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When Ellis Earnshaw and Heathan James met as children, they couldn\u2019t have been more different. Ellis was loud and beautiful \u2013 all blond hair, bright laughs and smiles. Heathan was dark and brooding, and obsessed with watching things die.<\/p>\n
The pair forged an unlikely friendship, unique and strange. Until they were ripped apart by the sick cruelty of others, separated for years, both locked in a perpetual hell.<\/p>\n
Eleven years later, Heathan is back for his girl. Back from a place from which he thought there was no return. Back to seek revenge on those who wronged them.<\/p>\n
Time has made Heathan\u2019s soul darker, polluted with hatred and the thirst for blood.<\/p>\n
Time has made Ellis a shell of her former self, a little girl lost in the vastness of her pain.<\/p>\n
As Heathan pulls Ellis out of her mental prison, reviving the essence of who she once was, down the rabbit hole they will go.<\/p>\n
With malice in their hearts and vengeance in their veins, they will seek out the ones who hurt and destroyed them.<\/p>\n
One at a time.<\/p>\n
Each one more deadly than the last.<\/p>\n
Tick Tock.<\/b>
\n<\/b>
\n<\/b>Dark Contemporary Romance. Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, disturbingly sensitive and taboo subjects, offensive language and very mature topics. Recommended for ages 18 and over.<\/i><\/b>
\n<\/i><\/b><\/p>\n
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ADD TO GOODREADS<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Please note : this is excerpt is unedited and subject to change.<\/strong><\/p>\n I placed the foot of my cane on the floor and looked to the left. The sound of light <\/p>\n After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel.<\/p>\n Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.<\/p>\n Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels.<\/p>\n When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn\u2019t need that extra square of chocolate.<\/p>\n WEBSITE<\/a>\u00a0|<\/b>\u00a0<\/b>FACEBOOK<\/b><\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0<\/b>TWITTER<\/b><\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0<\/b>INSTAGRAM<\/a>\u00a0|<\/b>\u00a0<\/b>AMAZON<\/b><\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0<\/b>GOODREADS<\/b><\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A new dark romance from one of our favorites! Releasing 9 October 2017 Synopsis When Ellis Earnshaw and Heathan James met as children, they couldn\u2019t have been more different. Ellis was loud and beautiful […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":23415,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","yasr_overall_rating":0,"yasr_post_is_review":"","yasr_auto_insert_disabled":"","yasr_review_type":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[290],"tags":[432,26],"class_list":["post-26189","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-book-news","tag-excerpt-reveal","tag-tillie-cole"],"yasr_visitor_votes":{"stars_attributes":{"read_only":false,"span_bottom":false},"number_of_votes":0,"sum_votes":0},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/07\/Sick-Fux.jpg?fit=150%2C225&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p7gaNL-6Op","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26189","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=26189"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26189\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/23415"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=26189"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=26189"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=26189"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nExcerpt<\/strong><\/h4>\n
\nbreathing came from around the corner. I made to move, but my heart slammed into a
\nfast beat, stopping my feet in their tracks. My nostrils flared as I closed my eyes and
\ntried to suck in deep breaths. I never did this, never had this kind of reaction to anything.
\nNot in eleven years. Not when I was trapped in darkness. Not even when the guards
\ncame to \u201cmeet the young kid.\u201d Not when we got out\u2014bloodily, savagely, darkly.
\nEspecially not when my knife plunged into the guards\u2019 hearts and I watched the life fade
\nfrom their eyes, the pure fascination of losing one\u2019s life essence occupying my mind.
\nBut this was Dolly. The only person I\u2019d ever given a shit about.
\nA slick tar pumped through my black heart as I thought of her. She was the blood that
\ngave me life.
\nI had no idea what state I would find her in. Whether or not her fragile mind had been
\ndestroyed. Whether or not her glass heart had been shattered. No hope of salvation.
\nI had no idea if my only reason for living could be saved. I shook with venomous anger
\nwhen I let my mind imagine the hell those sadistic cunts would have put her through in
\nmy absence. But Chapel\u2019s words rang in my ears . . . Unleash the anger only on those
\nwho deserve it. Let it build within your heart like a well swelling with water . . . then
\nunleash hell on those who took your freedom.
\nOpening my eyes, I breathed through my rage and silently rounded the corner . . . I
\nstopped. There she was, sitting in a chair. I sucked in a breath and heard it rattle in my
\nears. Her hair. Her hair was pulled back into a long braid, the woven strands falling to
\nher lower back. And she was dressed in black. Long, baggy sleeves covered her arms.
