Marvel: A Dark College Romance, page 1
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The Players of Kingston Valley U Series
Angry Knight
Devious Gambit
Bitter Saint
Brutal Prince
City Slickers Series
Broken
Cold Blooded
The Fixer
The Boss
Reverse Harem Books by P. Mulholland
Kings of Cade Series
Hate Bait
Hate Games
Hate Score
The Huntsmen Series
Scorn
Fracture
Claim
The Henchmen Series
Malice
Mayhem
Marvel
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents other than those clearly in the public domain are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission from the publisher.
CONTENTS
Trigger Warnings
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Trigger Warnings
Dear Reader,
Please note that this Romance is Dark and contains scenes that some readers may find upsetting, including violence, murder, explicit sex scenes, coarse language, and drug use. Proceed with caution.
Many thanks
P. Mulholland xx
1
Emaline
My cheek is pressed against a cold, unforgiving surface, and the side I’ve been lying on aches. Even though I sense that I haven’t been asleep for long, I’m one hundred percent sure that this is not my bedroom either. A shiver snakes down my spine when the cold hits my senses, and I dazedly pat my face, searching for my glasses as it is so dark in here, and my eyes feel so gritty that I can’t tell if I have them on.
Panic surges when my hand touches soft, cold skin instead of hard glass, and my hand finds the stone floor and starts patting as my breath hastens for fear that they’re lost for good because I’m utterly useless without my glasses. Finally, my hand finds the familiar shape resting on the ground by my stomach, and I wonder if they fell off or were taken because what fool would leave an expensive vital pair of glasses on the bloody floor?
Breathing a sigh of relief as I fix the glasses to my face and peer in the dark for Rosie, I start trembling when reality hits, and the memories flood into my consciousness. She was by my side only moments ago…in the graveyard. Someone was calling my name, and then…the world went black. But not black, as in I was knocked out, but someone placed a black fabric bag over my head, and I was taken somewhere. I remember calling for Rosie and hearing her stressed cries growing fainter as I was dragged away.
I remember screaming Xavier’s name, and a gravelly voice scolded me. “Shut the fuck up!” he angered, roughly dragging me along. “Xavier can’t hear you.” There was a woman’s voice, too, and perhaps another man, but masks muffled their voices, or maybe it was another head covering, such as a balaclava that vandals and thieves wear.
I open my mouth to utter Rosie’s name, but my lips and throat are so dry that only a useless croak comes out. Swallowing over a lump in my throat, I try to hydrate my lips by licking them, only to find that it doesn’t work.
Rolling over onto my backside, I sit up stiffly and wince from the pain in my lower back, feeling the pinch of a sciatic nerve. Now upright and with my glasses on, I’m able to assess the scene a little more clearly and rationally, except for it being so damn dark.
The scent of old bones and candle wax invades my senses, and I cringe at the sickly combination that is overwhelmingly familiar. I’m not at all surprised that this is where they dumped us. I don’t know why. Why me? Why us?
I’m in a dark corner behind pillars, but there is a flickering light in the open space where the tombs lie and the infamous Butcher Block, casting long shadows along the stone walls. There are people here in this dungeon, speaking in hushed voices, yet I can’t quite pick where they are.
The sharp sound of a heavy door grating against stone is followed by quick and energetic trotting footsteps coming down the stairs, and the people nearby in the clearing drop their hushed conversation. Several beats of silence follow the tapping footsteps before a man, sounding annoyed, says, “What are you doing back so soon?”
“Lost her,” the second man answers.
The first man swears, and then I hear a loud bang as if he just kicked something, and the female consoles the first man.
“How the fuck did you lose them?” the first man hisses.
I didn’t hear a reply, so I can only guess that he shrugged his shoulders or made a nonverbal gesture.
“God, I hope she’s okay,” the female says, sounding eerily familiar. I know her, but I can’t quite connect the dots. And who are they talking about? Rosie? Oh no, don’t tell me something happened to Rosie.
“What should we do?” the second man asks, expecting advice from the first guy who must be the ringleader.
“Fuck knows,” he snaps irately.
“Did you know they were here?” the woman asks one of them.
One of the men grunts. “Stood out like a sore thumb even behind their masks.”
They’re talking about Rose and I. Jeez, and I thought we were doing an excellent job at being incognito wallflowers in the corner of the church. The lump in my throat enlarges, and I can’t get the taste of acid out of my mouth. I need water.
But wait. What do they mean that we fled? Maybe they don’t know I’m here. Perhaps someone else kidnapped us and laid me down here and Rosie somewhere else, hoping someone would save us. No, that doesn’t make sense either, and I’m not about to remind them that I’m here in case they have no idea.
