Phthartic Trilogy Book #2
Prequel to The Virgin's Prostitute
WARNING: For mature readers only.
This book can also be a stand alone
Niccolo Black is the best assassin of his time, he's ruthless and is known to care about no one but himself. Marcus L...
The first few chapters occur at a young age but I'll explain all of that. The TW for this chapter is assault and killing but it also doesn't happen if that makes sense? It's attempted but it's not bad at all lol you all will be fine, I doubt it will trigger anyone who read the last book💀
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Marcus' POV
I sat on my bed staring at my hands, the skin on the tips of my fingers rough and dry. My foster parents will be back soon and when they arrive I need to be prepared.
The house we lived in was average in size, a house with a simple white picket fence surrounding it. A house, not a home.
It was a daily routine that I would hide, scared to be hit by the impact of his hand on me, but this time was different. This time I would fight back.
I wrapped my hand in an old bleached out towel before punching the wall length mirror watching the shards fall at my feet. My reflection was shattered, almost as shattered as my heart.
The pieces would now never be able to be put back together perfectly and I thought that was beautiful. Nothing deserves to be perfect, everything shatters one way or another.
I was nervous, my hands shaking softly as I balled it in a fist a few times in an attempt to calm the storm raging inside of me. The boat was rocking and the moment my foster dad stepped through the door I knew the salty water would trap me inside and drown me.
My heart raced as I picked up the longest and sharpest pieces, placing them under my pillow before cleaning the mess and covering the mirror with a spare sheet.
I packed two bags, one full of clothes and hygiene products and the other full of food and canned goods. I placed the large black bags behind my door and kept my boots on as I climbed back into my bed.
This bed was the start of my problems. It has never been a place of rest, only an accommodation of sorrows and pain.
It was the place my blood seeped into, way more than my tears ever did. The place where I had no say in what happened to me. Where decisions were made without my consent, but that didn't matter because I wasn't old enough to give any.
I heard when the car pulled into the driveway. The gravel crunched under the tires and the engine sputtered to a stop. I heard it, but it only became real when I heard the metal door that broke off so many times slam shut. The noise echoed through the halls until it reached my ears, alerting me that this was it.
I've been in foster care all my life and this was my twelfth home. This was also the home I hated the most. The home that broke me and tore me apart. The home that screamed pain and misery yet when I screamed those two words no one spared me a second glance. No one cared.
I heard the shouting between Martha and Gerard and his heavy debilitating footsteps. Each step sounded as a warning. It was the final battle cry that the war was about to start. I waited and waited, my heart thrumming against my chest the closer it got. I closed my eyes pretending to be asleep when the door was slammed open.
