― Ker Dukey, Empathy. 13 likes. Like “They say some people are born with decreased activity in the brain; a cold spot in the front central lobe. Where most people have activity, a hot area giving them feelings, emotions and enabling them to love, there are a rare few who have a cold spot, affecting their ability to feel emotions, empathy /5. · EMPATHY. They say some people are born with decreased activity in the front central lobe causing them a deficiency in empathy. Maybe that’s true about me but whether I was born this way or created in a moment of evil, empathy was something I didn’t possess until her green eyes met mine in the mirror and I couldn’t take her life/10(). Empathy by Ker Dukey (1) MY BIRTH NAME IS DAMIAN. Fitting, really, or so I’m told by the woman who named me. “You’re the devil’s son,” she would spit at me, pointing a shaky finger in my cheek in a drug induced haze whenever I refused to bend to her whim. I can still feel the impression of her fingertip where her nail broke the skin.
Empathy by Ker Dukey (1) MY BIRTH NAME IS DAMIAN. Fitting, really, or so I'm told by the woman who named me. "You're the devil's son," she would spit at me, pointing a shaky finger in my cheek in a drug induced haze whenever I refused to bend to her whim. I can still feel the impression of her fingertip where her nail broke the skin. Title: Desolate Series: Empathy #2 Author: Ker Dukey Genre: Fiction, Dark Romance Release Date: January 31st Ryan: I was a son, A friend, A brother, A psychopath. Eighteen years of being in a psyche ward; I was released into the world. Things have changed, Blake is married to Melody and is a father to [ ]. Pretty Broken Dolls (Pretty Little Dolls Series Book 4) by Ker Dukey and K. Webster | Sold by: Amazon Australia Services, Inc. | 25 September out of 5 stars.
Ker Dukey has 66 books on Goodreads with ratings. Ker Dukey’s most popular book is Empathy (Empathy, #1). Empathy by Ker Dukey. Click here for the lowest price! Paperback, , Empathy by Ker Dukey (1) MY BIRTH NAME IS DAMIAN. Fitting, really, or so I’m told by the woman who named me. “You’re the devil’s son,” she would spit at me, pointing a shaky finger in my cheek in a drug induced haze whenever I refused to bend to her whim. I can still feel the impression of her fingertip where her nail broke the skin.
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