Vipers And Virtuosos Quotes

You have scars, but they don’t have you.” I’m not sure if either of us is breathing anymore. “And you, Riley fucking Kelly, are beautiful in a way that’d make the constellations weep.

could, but eventually everyone comes to a point in their lives where they have to own up to their shortcomings. Our experiences are meant to mold, not define us.

part of why we work so well is that we’re both fucked in the head. Equally tangled up in one another.

The only thing I mourned was that I didn’t light the match.

Some people don’t know how to reach others when it’s never been done for them. Just because he doesn’t show up for you in the ways you think he ought to, doesn’t mean he’s not showing up.

all logical thought seems to cease when I’m around him. That feels like a red flag, but with rose-tinted glasses, I find it difficult to care.

At least when you’re on fire, you know you’re alive.

i happen to like that my home has a heartbeat

Warmth fills my chest like rays of sunshine, but it’s the kind that doesn’t quite reach your limbs because parts of you are stuck in the shadows.

You’re spiraling for no reason.” He stops pacing and sighs. “They wouldn’t call it spiraling if it made sense.

Our experiences are meant to mold, not define us.” “You should put that on a T-shirt.” “Maybe I’ll have one made and sent out to you as a Christmas gift.

I’m not happy I’m alive. I’m not proud of my trauma, or the person it made me. It hurts, and I hate it.

Questioning coincidence only leads to trouble.

I’ll choose his warmth, even if it means getting burned. At least when you’re on fire, you know you’re alive.

At least when you're on fire, you know you're alive.

is that I know what to call you when I collect my dues.” My eyebrows scrunch together, and his jump. “You weren’t for sale to him, angel, because I already paid for you.

You have scars, but they don't have you." I'm not sure if either of us is breathing anymore. "And you, Riley fucking Kelly, are beautiful in a way that'd make the constellations weep.

It’s acknowledging an imbalance of power and reinforcing it for the person who holds more.” Slow thrust. Grind. Repeat. “It’s you trusting me to use that power to please you. To corrupt you.

How do you know she has a latex allergy?” Caleb asks, and I want to pinch my eyes closed, because even I anticipate what’s about to come out of Aiden’s mouth. The rock star grins. “How do you think I know?

The words claw their way up my chest, heavy with the weight of self-flagellation I’ve carried my whole life. Shame I felt for things I had no control over. Grief for the girl I could have been—should have been,

I used to think that outside hatred couldn’t touch you when your self-deprecation screamed louder. Thought I was protected because I’d spent an entire lifetime despising myself. Thought the opinions of others didn’t matter, because no one would ever be harder on me than me.

Fuck, how I could ruin this man. If he were anyone else, I might even try—but the sixteen-year-old buried deep inside me is begging me not to. She still clings to the hope that one day, we’ll be whole again. That the stains on our soul might disappear if enough time passes. But I know better; the darkness in us is a quicksand, seeking out others to devour.

I got to a place where I was functioning through the day, so I think he assumed I was okay. That I wasn’t hollow anymore, just because I’d resumed eating and sleeping and watching television. Or maybe that’s just what he wanted to believe. But the truth is, it’s not possible to heal from things you can’t see. Even invisible wounds hurt, and mine have scarred so deeply by now that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to move on.

I don’t want to leave my bed at any point of the day. Dragging myself from it is the purest form of torture; my body sags into the mattress each morning, desperate to return to my unconscious state, where the only things that hurt me are figments of my imagination. It’s a wonder I’ve been productive during my stay so far, at all, when apathy hangs over me like an angry storm cloud, constantly coating my skin in its acidic rain.

I lean against the frame, letting his words rake over my skin and soak up the scene in front of me. The items of clothing from my closet back home, all the scrap sheets of music and peppermints—empty and not—everything I’ve been hoarding for years, because of this obsessive fucking thought that they’d one day become important. That I’d need them for something other than to scratch the weird itch in my brain. Things I carry with me, like phantoms I can’t possibly get rid of, no matter how hard I try.

