Hollow Veins: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Sabre Security Book 3), page 1
HOLLOW VEINS
SABRE SECURITY #3
J ROSE
WILTED ROSE PUBLISHING
CONTENTS
Trigger Warning
J Rose Shared Universe
Prologue - Michael Abaddon
1. Harlow
2. Leighton
3. Harlow
4. Enzo
5. Harlow
6. Hunter
7. Harlow
8. Harlow
9. Theo
10. Harlow
11. Harlow
12. Leighton
13. Harlow
14. Enzo
15. Harlow
16. Harlow
17. Hunter
18. Harlow
19. Harlow
20. Theo
21. Harlow
22. Harlow
23. Enzo
24. Harlow
25. Harlow
26. Leighton
27. Harlow
28. Harlow
29. Hunter
30. Harlow
31. Leighton
32. Harlow
Epilogue - Harlow
Playlist
Want more from this shared universe?
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Newsletter
Also by J Rose
Copyright © 2023 J Rose
Published by Wilted Rose Publishing
Edited by Nice Girl Naughty Edits
Proofreading by Kim BookJunkie
Cover Design by Books & Moods
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters and events are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, establishments or events is coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used without the express permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in the context of a book review or article.
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-915987-09-9
ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-915987-10-5
www.jroseauthor.com
DEDICATION
This book is for everyone that has rebuilt themselves, brick by brick, after suffering through trauma.
You’re a warrior.
Never forget that.
TRIGGER WARNING
Hollow Veins is a contemporary reverse harem romance, so the main character will have multiple love interests that she will not have to choose between.
This book is very dark and contains scenes that may be triggering for some readers. This includes physical and psychological abuse, torture, sexual assault and abuse, imprisonment, graphic violence, serial murder, PTSD, Trichotillomania, mass suicide and cult-worship.
If you are triggered by any of this content, please do not read this book.
Additionally, British Sign Language (BSL) is used throughout and is distinguished through the use of italicisation.
Settle in and enjoy the final chapter of Harlow’s story!
J ROSE SHARED UNIVERSE
All of J Rose’s contemporary dark romance books are set in the same shared universe. From the walls of Blackwood Institute, to Sabre Security’s HQ, and the small town of Briar Valley, all of the characters inhabit the same world and feature in Easter egg cameos in each other’s books.
You can read these books in any order, dipping in and out of different series and stories, but here is the recommended order for the full effect of the shared universe and the ties between the books.
For more information: Recommended Reading Order
“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.”
- John Milton
PROLOGUE - MICHAEL ABADDON
GOD SAVE ME – GENOSKY & PROMOTING SOUNDS
With my knees pressed against the floor of the bedroom, I stare up at the hewed wood of the crucifix nailed into the wall. My hands are tightly clasped together, the gold-edged Bible laying open in front of me.
“Lord Almighty. Forgive me, for I have sinned. My flesh is weak. I have wrestled with sin and failed. Grant me your holy forgiveness, Lord.”
I roll up the sleeve of my simple shift shirt that has the scent of cheap soap clinging to the fabric. Then I lift the knife that rests beside my Bible. The blade is curved into a wicked arc, the hilt glinting with rich engravings.
As steel meets flesh, the flow of hot, cleansing blood seeps from the deep wounds I inflict upon my inner forearm. Over and over. Slash after slash. Cut. Slice. Bleed. Repent.
“Forgive me, Heavenly Father. I did not mean to hurt her.”
Yes. You did.
For as long as I can remember, there’s been this dark, murmured voice in the back of my mind. On occasion, it escapes the shackles I’ve forged from fire and brimstone to keep it imprisoned in the safety of my imagination.
When it does come out, my scripture fails. The Lord’s light disappears from my inner landscape, overshadowed by the cloying shadows of the devil’s soldiers, preparing to invade.
Slicing deep into my arm, I repeat the words bruised and beaten into me throughout the years we spent at Genesis Home, despite the decades that have passed. The twisted symphony has accompanied my darkest hours ever since.
You are a sinful demon, Michael.
Pain cleanses us of all our sins.
Remember your scripture.
Placing the bloodstained knife down with a shaking hand, I take a strip of clean cotton from inside the hand-carved wooden box that houses my equipment. The pure-white fabric is soon soaked through with dark, sinister crimson.
It doesn’t stop the memories of her voice screaming for mercy. I didn’t mean to hurt her. All I wanted was to talk. The short walk home from the chapel that hosts evening prayers snakes through the depths of the city. It’s impossible to ignore the walking sacks of flesh and sin.
