 by Amarie Avant.jpg)
Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Our first date, I wouldn’t wish on my worst of enemies.
That is until the ruthless beast tempted me with a side of Victor I never saw.
On day twenty-eight, I broke the compulsion and my heart. Victor Tudor simply doesn’t have a heart.
And I thought he was gone for good. But Victor groveled. I conceded. The process repeats.
He tastes like power, sin, and an unbreakable addiction.
While I’ve become Victor’s to possess, I can’t help the finagling feeling that I can’t have Victor Tudor, the man himself.
***
On our first encounter, I bloody saved the beauty, or so I thought.
The cheeky Luxury Whitson said she needed no savior.
And while my greatest trait is taking lives, she brought out a side of me I never knew.
I decline my next mark—who I soon learned is her father.
I revived her.
She still hates me, even after I’ve concede to a new challenge–keep both Whitson’s safe, and tame Luxury.
Luxury tastes of innocence, honey, and pure rain.
While I’m captivated with her, I can’t bloody have her. I’m not just an assassin, I’m a Royal. Duty bound to my Queen.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
Victor
Arlington, England
Present
* * *
My fist beats against the towering doors of the stone-walled estate. The flesh of my callused knuckles pulls back. With each hit, I leave a bloody trail.
The door cracks open, and I set my sights on Lake Russell, the pasty wanker, dressed in boxers and a white undershirt. Sleepy eyelids peel open.
“Victor, it’s not yet five in the morning. Why—”
My fist slams into his right eye. Lake stumbles on his toes. A wall assists the tosser in gathering his bearings.
“Ars-Arsehole!” Lake stammers. “I’m telling your grandmum!”
“You’ve given yourself too much credit. You’ll not survive this.” The power punch to Lake’s flat stomach shuts him down. Shoving up the sleeves of my blazer, I plant my legs wide. My large thigh muscles press against the confines of bespoke pants. I grab Lake’s collar with my left hand, crunching his nasal bone with the right.
I revel in carnage.
“Every tender word, every affectionate caress. All hinged on a lie.” Luxury had said those words in a subdued, bloody palpable tone. The devastation I caused her hadn’t moved me in that moment.
Now, adrenaline pumps a heart I long ago assumed had stopped ticking.
Fury fueled by the instances Lake flirted with Luxury.
His eyes loll.
Those fucking eyes locked onto my lady.
Desired what belonged to me. Belongs to me.
I come alive.
Knuckles wash in the heat of his blood.
Pounding Lake’s mouth, eyes, and chin, my brain only registers one stream of thought.
I woke in the bed I shared with my Little One—and that bed was void of her presence.
This here wanka abetted Luxury.
Helped her leave.
I’m a relentless, possessive bloke. After he’s dead, I will scour the ends of the earth and return my lady to her rightful place—at my side. And I’ll stop breaking her lovely heart.
1
Luxury
Early November
Cool air stroked my heated flesh as my ass rested against the side of a bench in Central Park. Victor stole the space between my thighs. A mouth created for sin crashed into mine. Depraved lips swept over mine while a single finger pumped my core, and a thumb toyed dangerously with my clit.
“Vic!” I teetered on the brink of agony.
A stunned silence fell over me as Victor licked his finger. “Tastes like you were on the verge of cumming.”
My fists curled around the lapels of his blazer, and I released a declaration that I felt in my soul—one I’d never in a million years contemplate vowing. “Fuck me, or I’ll murder you, Victor.”
A vicious mouth concealed my threat. Victor unzipped his pants, threw my thigh over his shoulder, and shoved aside my thong. In one agonizing sweep, he’d rammed into the depths of my pussy. Victor moved us away from the bench, fucking me roughly. Victor’s arms flexed, pumping me up and down. I glanced over at a dark, covered bridge and a stand of trees obscuring the street. I groaned, “This is soooo bad. We’re screwing in the park.”
“Are you . . .” A voice tugs me out of a sultry nightmare. Seven whole days ago, my knight in shining armor transformed into Satan right before my eyes.
Hellllll no. “I’m okay.” I’m not.
I nail the perfect smile while glancing up at Brick, the more outspoken of the private security team hired for my father’s protection and subsequently my own. By way of outspoken, he actually says a few words—occasionally.
With an understated nod, Brick pauses at the door to my father’s hospital room, taking in the area in one quick sweep. The other guy on his team, a guy whose red hair makes my copper curls look more like a dull brown, removes himself from the chair near the door. Dad is seated in his wheelchair, placing items into an overnight bag.
Conquered by the past, my gander flickers toward the glass wall lining the corridor. Down below is a playground for the families of patients. Sheesh, laughing kids are playing tag. How was that triggering, Luxxie, c’mon.
“Worthless,” Dad hisses as the redheaded bodyguard assigned to him slips out of the room.
“They can hear you,” I grit, pulling the door flush behind me.
“Are you positive he’s not deaf?”
I stalk over to my father’s wheelchair, planting myself in front of the tiny wraith. “Ah, I see. He wasn’t a sounding board for any of your medical drivel?”
At his lack of response, I snort. “Hmmm, I’ll take your silence and that frowny face as a yes; your bodyguard lacked interest.” I focus all my attention on happiness for his sake. “Dad, after seven solid days of mushy-ass hospital food, are you ready to count your blessings?”
Pulling off wire-rimmed glasses, Dad looks around the cream walls of the sterile room. “Shit, you have a point there, Lux. If I could get up and run, I would.”
I let off a practiced chuckle, heart lacking the follow-through. Luckily, Dad’s too busy carting himself around in his wheelchair, searching for missing reading material. I throw away a few pots of dead floral arrangements from Dad’s employer, Greco Technologies. I pick up the Rubik’s Cube his ex-best friend, Uncle Red, brought. The colorful puzzle had gotten pushed behind larger bouquets and cards.