Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Her father owes us money. A great deal of money. Normally, we would break his legs, or worse. But we’ve known the old man since we were children.
So, I take her. She will work in my house. Serve me. But her big eyes pierce the stone around my heart. And her curves tempt me beyond all reason.
I cannot touch her.
But I am not a man who is used to holding himself back.
So, I don’t.
And when an enemy within our ranks takes her to provoke a reaction, they do not anticipate hell raining down upon them. I am known for being ruthless and cruel. But my creativity in my revenge astounds everyone.
A Very Bad Man is the start of an all-new series starring the Aslanov Brothers and the Aslanov Russian Crime Syndicate. Expect toxic behavior from an obsessed alpha. As always, Happy Ever Afters are guaranteed.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
A Very Bad Man
I own her. I want her. But I am trying to be honorable.
Her father owes us money. A great deal of money. Normally, we would break his legs, or worse. But we’ve known the old man since we were children.
So, I take her. She will work in my house. Serve me. But her big eyes pierce the stone around my heart. And her curves tempt me beyond all reason.
I cannot touch her.
But I am not a man who is used to holding himself back.
So, I don’t.
And when an enemy within our ranks takes her to provoke a reaction, they do not anticipate hell raining down upon them. I am known for being ruthless and cruel. But my creativity in my revenge astounds everyone.
A Very Bad Man is the start of an all-new series starring the Aslanov Brothers and the Aslanov Russian Crime Syndicate. Expect toxic behavior from an obsessed alpha. As always, Happy Ever Afters are guaranteed.
Twenty years ago
Anton
“Do you want a sweet?”
I looked up at the tall man in the expensive suit staring at me with a look that expressed both boredom and disdain. I did not flinch or cower, despite the harshness of his chiseled face. He looked like he was made of stone. I knew that he despised any sign of weakness. He would not wait for an answer. He would strike me if I did not answer.
But do I want a sweet?
“Yes, father.”
“Pick one.” He gave a hard look to the obsequious little man behind the pristine domed glass that covered the shelves of neatly organized delicacies. No smudges marred my view of the rows of colorful candies and treats. But I wasn’t hungry.
The man wiped his hands nervously against his crisp white apron. I noticed that. I noticed everything. His very pregnant wife came out, her face startlingly pretty under the white cap she wore over her dark shiny hair.
I exhaled as my father’s attention shifted away from me to consider the woman.
“Each of you can have one,” he rapped out, clearly finished with the game.
My brothers’ dutifully pointed at the glass. My father made an impatient sound as the owner of the sweet shop hurried to fulfill my brothers orders.
“Hurry, Barlov.”
That was his name. Barlov. I didn’t know his first name. With the marks, first names didn’t matter.
And with my father, everyone was a mark or a soldier in his service. I was a child, but even I knew that. I saw the fear in their eyes. They were afraid of me, too.
That meant I rarely received the same treatment as other small boys. I was aware of it on the rare occasion when someone treated me as a child. Perhaps chucking my chin affectionately, or ruffling my hair, only to realize moments later what they had done. Terror washed over them like a wave.
None of them could know how I longed for those simple touches. Those simple signs of affection. Or the ache of comfort I experienced, only to have it swiftly taken away.
But this man had seen us before. Many times, in fact. I had never noticed his fear before. Only his kindness.
Perhaps he was not afraid for himself, but for his wife. I understood that well. I had seen my father use the leverage of loved ones, wives, girlfriends, and children, to extract the greatest suffering, punishment, or obedience.
He was particularly fond of dragging in a traitor’s mother, so they could watch him kill her. Slowly, and thoroughly. I wanted to cringe at the parade of horrors in my memories, but I knew that that also, was not allowed.
“And for you, young man?”
“I would like one of these, please,” I said, mimicking the polite way I was encouraged to speak to my grandfather, my father, and his second in command. My grandmother was long dead. Of my mother’s whereabouts, no one knew.