About this book:
I need to admit something right now. The Silver Swan is f*cked. It might be the most insane story I've ever written with equally insane characters. Who knew? You know, when I started this book, it was supposed to be YA. I wanted to write a book that my sisters could read. A book that won't have people look at my mum like"damn... what sort of messed up shit happened to your kid?". The angst, the assholeness, the games, the f**kery, the WHAT THE F**KING F**K ARE YOU DOING???!!!...
I cannot even.... anyway, this is a warning (and the only one I'll give you). It's crazy. I don't compare my work to my others, but this book is f**ked. It will most likely stomp all the f**k over people's hard limits (and not give a sh*t while it's doing it) and will make you second guess all the morals you thought you had.
This most definitely is not looking like a love story right now... more like a..... I don't even....*shakes head* anyway, I apologise now. You asked for it..........
“Nate?” I whisper. “Maybe I took a wrong turn.”
“Nate!” I yell down the phone. “This isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing, sis. Keep going, we can see your headlights.” What am I doing? I’m basically relying on the fact that Nate and I had bonded a little and that both our parents are together. I’m not sure those facts are worth my life. No, he wouldn’t. I’m just being paranoid. The only time, except for school, where I didn’t bring my fucking pistol either. I sag in defeat. My dad will not be impressed with my not carrying, and my mom will no doubt be screaming at me from the other side about how these are the reasons why she and my dad educated me so much on firearms. I’ve failed as a fucking daughter. I shuffle up in my seat.
“Nate, I don’t fucking see anything up here but ja—OMG!” I slam on the breaks, all four tires locking up in a skid. I squeeze the steering wheel tightly, banging down the locks on the doors. “Nate!” I yell into the phone.
Slowly, I look up out the front windscreen, the thick dust from my tires interrupting the loose gravel still floating in the air and that’s when I see it again.
Ten dark hoodies covering their faces.
Ten—“Nate..” understanding sets in. Ten.
Slamming the gear into reverse, I’m just about to floor it backwards—to hell with anything or anyone behind me—when my driver’s window smashes into a million pieces, the tiny shards of glass falling onto my lap. I scream, my hands coming up to shield my face just as an arm slips inside and pops up the lock.
A deep menacing chuckle breathes over the back of my neck just as a leather gloved hand wraps around my mouth and pulls me out of the car. “Hello Madison. You don't know us, but we know you. We want to play a game. Here's what happens if you lose...”