"With all the heat coming from his eyes, I'm surprised the garage does not catch fire. I take long gulps of the cold night air when we finally reach the exits. For a moment there, Mr. Dark and Dangerous looked like he wanted to swallow me whole…" ********** Strong, powerful, filthy rich and ruthless are qualities that do not even begin to describe Luca Blackstone, Capo of the American crime syndicate. After suffering unimaginable torture in the hands of Romanov Anton, then Bratva Enforcer, during his time in prison, he has just one agenda. Eliminate the man that destroyed his life and killed off his parents then wipe out every trace of family he has left. Skylar Romanov is at the top of his kill-list. The twenty year old daughter of a Russian monster is fast becoming the object of a very dark obsession–his obsession. He vows to own her completely, body soul and mind. He plans to break her resolve. He craves her total surrender. The little Russian minx proves to be his most difficult conquest. But what belongs to Blackstone forever belongs to Blackstone and she belongs to him. She's mine. Checkmate, baby. Skylar Romanov has been sheltered and protected for all her life. Her entire life comes crashing down and she is forced to live with the one man responsible for the possible death of her father. He wishes to have her surrender but she vows to fight him every step of the way. She vows to make herself immune to the dark, alluring power that practically oozes from Luca Blackstone. Becoming Mrs. Blackstone spins a spellbinding tale of lies, deceit, secrets and passion – very illicit passion. When two arrogant souls collide, sparks are sure to fly. Will she finally give in to Mr. Dark and deadly?
View MoreCHAPTER 29I beat harshly against Luca, trying to escape his crushing, though gentle grip."Put me down, you brute!" I squeal.He pauses for a while, looking down at me with what resembles amusement."Suit yourself, my pet."He lets go and I tumble, landing arse first on the marble floor."Ow!""C'mon. You wanted to walk on your own. We're almost there so get up, lazy ass."I shoot him a stinging glare, praying to the heavens for the power to reduce him to ashes where he stands. I ignore his outstretched hand and get to my feet on my own. Determined to prove to Luca that I can make it on my own, I take the first step. Everything feels okay. I mean, I don't feel faint or anything.I take the second and third step. Without warning, a hand pushes against my back and I stumble, crashing to floor in a tangle of legs and feet.I shut my eyes tight, waiting for the pain to register. It never comes. Instead, I feel warm, almost snug.My eyes shoot open to find Luca's smoky gray ones fixed
NEW YORK When I told Luca I felt like death yesterday, I didn't even know what feeling like death meant.But right now, I feel like I would much rather prefer to be buried six feet under than continue to battle with this excruciating pain.My fever came back with a vengeance after I had taken a brief nap. By five in the morning, I woke up and Luca was gone. I am still refusing to acknowledge the pang of disappointment I felt when I woke and he wasn't there. Or the way I felt so safe, so protected in his arms last night. My mind is playing games with me again. That must be it.I woke up and could barely move. My body temperature had sky rocketed and I burned all over. My entire body hurt and it felt like a jack hammer was being powered through my skull.I do not remember ringing the bell for Luca to come to me, but I remember thinking about it. In the next five seconds, he barged in, eyes already wide and alert like he'd been awake for a long time.Long story short, the good doctor
NEW YORKAfter a brief talk with the guards I had stationed outside the door which reveals that there's been no sound or suspicious movement from Skylar's room for the past few hours, I become even more worried.It's not like the little Russian minx to go a full hour without causing some kind of trouble, talk more of four while hours.I push open the double doors and walk into the darkened room. The heavy draperies have been pulled shut, obstructing any form of night light from filtering in. The bedside lamp and all other room lights are turned off, too. I pause for a moment, trying to adjust to the pitch blackness. When I'm still unable to really make out anything, I whip out my phone and put on the flash light.I switch on the bedside lamp and my gaze lands on the lump underneath the duvet."Go away." She mumbles.I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God she's okay… Or is she?My eyes narrow as I notice the slight movements of the lump.Fuck! She's shivering.I rush to her bedside and
NEW YORKI slam the door shut, ignoring the treacherous part of my heart that feels like I have just let something precious slip from my fingers. I clench my palm to numb the rage. Skylar has pointedly refused to come to terms with the fact that there's no escaping me and I must admit, it's becoming quite frustrating.My heart sinks with the realization that she's right. I might never win her over by keeping her locked up in a fifty feet tall, glass cage. But hell if I'm ready to have that conversation with myself. Other men gently woo their ladies. Other men shower their women with soft, unconditional love. Not me though. I know what I want and I go after it like an unhinged, wild bull.Skylar will just have to accept me the way I am – the brute, the devil, and maybe, just maybe, her worst nightmare.I will never sing her serenades and throw flowers at her feet. I will never give her slow dances by the fireplace or whisper sweet nothings in her ear, but I am ready to devote the p