Memories of the past couple of weeks shuffle quickly in my mind, and still so much doesn’t fit, yet I have received some answers, thanks to the Leroux brothers. Yes, and where are the infamous Leroux brothers? Partying in the broken church, I expect, growing drunker and in the mood to play about. Rosie was right; jocks can’t be trusted, especially jocks who command attention from drunk masked girls.
But the Leroux brothers are the least of my concerns right now. I feel a crick in my neck when I turn my head to the right, searching for a second exit so I don’t have to creep past the three people chatting about us.
Do tombs usually have two exits? Why would a skeleton of eroding bones need a second exit? No, of course not. Eroding bones don’t need an exit since they can’t get out of their stone coffins in the first place. Do shut up, head. Now is not the time to internally argue over old graves and their inhabitants.
I can make out in the dark that there is no second exit, but the space behind the pillars, where I lie, is entirely free of light. If I keep to the shadows behind the pillars, pressed against the stone walls, it will lead me to the corridor leading to the stairs. The only problem with that is the door makes a loud sound when it’s being opened, and since it’s as thick as a brick, I’m not sure if I can manage it myself. But there is only one way to find out.
I’m not the bravest or smartest person in the world, but lying here on this cold, hard surface, left to rot, is not how I plan to spend the coming holidays. Especially when this place smells bad and is giving me the OCD ick. Besides, I need to find out where Rosie is. If she is still in the graveyard or at the church surrounded by cheerleaders and football jocks, she’ll likely be in the midst of a panic attack.
Hopefully, she’s okay and not in danger. Hopefully, someone will notice me gone and search for me. But then, I sighed; they didn’t know we were here at this party in the first place.
Stretching my neck until it clicks, I roll over onto my hands and knees and start crawling towards the first pillar, ignoring the ache in my lower back and the chill gnawing at my kneecaps. I’m not built for physical adventures. Mental adventures in books and movies are far more enticing and less strenuous on my nerves.
Moving closer to the first pillar, I pause to cock my ear towards the three people noticing that it had gone quiet. I can’t even hear footsteps on the stone, yet I didn’t hear them leave.
Arriving at the pillar, I pause to hide behind
“Em?” I whisper, overwhelmed with relief. Even though she sees me, she doesn’t move and an icy shiver travels down my spine in fear that she’s been hurt or shocked into silence. They were rough and unkind with me, so they would’ve been the same with her, and regret bundles up in the pit of my stomach. I shouldn’t have brought her here. And now I’ve done this.
Crawling closer to her, under a sea of black, I stop at her sneakers, puzzled that she refuses to move or say anything. “Rosie?” I pat her shin and notice the masquerade mask on the floor next to her. The flickering candlelight momentarily catches my masquerade mask and shines. “Rosie, are you okay?”
When I move closer again, I take her hand in mine and discover that she is freezing cold, and I start rubbing her skin to warm her up.
A tiny whimper is released from her lips as she shakes my hand away, and my heart drops. She hates me. “I’m so sorry I brought you here.”
Strangely, she seems detached and aloof, as if on another planet. She makes a sign with her hand and points behind me.
Finding her behavior odd, I follow her pointed finger and gasp in fright as a shadow casts over us. I glance up at a face that I have seen several times before.
2
Xavier
A guy kicks in the passenger window and starts worming his way out while we sprint towards them. We spotted two figures in the front seat but couldn’t see how many people were in the back. If the back of the van is seatless, they will be thrown around against its walls. Fear claims the small of my back when I imagine Em in the back, and rage follows.
Aaron leaps onto the guy trying to escape the van and pins him to the ground like a fucking pro wrestler while I take a look in the cab. There’s a man in the driver’s seat slammed against the driver’s door, and the metallic scent of blood lingers. It’s too dark to see him properly, but he’s far too quiet and still to be alive, even if he was faking it.
“Em,” I call out. “Em.”
There’s moaning, a woman injured or perhaps unconscious, but something is not right.
“Bro,” Austin pats me on the shoulders and shines the flashlight into the cab, “use this.”
“Em,” I yell again, and the same moaning replies. But it’s not moaning that I’ve heard before, not from Em anyway. I turn back to Austin and glance at Aaron over his shoulder, who has the guy pressed hard against the ground, face down. The guy is obviously in pain and wriggling underneath Aaron’s heavyweight, spurting angry words while Aaron calmly tells him to “fuck up.”
“The van is lying on the sliding door, Xave,” Austin says, shining the light on the upright side of the van. “With Aaron here, we could roll it back over onto the tires.”
“Yeah, I’m not letting this fucker go,” Aaron’s deep voice tells us where he’s at.
“I’m gonna climb inside, so aim the flashlight into the van to guide my way,” I tell my twin as I tug on the door handle, but it refuses to open.
