Queen of Hell (WinterHill #1) Read Online Sarah Louise

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: WinterHill Series by Sarah Louise

Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 121552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)

After my life changed forever I spent the next six years sating my demons with the blood of the criminals in my city, making a name for myself as one of the most feared assassins in London. Now I’m heading up the country to finish my last year of University at the most prestigious institution in England, WinterHill.
I was expecting things to be different considering I’ve been doing all my classes online for the last six years, but what I didn’t expect was to find the boy that ran out on me the night everything fell to shit lording it over the rich fools of the University with his new band of brothers – we’ll call them the Goon Squad.
I should just kill him. He knows exactly who I am, but I’m trying not to break a promise. Although the fucking Goon Squad is making it very hard for me not to just gut the lot of them and send them back to their daddies in pieces.
But Clay has other ideas and when he finally tells me what he wants from me I am more than happy to oblige.
Will I be able to complete the job they need me to do? Of course I will, I live for this shit.
Will I be able to finish the year without murdering those infuriating arseholes? The jury’s still out on that one, and do I even really want to try?
I am the Queen of Hell. Welcome to my fucked up life.


“Sometimes the world doesn’t need another hero. Sometimes what it truly needs is a monster.”

-Dracula untold.


Slowly I open my eyes wondering where I am and what’s happened to me. I feel different, and it’s not because of the major fucking headache pounding its way through my skull like a marching band on game day. Tentatively, I touch the side of my head. My hair’s slightly damp and matted. I flinch in pain when I brush along the place I was so obviously struck. There’s a huge lump. I can feel the gash straight through the middle.

Why the fuck can’t I remember what happened?

When I look down, it’s like I’m watching a horror movie. I can’t quite believe what my eyes are seeing. I’m sitting in the shower, covered from head to toe in blood. There’s so much my clothes are heavy, weighing me down, anchoring me to the floor. I take an inventory of my body, trying to figure out where all the blood has come from.

I feel like I’ve taken a beating. I know all too well what that feels like. My shirt is ripped at one shoulder, gaping open in the front, all the buttons missing. My whole body aches and it hurts to breathe, but it doesn’t feel like anything is broken. I feel the sharp sting of cuts all over the top half of my body and arms, like I’ve fallen on broken glass, but I can’t see how bad they are underneath all the blood.

I’m aware I should be terrified. Instead, all I feel is a strange kind of detachment to it all. I sit, looking at my body, trying to remember how I came to be sitting here covered in so much blood.

There’s a strange sensation in my head. Murmurs, quiet enough I can’t understand. Swirling on a loop the more I try to remember. It’s like they know I’m not ready for the truth yet. They make my head spin. I try to focus on what I can recall.

I remember spending the afternoon at the library, slowly walking home alone after Clay text me that his dad needed to see him, and he wouldn’t be able to meet me. I was dreading the moment I walked through the front door, hoping my father had already drunk himself into a stupor and was passed out on the couch by the time I got there.

The swirling murmurs start up again in my head as I continue to remember the moments leading up to now.

I remember opening the front door, walking through it, hearing voices in the living room, praying he’d just passed out with the T.V on. I remember taking my bag and coat off and placing them by the door.

I remember walking down the hallway, making my way to the living room, knowing if he wasn’t passed out on the couch it was better to get seeing him out of the way. There was no way I wanted him to find me in my bedroom. It was always worse when he had to search.

The murmurs start to get louder. Getting faster and faster, like a tornado tearing up everything in its unsuspecting path.

I remember walking into the living room finding my father sitting in one of the armchairs, with four other men I’d never seen before taking up the couch and chair surrounding the glass coffee table that sat in the middle of the room.