshirt and pop them in. Last Christmas, I stole the strand from the bins when we were decorating the house so I wouldn’t have to use a flashlight. We have so many, no one noticed anyway. After switching the button on the battery box, the soft white twinkle lights glow throughout the inside of my fort, turning the old wood that’s rotted from the rain, alive again.

  My back rests over a bed of pillows as I think about which book to read. Blankets pile in the corner of the fort, and I reach out to grab one when the sound of branches breaking in the distance steals my attention. All the hairs on my arms rise, and I turn off the lights and focus my sight into the pitch-black woods. It’s eerily quiet, and I make sure not to make a sound.

  Then I hear it.

  I hear crying.

  My eyebrows scrunch together as I leave the fort and walk between the trees, following the cries. I don’t make a noise. Early in life, Dad taught me how to move undetected, and every step needs to be thought out and with purpose. Even though he always said to remain calm and in control, I can’t stop my heart from wanting to beat out of my chest when my eyes find her.

  But I know this girl, she’s the only one I’ve ever been curious about. The cut on her cheek and the bruise around her eye stop me in my tracks. Quietly, I step closer, and she lifts her head. She doesn’t look sad. She looks angry. I know that look because I wear it more than anyone else my age. My eyes travel down to her bruised legs, and I squeeze my fists together. Her skin is so white, and the moon makes her glow.

  Her eyes widen before they narrow into a furious glare when she sees me. “Go away.”

  I laugh at her bravery. “No.”

  “I said, go away. Are you dumb?”

  My brows raise. “No, Dessa,” her name tumbles out of my mouth smoothly, “I’m not dumb.” It comes out as a statement, not a question. Dad says never to give anyone the impression that I don’t understand a situation. You lose power when you do. She rolls her eyes at me, licking and rubbing her chapped lips together. I continue, “But you shouldn’t be out here.”

  “Why, cause it’s not safe?” She mocks.

  “That’s exactly why.”

  “Safer out here than it is back there,” she mumbles into her shoulder, and her voice was so quiet, I barely heard it.

  I nod to her bruises. “Who did that, Dessa?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I asked you a question first.”

  “Does it matter who
did it?”

  “Yeah. It matters,” she scoffs, and I sit next to her on the ground. My hood is still up, and I’m sure she hasn’t seen my face. I want to keep it that way.

  “You can’t do anything about it anyway. You’re too little,” is her only reply.

  “You’re the little one, Dessa.”

  “I’m not little, and I can take care of myself,” she says as she bats the tears from her eyes and climbs off the ground, wiping dirt off her shorts. Goosebumps flare over her legs, she must be freezing. It can’t be more than fifty degrees out, plus it’s windy. I smile at her fire, which is probably the very thing keeping her warm.

  I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone like me, especially at my age. There is my best friend, Evan, but he has life in him still, even though his dad may be out of the picture and his mom isn’t the nicest. I think it may be better than having a dad who only gives you love when you meet expectations. But Dessa? At eight years old, she’s faced more than most kids our age. It’s clear by the state of her body.

  “Okay. Well, next time you feel like crying in the woods, at least wear pants,” I chide.

  Her teeth grind as her jaw works back and forth, nose flaring. “I don’t know who you are, but if you tell anyone, I’ll punch you in the nose.”

  “How are you gonna do that if you don’t know who I am?”

  “Don’t make me prove it. You’ll regret it.”

  Amused, I chuckle. “Okay.”

  “I will! I mean it.”

  “I’m sure you do, Little One,” I say with my hands up, the nickname easily rolling off my tongue. She huffs as she walks past me back through the woods, returning to the same hellhole that drove her to walk alone in the middle of the dark night, in the first place. I don’t take my eyes off her back until she disappears. My smile grows for one reason.

  She didn’t look back when she left.

  One more day.

  One more day is all that’s separating me from this crappy town and freedom.

  One. More. Day.

  I stare at the clock above the chalkboard on the wall, having no fucking clue as to what the point of class after finals is. No one listens. No one pays attention.

  At least I’m not.

  “Dessa?”

  My eyes snap to the teacher, “Hm?”

  “I asked you a question.”

  “I obviously wasn’t listening,” I shot back with an attitude, my patience wearing thin. He goes to open his mouth, but I interrupt one more time, “I’ll excuse myself to the office.” With a sarcastic smile, I gladly grab my books and get the hell out of class. Deciding last second to head to my locker, I pack my shit and leave school. It’s not like they’re going to expel me anyways, I already passed my finals—aced them, actually. Aside from being a smartass and not giving a shit, I needed excellent grades like blood to get out of this fucking town, which I plan on doing in three days.

  Grabbing my earbuds out of my pocket, I look down to untangle them and run into what feels like a brick wall. “Shit!” Looking up, I see the said brick wall and almost lose my cool. Almost. “Watch where you stand, pal.”

  His thick eyebrow arches over his glare, and what people don’t see is we know each other much better than we let on. Cohen “Priest” Russo. It will be a cold day in Hell before I call him Priest. He’s everyone’s favorite person to fear. Girls cower and boys bow down. Not me, though.

  A king will bow to me before I ever drop to my knee for him.

  I raise my eyebrows at him in a what-the-hell-are-you-still-standing-here-for type fashion, and excitement burns in his eyes, which is contradictory to his gaze.

  Cohen’s hands grip the collar of my jacket and my back slams against the hard metal locker. My eyes widen against their better judgment, but it’s not in fear like I bet he’s thinking, or hoping, it is.