\nMotherfucking black. Dolly didn\u2019t belong in black. Only color. Blue and white and gold
\nand motherfucking pink.
\nI edged around the perimeter of the room until I faced her. My heart tore down the
\ncenter and I had to hold back a loud snarl when I saw her curled up on the seat, a thick
\nblanket over her thin legs and waist as she stared lifelessly out of the window. The
\nwindow that overlooked the once-manicured lawns, now nothing but high-reaching
\nweeds and too-bushy trees. I looked across at what she was watching, in the direction
\nof what held her so captivated.
\nMy heart was severed completely, the two parts of its flesh repelling the other, trying to
\nescape the rage and pain and fucking consuming darkness.
\nShe was staring at the spot where we used to play as kids. Where she had found me all
\nthose years ago, ripping the colorful butterfly apart in my hands. I moved into her line of
\nsight, but her blue eyes didn\u2019t lift to meet mine, just stared through me as though I
\nwasn\u2019t even there. I crouched down and studied her face. Porcelain skin. Full lips.
\nFucking perfection.
\nBut there was no life left in her.
\nI had never felt fear before, but I imagined the sinking hole I felt dropping in my stomach
\nwas something like it. A sinking feeling that Dolly had gone to a place from which there
\nwas no escape, a prisoner in her own mind.
\nFragility consumed.
\n\u201cDolly darlin,\u2019\u201d I rasped, my voice fucking breaking.
\nTwenty-one. She was twenty-one and more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.
\nPerfection.
\nMy living doll.
\nA strand of hair lay over her face. My fingers clenched and unclenched as I tried to force
\nmyself to touch her. But I couldn\u2019t. I hadn\u2019t touched or been touched in years. I didn\u2019t
\nknow how to anymore. Allergic to human affection. Repulsed by the degrading feeling of
\ntouch.
\nI . . . I . . . I couldn\u2019t.
\nAs I opened my mouth to speak to Dolly again, a loud gasp sailed through the air
\nbehind her. I straightened, gripping my cane, to see a familiar old face appear. I
\nwatched, the sinking hole quickly replaced by dark satisfaction as the blood drained
\nfrom her face. \u201cGood Lord,\u201d she whispered as I smoothed down my black cravat and
\nvest.
\nI glared at the bitch. Leaning casually on my cane, I said, \u201cMore like Lucifer, I would
\nthink.\u201d I nodded in her direction \u201cTo you, anyhow.\u201d
\nMrs. Jenkins swallowed and tried to back out of the room. \u201cAh-ah,\u201d I tutted and shook
\nmy head. She immediately stilled, eyes fixed on mine.
\n\u201cHe . . . Heathan James . . . it\u2019s . . . it\u2019s not possible . . .\u201d she stammered and ran her
\neyes over me. Every inch of me.
\n\u201cRabbit.\u201d The bitch flinched at my correction. \u201cI am Rabbit. The motherfucking White
\nRabbit. So never fucking utter that peasant name to me again.\u201d
\nHer skin paled, and her eyes fell to Dolly sitting on the chair. Dolly still hadn\u2019t moved. I
\nshifted my grip on the box I had brought inside, about to hold it out to Mrs. Jenkins when
\nshe asked, \u201cHow are you here?\u201d
\nI threw the box across the room. It landed right at her feet. \u201cDress her.\u201d
\n\u201cWh-what?\u201d Mrs. Jenkins asked.
\nI pointed to the box at her feet. \u201cDress her. It wasn\u2019t a request.\u201d Mrs. Jenkins shook as
\nshe picked up the box and moved to where Dolly sat. Dolly didn\u2019t look at her either. Mrs.
\nJenkins opened the lid of the box and gasped again.
\nHer old, wrinkled eyes snapped up to mine. \u201cNo\u2014\u201d
\nBefore she had even finished the sentence, I had reached into my pocket and pulled out
\nmy knife. I ran the flat side of the blade down my cheek. Slowly. Controlled. Watching
\nher terrified gaze track my every move. \u201cYou\u2019d best do as I ask, Mrs. Jenkins. My
\npatience and tolerance for you appear to be at an all-time low.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nAbout the Author<\/strong><\/h4>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i1.wp.com\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/05\/Tillie-Cole.jpg?resize=200%2C253\")
Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.<\/p>\nFor more great reads, check out our Tillie Cole Author Spotlight<\/a><\/strong><\/h4>\n
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