What madness destroyed me and you, Orpheus?” ​— ​VIRGIL

And I know that no one in little King’s Trace, Maine, lives outside the scope of organized crime.

Vipers and Virtuosos is a dark, contemporary romance inspired by the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.

I can’t stop staring as he comes closer, not the slightest bit concerned that he’s getting the floor wet. My eyes trail over the intricate designs etched into his chest—instruments, abstract drawings, and flowers decorate his skin, each one bleeding into the next to make a homologous collection. A phoenix sits at the center, its fiery wings spanning across his pecs and the tail wrapping around his belly button. But that’s not the only thing that catches my eye; as I make my third pass around the colorful linework, my gaze snags on a splash of silver.

Well, join the club. Finding you with your dick inside the only girl I’ve ever been with wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for me.

The switch to his label, Symposium Records, was not one made lightly; however, after being dropped from the previous one due to some hits my reputation took, I didn’t have much of a choice.

God, you trash a few hotel rooms in a fit of grief, and suddenly you’re the poster child for mental instability.

A sharp pang tears through my chest, possessiveness unlike I’ve ever known rearing its head inside me. It slithers like slime along my tendons, coating them in thick darkness and damn near pushing me across the room.

She’s watching. Pointedly turning away from the man at her side to stare me down across the room. I can’t see the exact shade of her eyes, but I feel the weight of their acknowledgment.

Get your fucking hands off her, before I remove them myself,” Aiden clips, a darkness bleeding into his tone that indicates he isn’t messing around.

Better, sir?” His hand tightens into a fist, knuckles bleaching. “Much. Now let’s go.

I want to ask about his inspiration for his songs, if there’s a reason they have mythological undertones, as if he takes the public’s references to him being a modern-day Orpheus to heart.

You’re doing so well, pretty girl.

But all I saw was you.

Even if he didn’t have more money than most of the residents here, the police are bankrolled by the Italian Mafia, the boss of which is a client at Ivers International, Boyd’s security firm.

Dr. Kal Anderson looks like Hades himself, if Hades were well over six feet tall and unbelievably attractive. His is a beauty so sharp and focused, it almost hurts to look at him without the benefit of a lens barrier.

Kindness doesn’t exist in cold, darkened spaces.

Clasping his hands together, Kal nods once, then pushes to his feet. “Okay, then. Let’s kill Riley Kelly.

For the last three years, Riley Kelly has ceased to exist, and her rumored death got about the response I always anticipated it would. No one fucking cared.

I can’t tell her that, though. Not when everyone thinks I’ve let it go. Not until I know for sure.

So, for three years, I’ve been looking. I’ve spent an ungodly amount of money and time, and neglected the contract with my label, in favor of scouring the earth for her. Part of me still can’t believe I finally did.

I know she spends exactly twenty-three minutes in the tub. And I know that when she gets out, she lathers up in that peppermint lotion that haunts my fucking dreams to this day.

Gripping the bottle in my free hand, I position it beneath the slit in my crown, resuming the languid strokes from before. My toes curl inside my boots, my spine liquefying, as thick ropes of cum spurt from me like a hot spring. It dribbles into the lotion, musk mixing with the smell of Christmas, and I come close to blacking out from the pleasure it gives me.

A match made in hell.

We’re talking twenty, thirty pairs of panties here,” I say after the silence goes on for so long, he actually looks up. “They aren’t pens; they don’t get misplaced.

Solitude and preposterous scenarios. Especially for a stressed, traumatized individual.

I’m not saying you’re crazy, or that you’re making things up. But the mind is a wonderfully delirious place when we allow it to be. It can create false narratives and block out truths entirely. Sometimes, it’s to shield us from bad memories; others, it’s fear manifesting, conjuring things that simply don’t exist, as if trying to prepare us for certain possibilities.

That I wasn’t hollow anymore, just because I’d resumed eating and sleeping and watching television. Or maybe that’s just what he wanted to believe. But the truth is, it’s not possible to heal from things you can’t see.

