Revenge. Sweeter than a kiss laced with honey. Hotter than the deepest depths of hell. And, it hits harder than a f*cking train… I want all of it. I need it more than the air filtering through my lungs. And the constant, unsteady but racy beat of my heart when I’m around them. Darius. Jace. Hunter. It took them five minutes to destroy my life. Faster than it took the eighteen years of my existence for my father–the alpha of the Black Syndicate–to ruin me. I was neglected. Abandoned. Rejected. Pushed around and outcasted by my pack. Now I have to prove myself so my father’s gang won’t kill me. All because of them and by the hands of my father. Want to know the worst part? They are working together. What they don’t know is, once I get released from the juvenile detention center for werewolves I was sent to because of them–I will tear them to shreds. One by one. I, Elise Cartwright, will get my revenge. NOTE: This is an enemies to lovers dark/mafia/werewolf romance where the girl will end up with multiple love interests. (Reverse Harem)
View MoreMy eyes flew open and panic set in like a wild force. I shot up in bed, my heart loud inside my ears, my eyes shooting frantically across the dark bedroom. The only source of light was from the full moon filtering in through the blinds, creating a pattern of white lines across the walls and floor. I lifted a shaking hand to wipe the cold sweat beading against my brows, breathing out an annoyed sigh. It was just a nightmare. The same nightmare that had been playing on repeat every other night in my sleeping hours like a ghost designated just for me. This ghost was born the moment my mother had died. See, I had no memory of what had happened that night. All information I had was based on what the adults in my life at the time, which would be my dad, had told me had happened.Another rival gang had descended on our house, supposedly wanting money and goods from my dad's illegal storage. If he refused, they'd kill us all. My dad claimed to have given them what they wanted, in order to
Elise. Jace threw the bucket aside, cussing in all colors of the rainbow. He was about to reach for me, when I got snatched out of nowhere and carried down the hallway."Put me down!" I screamed, unable to punch Hunter. He somehow managed to toss me effortlessly over his shoulder, pinning both my hands to his chest as he carried me.I couldn't even fucking kick him in this position, either. As if he knew what I was thinking, he chuckled, saying, "Not today, little monster."There was something in the way he said it that made it sound almost sexual, and I couldn't help the heat sprouting across my cheeks. I was certain it wasn't what he meant, but..."Let me go, or so help me, I will–""Yes?" I didn't have to see his face to know that he found this highly amusing."Hunter, I swear..."He made a turn into one of the guest bathrooms, heading straight toward the shower. He used his one free hand and slid open the glass door of the shower, then lowering me to stand in front of him. I was
Jace. I sat back, my legs stretched out on the most comfortable couch I'd ever come in contact with, the show I'd been watching on mute. It was one of those reality shows taking place at a trendy beach, with hot girls in bikinis and more drama than what they are worth. There was probably something better to watch, but I wasn't sitting this close to the bathroom for the sake of TV.No, nothing beats the sound of Elise's cries of fury. I had to admit, I expected her to scream for help, but so far, she'd been calling us all the vile names under the sun, and cussing worse than a filthy-mouthed sailor. "It's been twenty minutes," Hunter chuckled behind me. "You think she's going to crack soon?"I sat up, surprised to see him lounging in a black bean bag with a creepy-ass grin on his face. My eyes narrowed on the bean bag that was practically swallowing him whole and arched a brow. "That does not look comfortable."I had learned to stop asking him where he came from, or how he managed t
There’s nothing worse than exhaustion from too much exposure to the cold. This coming from someone who used to think that the torture methods used in Dad’s–and every other organized crime organization–was bad.For instance, having your finger chopped off in order to get information out of you, sucked. I was ten years old when I walked in on Dad and his men sitting in the kitchen, not thinking much of it.Until I noticed a man sitting amongst them, crying, and clutching a bloody hand to his chest. It took a few seconds for me to comprehend why a massive, grown-ass man would be sobbing like that. Then I spotted the severed finger on the kitchen table.Despite Mom trying her best to explain the situation–while depicting that man as pure evil–none of it sat right with me.It was on that day that I had come to terms that I was too soft for the world Mom and Dad had brought me into. And, from then on out, getting a finger cut off became one of my biggest fears.That was until I was locked u
