Title: Eluded
Author: Lyra Parish
Release Date: July 28, 2014
Lives intersect only to be changed indefinitely...
Lauren
This isn't your typical girl meets boy.
There isn't a glass slipper or Prince Charming.
I've lived it and now it will be told.
Welcome to my personal hell...
Derrick
I once saved lives and now... I so easily end them.
Women are drawn to me like a moth to the flame, and like the moth not all of them continue on. Some are broken, others are damaged, and a few never make it out... but it's their decision to live. Only they often don't know that until it's too late.
F*ck the rules, I create my own in a world where I have nothing left to lose. Living is a game, and I'm the reigning champion by being stronger and smarter than my prey.
This is your warning. If you radiate vulnerability... Well, you could be my next victim. Don't try to hide. I'm not easily eluded.
Abbot
It started with me and now it will end with me.
Some people call me an uncontrollable killing monster. I f*cking laugh at the mention of the word.
Monsters have no control.
I've got plenty.
I don't kill without reason. I don't kill the innocent.
I hunt the ones that deserve it, the real monsters, the ones without regret or a soul.
Lauren
This isn't your typical girl meets boy.
There isn't a glass slipper or Prince Charming.
I've lived it and now it will be told.
Welcome to my personal hell...
Derrick
I once saved lives and now... I so easily end them.
Women are drawn to me like a moth to the flame, and like the moth not all of them continue on. Some are broken, others are damaged, and a few never make it out... but it's their decision to live. Only they often don't know that until it's too late.
F*ck the rules, I create my own in a world where I have nothing left to lose. Living is a game, and I'm the reigning champion by being stronger and smarter than my prey.
This is your warning. If you radiate vulnerability... Well, you could be my next victim. Don't try to hide. I'm not easily eluded.
Abbot
It started with me and now it will end with me.
Some people call me an uncontrollable killing monster. I f*cking laugh at the mention of the word.
Monsters have no control.
I've got plenty.
I don't kill without reason. I don't kill the innocent.
I hunt the ones that deserve it, the real monsters, the ones without regret or a soul.
Prologue
The dream is always
the same.
A black van slows ahead of my sister
and me as we walk home from school. When we pass, I hear the side door
forcefully slide open and the hinges scream out in protest.
Two men attack us. They grab us by our
arms and their nails claw into our skin, causing it to break. We try to push
them away and somehow manage to wriggle free. Then we run. We run like we've
never run before, but they are always faster and stronger. When they catch up
to us, one grabs my sister, pushes her down to the ground, and laughs.
She bites his arm, leaving teeth marks
and blood. This does no good though and only pisses him off. Then he slaps her
in the face, yells at her, and threatens to kill her . . . but refuses to let
go. They are relentless. I want to tell them that she is only ten years old,
that she is no good to them, that she isn't even a woman yet, but a hand covers
my mouth and an arm places me in a chokehold. My sister lets out blood-curdling
cries, and all I know is that I need to save her. I kick my capturer in the
knee, and he slams my body, then my head, into the cement until my vision
blurs. I know I have a concussion from the brute force, but I continue to
attack with everything that I have. No matter how hard I try, they take her.
How can a twelve-year-old boy fight
against men?
He can't.
I couldn't.
When I think back to that day, I
remember what the sky looked like after they pushed me down. It was blue like
the color of the sea in Australia. Not often do I remember the sky in London
being that color . . . or feeling so helpless. I'm often haunted by the look on
my sister's face, and the sound of her screams and pleas as they shoved her
into the van. I can still hear the revving of the engine as it hurried down the
street like it was yesterday. That was the last time I felt fear. Those men
stole more than my best friend and my sister. That day, they stole my soul.
This time, I wake up dripping with
sweat. Sometimes I am breathing rapidly or yelling, or my heart is racing so
fast it pulls me from the nightmare. For the past fifteen years, I've been
haunted with the memory of my sister's abduction. I used to blame myself for
her having been taken. I no longer accept that burden, and I refuse to sit idly
by. The underground darkness of London is at war with itself, and I've caused
it. It will not end until the petty fucks that stalk my streets are destroyed.
I will stop at nothing.
Some people call me an uncontrollable
killing monster. I fucking laugh at the mention of the word.
Monsters have no control.
I've got plenty.
I don't kill without reason. I don't
kill the innocent.
I hunt the ones who deserve it—the real
monsters, the ones without remorse or a soul.
Sometimes people strive to be
different, to step out of the fucking box, only to be misunderstood. The public
doesn't understand me, but who really gives a shit?
Who are they? Mice. They go to work
every single day and spin the same wheel that gets them nowhere. Work.
Marriage. Kids. Die.
I search for adventure.
I love control.
When I find trouble, I make it my
bitch.
Most people call me Abbot. First name
isn't needed. I truly believe there is power in a name. My friends respect me,
my enemies fear me, and regardless of what I do, at the end of the day I am
still a killer. Apparently, that's what defines me. Son, brother, leader of the
Gang of London, protector, murderer . . . the only word that matters is the
last one.
Shakespeare said, "All the world's
a stage." If that's true, then where is my standing ovation for a job well
done? Twisted fucks like me don't receive positive recognition. We don't
deserve to be rewarded for ridding the world of horrible people, because being
a murderer outweighs all the good.
An eye for an eye, a finger for a
finger, or blood for blood. What-the-fuck-ever.
I'm not fucked-up from a horrible
childhood, unless one counts my sister's abduction. Everyone tries to blame my
life choices on my parents' guidance, but my actions are by choice. My mum and
dad loved and supported me. They told me I could be anything I wanted when I
grew up, until I became what I am today—a cold-hearted killer.
No one expected that one.
About the Author
Words make the world go round. I love
to write, travel, and sing really loud at the top of my lungs in the shower.
Sweet love stories (along with the dirty ones) make me gush. I am firm believer
that a person can never have too many cats or cups of coffee, and that the F
word is necessary.
Forget the beach! Give me a gel pen, a stack of blank paper,
and beautiful mountains!
You can find Lyra's Weakness series here - https://www.goodreads.com/series/107613-weakness