They heckle as you pass, tempting demons in with their disgusting offers and bare legs. One shouted that she’d suck my cock for little more than the price of a newspaper. Filthy fucking whore.
I’m not sure how it happened. The world flashed in and out in shades of red, and before I knew it, her face was pummelled into a paste beneath my swollen fists. I ran before the authorities could be alerted.
Rosetta and I move regularly, adopting new names and identities. It has become second nature to us now, after we were forced to flee our previous home when a similar incident occurred. For that, I can only blame the devil.
“M-Michael?”
While my head stays lowered, my hands curl into fists.
“What have I told you about interrupting me while I’m praying?”
“I’m s-sorry,” Rosetta stutters. “I just wanted to remind you about your meeting. The train leaves in half an hour. You’re going to be late.”
Seething, I push the box back underneath our plain double bed and stand. She still dares to speak to me, even through her split lips and the dark clouds of bruises that ring her eyes.
I should’ve broken her fucking jaw. That would keep her quiet. She’s lucky to even be breathing. The Lord only punishes those who deserve it. Those who are corrupted enough to draw his wrath.
There’s a reason why Rosetta lost our child—she’s a sinner, like the rest of them. After years of attempting to fill her barren womb, we were finally rewarded, only for her to screw everything up. Again.
“Have you done your afternoon prayers?” I ask curtly.
Her eyes duck in fear. “Daphne called. I was on the phone.”
“But you thought interrupting mine was appropriate?”
“I w-was only trying to help.”
“Silence. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.”
She swallows a cry of pain as my fist connects with her cheek. A spray of dark blood hits the wall and leaves a smeared imprint like one of those Rorschach inkblot tests that doctors used to make me do.
I still don’t know what they were looking for. The demons within me aren’t so easily discerned. They speak in shadows and the silent pauses between breaths. No one can cure my God-given right to rule.
“You’re going to kneel on the floor. Now.”
With tears soaking into the weathered flesh of her cheeks, Rosetta nods and follows my command. Her blue dress is tucked beneath her legs as she assumes the position beneath the watchful gaze of the crucifix.
“And you’re going to pray,” I spit at her. “Pray for God’s forgiveness. That child’s death is on your head.”
“Please,” she whimpers. “I didn’t mean to lose our baby. I had a miscarriage.”
“You think I care what you meant? This is your punishment for allowing sinful thoughts to enter your mind. Now you have to pay the price for your lustful ways.”
Rosetta screams when I grab a handful of her brown hair and use it to smash her face into the wall. The quiet crunch of her already crooked nose colliding with the flat surface sends spikes of violence through my veins.
More.
She deserves more.
They all do.
“I’m going to go deal with this situation.” I stroke a hand over her head. “God grants his hardest battles to his most dedicated soldiers. It seems I am being tested today.”
She doesn’t respond, her gaze focused on her laced fingers. I can see the movement of her lips forming the words I’ve whipped, beaten and bruised into her soul.
Rosetta mus
I leave her crying on the floorboards and head for the train station. We’re currently based out of Wolverhampton, eighteen months into our latest identity. There’s no telling how long this one will last.
The people who once pursued us have long since lost interest or have passed on. This was supposed to be our fresh start, along with the life God granted us.
Instead, I have a useless whore of a wife, and the demonic slut who abandoned me as a baby has dealt me another blow. Her death allowed my half-sister, Giana, to track me down.
I wasn’t expecting to find a sibling when I attended to my mother’s meagre affairs. Michael Abaddon’s life was abandoned years ago, much like she did to me as a child, but I still kept tabs.
The train ride to the quiet countryside is a painful three hours. Leaving the stifling heat of strangers packed together like sardines, I summon a taxi then rattle off the address written on my palm.
After a short drive through the countryside, a small, cramped house nestled amidst a bad neighbourhood greets me. There’s a battered, centuries-old truck parked outside the family home.
My knuckles rap against the door in a reluctant lament. The reasons for allowing this interaction are selfless. I’m trying to save Giana. Our mother was a godless cunt wrapped in the skin of a whoring demon.
My so-called sister has that bitch’s blood in her veins, so she is cursed. Our whole family is. That’s why the devil is buried deep in my bones and comes to me in murderous whispers. I’ve been cursed too.
I have to help her.
I have to save her.
When the door opens, the first thing I notice is the smattering of toys across my sister’s threadbare carpet. She’s short and thin, her blonde hair untidy and framing uncertain green eyes that match my own.
“Michael. You came.”