  “Do I scare you, Little One?” his deep bravado rasps over my neck.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “That’s not fear in my eyes, Cohen,” I whisper, my lips brushing against his ear.

  He growls and grasps my jacket tighter before pushing away from me. This cat and mouse game we’ve been playing for years taking place in public is new, though. We’ve only ever truly spoken in the woods. Then we resume hating each other everywhere else. His glare fixes firmly back in place as he walks away, like he was never here. Like he didn’t just tilt my fucking world. But I’d never admit it. I don’t let anyone have that kind of power over me, man or woman. I don’t let anyone treat me in any way I won’t tolerate, which is why I don’t have many friends. It’s fine with me, less drama.

  I crack my neck and take a deep breath, retreating to my rusted, red Honda Civic in the parking lot. I bought her for eight-hundred bucks—cash—one year and twelve thousand miles ago. Tammy’s a faithful piece of junk, that is for sure. I leave the school, only slightly early, knowing no one cares at this point anyway and drive around to do absolutely nothing but waste time for a couple of hours. After arriving at my unofficial foster family’s house, I head straight to my room. The goal was not to get close to them. I didn’t see the point, but Sally makes it difficult to keep an emotional separation.

  “Hey, Dessa! Di—”

  “Not hungry!” I call out, shutting my bedroom door and probably hurting Sally’s feelings, which isn’t even her real name. Mrs. Smith feels too formal, and I’m sure as hell not calling her by her first name, Darling. I think she likes the nickname for some reason. Sally is nice but sensitive as hell. She didn’t realize what she was getting into with me, but she’s been consistent ever since I came here, which is more than I can say for anyone else in my life. I grab my headphones, kick off my shoes, and lay in my bed as “Idk” by Jesse Rutherford plays through my ears. Counting hours. Or sheep. Either way, I fall asleep.

  “Happy last day of school!” her soft, cheery voice gently wakes me. I force my eyes open, although the sun shining in them makes it difficult.

  “Shit, I slept forever,” the words fall groggily out of my mouth while I wipe the drool from my lips.

  “Language, Sweetie.”

  “Shit, my bad,” I reply with a slight smirk.

  Sally shoots me a pair of narrowed eyes.

  When I think about it, I really did get lucky with her. I hate people, but she’s hard to hate. And our Sally here is unlike any woman I’ve ever met. Very traditional, very conservative, hates swearing, church every Sunday, and lastly, tolerates my crap.

  A proud smile beams on her face, making me uncomfortable. “How about we go out to dinner to celebrate tonight?”

  “You don’t have to do that, you know. You’re already in the good pages of my book, Sal.” I pat the soft, aged skin of her hands.

  “Are you kidding? This is a big step in your life. You’re graduating high school!”

  “Really, it’s not a big deal.” A few moments pass and the disappointment on her face changes my mind. “But I won’t turn down food. Thanks, Sally.” She dramatically rolls her eyes, but I can tell this makes her happy.

  She and Dennis never had children, not for their lack of trying, they never were able to conceive, I guess. If they had a daughter, she’d be nothing like me. But she’s gone above and beyond for me, which made it impossible to dislike her, no matter how hard I tried. The love of a mother was something I’ve never had the luxury of, and Sally? She was handing out love like she had it in spades. She’s the only human I’ve ever let love me because, with her, it’s unconditional. How is that possible? Hell, if I know. I’m not kind to her all the time. I’m a brat, but she still stands tall like a beacon in the night—my very own lighthouse.

  Running late, I roll out of bed and use the dry-shampoo on my long blonde hair before pulling it up into a messy fishtail, add a little mascara and blush, throw on a sleeveless AC/DC shirt, black ripped jeans, and a pair of Chucks, calling it good. I race downstairs, bypassing the floral wallpaper in a breeze, and take the breakfast bar Sal holds out for me.

  There’s no cl
ass for the Seniors today, just a rehearsal for graduation, which these people take amusingly seriously. You’d think some of these girls are getting married. Music blares through my earbuds, blocking the excitement amongst the senior class as I walk through the gym to find a seat in the crowd. As I step up the first aisle, which happens not to be littered with too many douches, to make my way to the back of the bleachers, a foot sticks out, and I fall, busting my chin on the aluminum step. Warm blood trickles down my chin, and I curse as the heat of my anger instantly rockets.

  John and Eric chuckle, and just as I’m about to teach them a lesson of my own, a whirlwind of commotion erupts. I whip around, and my wide eyes land on Cohen, who has John in a chokehold, gripping his neck and cutting off his oxygen supply. What is he doing? Cohen has always let me fight my own battles. In fact, he usually takes delight in my misery.

  “Apologize. Now.”

  “Fuck you, Priest,” John spits out in small gasps. Oof, bad move buddy. Cohen pushes him farther, and the edge of the bleacher digs into John’s back.

  “Do I need to remind you why they call me Priest, fucker?”

  Okay, time to intervene. “I can handle this, Cohen.”

  Cohen jerks his head up, and the sight of my bloody lip seems to light a fire in his eyes. Cohen lets go, shoulders heaving and stands as John straightens his posture, holding the back of his neck. Cohen turns to walk away but shocks everyone when he quickly swerves back towards John and lays him out with his fist. A laugh escapes me, and my hand flies up over my mouth to stop the onslaught of giggles as everyone gasps in horror. But I can’t help the laughter slipping between my fingers, and tears run down my face as I clutch my stomach. Everyone’s eyes are on me, most likely thinking I’m crazy, and they’re not wrong. Though only one person is holding back a smile at me, and he’s fighting it as hard as I was fighting my laughter. I see you, Cohen.