“Right,” Austin states and knocks on the side of the van. “Xavier is coming, Em. Hold on.”
I’m about to say I don’t think it’s her in there, but I could be wrong. However, seeing my bro find his tiny black heart is nice. I slide my long body inside the cab and, due to gravity, land on the dead guy. He didn’t move or groan, so I can say that he’s definitely dead.
Climbing into the back, the seat is tipped on its side, and it takes me a couple of seconds to catch my bearings in the dark. “Hello?” I say calmly so I don’t frighten her, and she replies with another moan. Without looking closely, she seems groggy and in a daze. I turn back to grab the flashlight off Austin and shine it onto the small figure lying on her side, squashed between the seats.
Blond hair lights up like a halo. She’s not Em, and my gut lurches. The best-case scenario is that she’s home in bed. The worst-case scenario…well, I don’t want to think about that.
Clinging to the toppled seats, I clamber to her side and shine the torch on her face to see how badly injured she is. Her eyes are slits in her skull, so she is not fully conscious, and blood pours from a wound above her eye, and I turn back to Austin.
“Bro, call 999. She’s in a bad way,” I stress.
“Fuck,” he snaps, placing the phone to his ear.
Sensing his trepidation, I add, “It’s not Em,” to make him feel better.
“Huh? Who is it?” he asks, stretching his neck to try and see her.
“Bri,” I exhale to ease the frustration in my chest, “Brielle. Em’s long-lost sister.”
“You’re fucking with me?” Austin blurts, then Emergency Services answers his calls, and he turns away from me to speak to them.
“Brielle?” I say quietly, brushing strands of blond hair that are sticky from blood on her face. “Brielle, we’ll get you some help, okay?”
She moans in obvious pain, and I glance back at Austin, who’s giving the operator our location. I place the flashlight on a flat surface and remove my sweater to drape over Bri for warmth. Many questions swirl in my mind, but now is not the time to ask her them.
“It’s me, Xavier Leroux, and my brothers are here too,” I tell her to keep her awake. If she’s had a serious head injury, we don’t want her falling asleep.
Bri doesn’t respond to my comment and leans forward to listen to her breath. She’s still breathing, but it’s shallow, and I reach for her wrist to find that it’s limp and her pulse weak.
“Stay with me, Brielle,” I roar, hoping to wake her.
“Emergency services are on their way,” Austin informs me, still pressing his phone against his ear. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s breathing but has fallen unconscious,” I answer, grabbing her face in my clutches and shaking it so she wakes again. “Bri, stay awake. We need you to stay awake until an ambulance is here, okay? Stay awake.”
She moans, and I sigh in relief as her eyelashes flutter under the flashlight's beam.
“Bri, how the fuck did you get into this mess? Where the hell have you been for so long? Your sister has been worried sick.” I realize these questions won’t be answered right now, but I need to keep her awake, and all I can think of to say are the mysteries that have yet to be solved. Where the fuck is Em?
I can hear Aaron chatting to the captive. I can’t pick up on what he’s saying, but the tone is Aaron’s usual lackadaisical chaunt like the dude has an inbuilt flat-o-meter where nothing raises his temperature, including a high-speed chase and tackling a kidnapper to the ground.
“Who are these men, Bri?” I ask her, and a soft whimper replies as she winces and twists against the pain. I turn my attention back to Austin. “Call Em, bro. Call her again to see where she is.”
“I don’t have her number,” he replies, becoming awkward. He seems not keen on calling her because that would show he cares.
I pat the back of my jeans, find it in the pocket, and take it out to hand to him. “Call her,” I reiterate in a firmer tone.
“Wouldn’t it be better if you called her since it’s coming from your phone,” he argues poorly.
“Dude, this is no time to act like a soulless cunt,” I state irately, and Bri moans in pain again. “Sorry, Bri, my brother is as stubborn as a mule drunk on whiskey. He’s crushing on Em but pretends not to.”
Bri mutters incoherently, and I lean in to listen to her, nodding as if I understood. She groans some more and then whispers, “Em-a-line.”
“Yeah, Emaline. Your sister,” I say, touching her forehead to find it wet with sweat, even though her touch is so cold.
“Emaline,” she breathes again.
“Yeah, Emaline,” and I check in progress with my brother, but he’s moved away from the window, so I can’t see him. “Chicken.”
“Chicken,” Bri mutters.
“Yeah, chicken.” Austin's concerned face appears at the window. “Did you get her?”
“Went to voicemail,” he replies, swiping off.
“Try again,” I insist. I’m not letting him get away with it.
“There’s no point,” he barks sharply. “Her phone is turned off and switched to voicemail.”