“I did.” Stepping inside, I peer around the messy porch. “I don’t have long. I’ve left my wife at home.”
“How is she? And the baby?”
Anger curdles in my gut. I offered Giana a smattering of details at my mother’s unmarked graveside. In the handful of weeks that have passed since then, the cruel lash of fate has cut my luck short.
“Fine,” I lie stiffly. “Healthy.”
Giana smiles. “That’s good. Those first few months are so crucial.”
“Indeed, they are. Is your husband home?”
She guides me through the house towards the kitchen. “He’s at work. I thought it might be best if we talked first, before I introduce you to anyone.”
More lies. I can sense it. She’s hiding something about her life and the people she lives with. There’s no love in her voice, no pride.
“You didn’t tell them about her, did you?” I guess.
Giana’s gaze ducks. “You can’t even say her name?”
“No. I refuse.”
She sighs. “I left my old life behind when I was adopted as a child. After marrying Oliver and having Letty, I didn’t feel the need to share my birth mother’s story with them.”
The children’s toys were a dead giveaway, but the moment I hear her name, darkness rears its head inside of me. Glossy black wings unfurl, and hell’s fires begin to burn beneath my skin.
“How old is Letty, exactly?”
“She turned eight-years-old a couple of weeks ago.”
“Precious.” I take a seat at her round, cloth-covered table. “Children are a blessing from God.”
“Oh, well, I suppose they are.” Giana hesitates, seeming doubtful. “Are you excited to become a father yourself?”
Acid slips over my tongue. “Oh, yes. We are thrilled. We’ve been trying unsuccessfully for many years.”
“I didn’t expect to have Letty. We had only been married for a couple of months when I got pregnant.”
If I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of displeasure in my sister’s voice. Just a whisper. The smallest grain of resentment.
“She was unplanned?” I poke further.
Her eyes lower. “Very much so.”
“You should be thankful for such a blessing.”
The crease between her furrowed brows deepens. I remain silent as she fills a chipped teapot and hands me a similarly damaged mug. Clearly, they don’t entertain much.
“Do you go to church?”
“Church?” she repeats. “No. We aren’t religious. My adoptive mother was an atheist.”
Blasphemous bitch.
“The Lord grants all his children mercy, if they will only ask for it,” I inform her. “You should think about that.”
“Uh, well... Like I said, we’re not religious.”
“When the time for judgement comes, it won’t matter who believes in the Lord’s divine work and who does not. The sinners will be judged regardless.”
Her eyes slide over to me before quickly darting away. The awkward silence is broken as she sits down and pours the tea.
“Are there moments in your life that you regret?” I question softly. “Things you wish that you could take back? Mistakes? Sins?”
“Of course,” she admits.
“Are you happy, Giana?”
“I … ahem. Well, I am.”
“There’s nothing in your life that you’d change?”
“Why are you asking me these things?” she snaps, becoming flustered.
I lean forward to bring our eyes level. “I know that you have a feeling deep inside of you. A sense that something is broken, somehow.”
Her lips fall open on an unsteady breath. “I… I…”
“It’s always been there. No matter where you go or what you do, the voice still whispers.”
Her green eyes sparkle like pine trees draped in morning dew, and her bottom lip wobbles. There it is. The lie. The story she tells the world. I can see the deceit buried in her irises.
“How old were you when she left you?” I ask, barely above a whisper.
“Seven,” Giana chokes out. “I was seven.”
“So young to be left alone in the world, isn’t it? I didn’t make it that long. Our mother squeezed me out then abandoned me at the first children’s home she could find.”
“I’m sorry, Michael. She hurt us both. You know that.”
“Do I? Seems to me that you had seven years of knowing one of your parents. You were cared for, however briefly. Maybe you were even loved.”
“She gave me up for adoption. That isn’t love.”
“It’s a damn sight better than being abandoned in an abusive prison.”
Her chair scrapes back as she stands in an attempt to regain some futile sense of power.
“I have to pick Letty up from school,” Giana blurts. “Perhaps we should talk another time.”
Drawing to my feet, I reach inside my coat pocket and pull out the slim, leather-bound book I tucked inside earlier. It’s a smaller version of my own Bible and well-worn from use.
Placing it down on the kitchen table, I offer my half-sister a knowing grin. The deep grooves of her frown have evaporated into a look of discomfort and almost… fear.
She looks just like that disgusting slut did last night as I prowled closer, my fists raised and ready to beat the Lord’s sermon into her.
“For you.” I push the book towards her. “God is willing to accept all strays, Giana. No matter how lost. Perhaps it’s time for you to come home.”