NEW YORK.I have read novels where the heroine describes her hero's kiss as mind numbing and Earth moving. I've even read books where the sensual touching of lips to lips moves a woman to tears. I have imagined what it would feel like to wrap my arms around a man I want and surrender to his warm, gentle touch.But nothing prepares me for the electricity that shoots up my spine when this man's lips meet mine. Nothing prepares me for the dizzying, heady feeling that accompanies his brutal taking.He's not soft. His lips on mine cannot even be classified as gentle, but it is exactly what I need. His hands sink into my hair and he angles my head to meet his urgent, seeking lips. His mouth brands me, his tongue sets my body on fire. He is harsh and brutal in his taking, smashing his lips on mine like he can never get enough.And me?I grip onto the front of his starched shirt, hanging on for dear life. I am supposed to be kicking and screaming, running away from him, but once again, my bo
NEW YORKI am exhausted.I collapse on the downy, four poster bed with a strained huff. I have single handedly searched every nook and cranny of this luxurious room for a way out, but I've only met frustratingly disappointing dead ends.The windows have been nailed shut from the outside. I even tried the minuscule bathroom window, but that is sealed as well. I almost laugh out loud when I remember the little mental breakdown I suffered in the bathroom. I ended up screaming the whole place down. I remember hitting and smashing things, but my memories are blurring again. Now that I think about it, I might be in a bit of trouble with Luca for destroying his billion dollar bathroom.Not that it wouldn't serve him right. I am a prisoner here, his captive. If he does not release me to Dad per my request, I might just end up making life extremely miserable for him. Starting with destroying his most prized possessions. I may have smashed a Gucci perfume worth ten thousand dollars, but no har
NEW YORK."Have you killed her yet?"I push open the doors to my office to find Ricardo sitting in one of the visitors' chairs, completing a jigsaw puzzle. From years of knowing him, I know he has chosen the most difficult colour combinations. He says it keeps him grounded…keeps him sane, and I totally understand that. In a world like ours, constantly filled with blood, chaos and pain, we all need an anchor, even if it's a damn puzzle, otherwise we might end up going crazy.For years, that achor has been Ricardo. Now, I have the feeling that might change soon, because a certain gutsy, fiery, little temptress makes me feel more sane than I have in years. Shit is so terrifying."No. She's still alive, and I'm keeping it that way."Ricardo finally shifts his attention from the almost completed puzzle and turns to me. His features are etched in a strange expression. He almost looks…unsure, and Ricardo has never looked less than confident."Why? The plan was to kill her at the wedding."
NEW YORK"You called out my name in your sleep."My gritty eyes fly open. Those roughly muttered words succeed in completely banishing the darkness that threatened to suffocate me. My blurry gaze meets the smooth, glass ceiling of the room. The world won't stop spinning. Everything looks and feels strange, and my memories are a blank, empty space.All I remember is a deafening, mind numbing ringing in my ears and smoke…so much smoke. Where is this place? Even brain fried and disoriented, I realise that this sure as hell doesn't look anything like my room back at the mansion. It feels cold. There's a formal, stiff air about it. My head feels like it has been stuffed with wads of cotton wool. God, my throat hurts.I try to move my hand then freeze when something tugs at my wrist. With a pained gasp, I turn my head slowly to the side. It take a minute to recognize the IV machine beside me. The see through bag which contains a colorless liquid is almost empty. The fog of confusion that
LONDON"Help me."Those words, softly spoken, but laced with so much fear it sends an arrow straight through my heart. I pause with the realization that I've never seen Cheyenne – Skylar, scared. Angry, raging, furious, protective but never scared.As Romanov's men take her away from the halls…away from me, my heart lurches at how downright defeated she looks. Mikhailov, that half blooded fucker, I will deal with him later. Right now, I have to stop his dumbass men from getting Skylar to that airstrip. If she gets on that Russian bound plane, I might never see her again. My insides turn to ice at the thought. No. That can never happen.Rage, hot and venomous, roars through my veins. I fucking looked for her. She is all that has been on my mind for the past few hours. Then I finally find her and some fucker thinks he can take her away from me.Skylar Romanov is mine. She was always destined to be mine. If Mikhailov's men successfully get her on that damned aircraft, I will shoot it
Cold.So much cold.It seeps through my scanty, torn shirt and burns through my skin, chilling my nerves and bloodstream. It makes my bones ache and my teeth chatter with a resilient rhythm. I lie on the concrete floor, my hair hanging in dark, frozen icicles down my stiff face. I can barely blink my eyes. My sixteen year old, once powerful frame rattles helplessly, in time with the depressing sounds of ice drops that fall against the tiny window of my cell. Winter in Russia is horrible. Winter in a Russian prison is a total nightmare. The cold makes you numb. Your lips, limbs and even eyelashes become completely numb.This is not the conventional Russian prison, mind you. It is more like an illegal cell facility, established by the Russian crime syndicate, the Bratva. Here, petty crimes and big crimes are punished in equal measure, no matter the age of the offender.In the cell next to mine, a ten year old boy is held—for stealing a loaf of bread from the local markets under Brat
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