I didn’t know how long I was locked underneath the pool cover, stuck in the limb-freezing cold water–on the lowest temperature setting purely intended for my suffering. It had to be hours. I screamed until my lungs burned and tried to push the cover off, but to no avail. And no one came to my rescue. Not that I think anyone could, considering I heard the door to the room shut and the lock turned. It wouldn’t surprise me if the three men took turns guarding the door for extra measure. The sun was setting, and I was shaking so badly that my teeth chattered noisily. My skin had turned blue, and the horrifying conclusion settled over me; what if they left me here overnight? Or until… Panic swelled for the hundredth time inside my chest, and I tried to lift my arms to slam against the glass, but my limbs were too stiff and sore to move. When I tried to scream, my voice was a mere cracking sound followed by a gush of breathlessness. If they were working for my dad to supposedly babysi
A prickle ran across my skin as I fell into a seat closest to the dining room door–and the furthest from the two assholes currently occupying the table. I didn’t want to be here any more than I wanted to be in juvie, but I had hell to plot against them, and if Dad had taught me one thing–it was to dine with your enemies. Or, as the saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Which made another thought occur to me. What if Dad hired Darius for that exact reason? To keep a close eye on him and make him do some spying at the same time? I glanced suspiciously at Darius, wondering if he had that same mindset. Because I had no doubt that he was not here for charity or the goodness of his heart. “What do you get out of this?” I directed the question over at Darius. I was about to reach for a glass to pour myself some orange juice when I remembered Harris’ warning and allowed my hand to fall back into my lap. Hunter shot me an unreadable look, picking up his hand and si
I almost spun on my heels and fled from the room. Almost. I was halfway through backing out of the room when the need for revenge twisted like a dull, rusted dagger inside my gut, and I stopped. “You owe me fifty bucks,” Darius commented. “Typical spoiled rich princess.” Hunter muttered something incoherent as I turned in time to see him fish out cash from his pocket and toss it across the table at Darius. “As if you fucking need it.” “I still won.” Darius pushed the potted plant aside, and I didn’t miss the once-over he was giving me. My heart did this stupid tumble inside my chest, and it took everything out of me not to run off as I initially planned to do. No. I was going to ruin his day. I had no idea how I would go about that, but I sure as heck would try. I clenched my fists to my sides, the need to beat the trash out of them like I did with Jace, but I had to be realistic here. The Savage–or should I call him by his real name now that we were acquainted?–was an almost-al
I stood back with a smirk as I watched the last bubbles fizzle out in the lake behind my dad’s mansion. I was breathing heavily. It took great effort to jump from the moving Stingray as it drove straight into the lake–with me crashing into solid dirt and stones in the process–but it was worth the pain. Every single cut and nick of it. And, as an added bonus–the beauty of this lake was that it wasn’t deep enough for the Stingray to disappear completely. You could still see the top of the car as you walked by. But, it was deep enough to make it impossible to retrieve it with ease. Deep enough to make a shithead like Jace’s life difficult. Also, no doubt dirty enough to do a bit of damage to the perfect, shiny coat covering it. With a satisfactory smirk, I dusted my hands at the thighs of my jeans and rounded the large property toward the front gate. It took quite a bit more walking than I was up for, but it was a tiny price I had to pay for destroying my lift. I had no doubt that J
Jace spun me around and shoved me against the side of the car, locking my hands together behind my back and pinning me there with his weight. The rusty scent of blood caught my nose before a rush of hot wind danced across my cheek as he spoke in a dangerously low breath. “You’re going to regret that.” “I already regret a lot of things,” I wheezed, struggling to speak as he was practically crushing my lungs. Fury burned like a furnace inside my veins and the need for vengeance was clawing for an escape. “Beating the shit out of you isn’t one of them.” He cursed, pulling one hand away and making a motion as if he was wiping blood from his face. Sucker. “How does it feel to get beat-up by a girl?” Oh, I was not even close to done. “Bet it tastes as bad as setting someone up, huh?” “What the hell are you on about?” He bared his teeth. “No, wait. It doesn’t taste nearly as bad as getting set up. I lost a year of my life and there is nothing left of my reputation but shitty scraps. Tel
One year ago… I shouldn’t be here… My eyes narrowed on his tattooed knuckles as his grip tightened over the motorbike handlebars. And not just any motorbike. It was a freaking Ducati Panigale V4 R. I didn’t know what made my body burn hotter. The beauty of the metal gleaming beneath the lights or the beast of a man sitting on it. Holy shit. I was standing inches from Darius Monroe–aka the Savage–in the blazing hot, over six-foot tall, golden, muscular flesh! I didn’t know if it was nerves or me missing lunch and dinner, but my skin tingled, and my heart was doing unusual movements inside my chest. Or maybe it was the insane need to touch him. For my hands to slide over those firm shoulders and– Heat sprouted across my cheeks at that mere thought as an elbow buried in my ribcage. “This is a terrible idea, Elise.” I tore my gaze from Darius for a brief second to meet Loren’s. “Very,” I bit my lip and turned to resume my drooling fest. He was in the middle of a sea of leather-cla...
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