I could, but eventually everyone comes to a point in their lives where they have to own up to their shortcomings. Our experiences are meant to mold, not define us.

Mainly, I’m checking to make sure there are no crazy rock stars hiding out where I can’t see. Satisfied with the lack of psychos, my shoulders slump slightly,

Keep the safety locked at all times. The presence of a gun alone is often enough to subdue an attacker; don’t kill yourself in return.” “Aim to kill if you ever need to turn off the safety. You’re not a cop. Do what you have to.” “Once it’s out, don’t ever take your eyes off of it.

Is that so?” I ask Caleb, grinning as Riley’s mouth parts. “I do more than sing, you know. I’m also very good with my hands.

Emotions are overrated, Riley.” Pulling away, he works his jaw from side to side, eyes shifting off camera again. “They should be reserved for things that matter.

No, I’m just saying. Maybe your town is judgmental, so she keeps to herself.” “Well, that’s rude.” “That’s life.

I started covering mine when I started performing. Mainly because my parents wanted me to, but also because I couldn’t stand the reminders of those low points in my life. The scars were ugly, and I got tired of seeing them. It helps that tattoos add to the whole bad boy brand I was aiming for. Somehow, men’s mental health does not.

Days spent watching him rule over New York City’s music industry as a kid, admiring him the way the ancients must have looked at their sun gods.

Well.” Fiona wiggles her fingers in the pockets of her white Prada coat and raises her eyebrows. “Now it feels like Christmas.

I think normal is boring. Abnormalities make life more interesting.

They’re all dead, Riley. Anyone who ever might have come back to hurt you. I spent the last three years hunting them down and destroying their operation. No one is ever going to come after you again.

I didn’t come forward because I couldn’t. In case… the man who attacked me, he was involved in sex trafficking. I guess my mom had made some sort of deal with him, and I was the product he was supposed to deliver, and never did.

One day, I’ll be able to go into the specifics of how I lost her, followed her to the underworld, and left without her. Like a dumbass. I’ll never be able to understand why I didn’t tell her today that I wanted to bring her back with me.

well, now she knows. I’m pretty sure you’ve been it for me since the second I laid eyes on you, angel. Three years I’ve been completely fucking obsessed, and I don’t see that ending anytime soon.

He smirks, seeming to get lost in his thoughts for the briefest second. “Waiting is the worst part. Don’t make the same mistake I did.

I got stagnant before my break. My love for music was overshadowed by fatigue, drinking, and sadness. Symptoms of an illness I was trying to cure by ignoring completely.

Nostrils flaring, I clench and unclench my jaw, her words slowly processing in my mind. “So, you started the rumor.” She grins. “Started the rumor, made sure it spread through every online platform, leaked names and pictures. You guys did a good job trying to scrub the evidence away, but the Internet is forever, baby. I knew once people heard, they’d never stop talking about it.

I sent the envelope, too. Knew it’d freak you out. Didn’t think you’d kill yourself, but hey, that was a nice little bonus.

God, you’re right. It’s just… tattoos are permanent, you know?” I give him a flat look, cocking an eyebrow. “No shit? I thought you were just bad at showering.

Aiden refused, of course, and now Orphic Productions is handling the relaunching of Calliope Santiago’s pop career.

She always made it sound like he abandoned us to go live with our aunt. I guess she was trying to save face with me, but deep down, I knew his animosity existed for a reason.” “She gave him up?” “Yeah.” Tears sting behind my eyes and I blow out a breath. My heart aches, grief filling the cracks like glue. No wonder Boyd always resented my existence.

In answer, I cup his jaw in my hands and tilt his head back, fusing our mouths together in a gesture of thanks.

Cleaning up,” he says, before sealing his mouth to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

My mother used to say beautiful things were wrought from the most unimaginable pain.

Every time, it feels like coming home. And maybe you're not supposed to find that in other people, but I can't imagine what a lonely existence it must be to leave your heart with empty buildings only. I happen to like that my home has a heartbeat.

Doesn't it feel so much better when you do what I ask, pretty girl?