VINCENT MOREAU He made sure to down the contents of his cup before returning his gaze to me.“My men should know about it. They would know from the moment Wesley Black snaps a finger.”“Wesley Black isn't as stupid and naïve as you think,” I corrected, recalling that it had taken far more sophisticated arrangements to figure the boy out. “His plans are elaborate. He has men who have been there since the time of his father and grandfather guiding him. You seem to have doubts.”“Of course I do. Wesley is too sweet a soul to plot against me. He loves me.”“I believe your men can find me for as long as I am in Vieuti. You have spies.”“Why do you ask?” He questioned, a scowl on his face.“Because in ten minutes, your wife will be kidnapped from the house she is staying in, the one in which your grandfather lived before his death. You have no time, and even now you might be too late to rescue her. If you go fast enough, you will find that the Lone Wolf has been sent to get her. Right now,
VINCENT MOREAU Damian Blackwood stared at me, his eyes narrowing.I knew he was coming to terms with as he processed my introduction. It was almost always daunting to my listeners when I told people I was the Spider, and I loved to watch them lose themselves to my spell and what I meant. The name hung in the air like smoke, curling around his thoughts, and he watched me with wariness lurking beneath his eyes. I only smiled.“You have to be French.” He observed.“I am.” I agreed. It was the hardest thing for me to deny, not with how often my accent gave me away, making it clear to everyone that English was not my first language. It did not matter to me either—as long as those who I had my eyes on were being affected by the poison of my words, I cared less for the accent.It was working on him, and I could see the battle between hesitation, caution, and need being waged in his mind, all three weighing the implications of partnering with a man like me who operated in shadows, who someh
Eleanor's POVSLAP!The impact and sound of Damian’s palm hit my cheek with such force that I tumbled backward. For a moment, my vision became blurry, and a strong pain ran through my face. The world around me turned around, the big chandeliers above turning into streaks of gold. Gasps filled the ballroom, followed by a suffocating and usual silence that felt like a heavy weight pressing down on me.I pressed my fingers to my burning cheek, the sting only adding to my pain. While my ears rang from the blow, tingle tingle, the pounding of my heart was even louder. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t possibly be happening to me.Damian Blackwood, my husband, my love, my everything,g stood before me, his gaze filled with cold, unyielding fury, just like that of a dagger."You ungrateful whore! You bastard" he roared, his voice moving through my entire being.I recoiled at the venom in his words. My lips twisted, trying to defend myself, but my throat felt dry and my mind was a blank and
Eleanor's POVI woke up to a sharp pain all over my body. A piercing, strong, heart-wrenching pain ran through me like wildfire. My arms lay motionless and unmoved. My legs felt as though they were made of lead and steel. My mouth was dried, and my lips cracked and were bleeding profusely.I attempted to blink, yet the world remained an unstable haze of shadow and dim light. The ache in my head was so overwhelming that I thought for a fleeting moment I might be dead by now.But I wasn’t. As much as I wished I were.The instant my vision sharpened, I saw them. And that’s when hell truly began….******I found myself sleeping helplessly on a strong concrete floor, my hands were tied behind me, my body weakened from hunger and exhaustion. The odor in the air was unbearable sweat, urine, poo, something putrid and really irritating.And then I saw them. Three men.Filthy, obese, ugly, stupid men.Their gaze ran over my body like insects, their laughter low and really disgusting."Finally a
Eleanor's POVI didn’t go down without a fight. I kicked and screamed, struggling against the chains restraining my wrists as Vincent’s dogs dragged me down the shadowy hallway. The iron cuffs bruised my skin, the chains twisting with each step.But that didn’t matter. They had taken everything from me. They would not break my spirit. Whatever lay ahead, they would pay for their actions, they would surely pay.******The dark and shabby underground chamber was filled with the scent of cigars and pricey cologne. Heavily furnished, with expensive curtains and caged chandeliers casting sinister shadows over the faces of influential men gathered to bid.I had heard rumors of such place before, a place where humans are being sold. Where women were treated as mere objects, like pieces of trash.Where predators in tailored suits drink expensive whiskey while bargaining on human lives. At the heart of it all stood Vincent Moreau, that bastard, the man who destroyed me.He remained beside me,
Eleanor's POVI had hoped that my torment would stop once I was removed from Vincent's presence and cage. I never knew that more suffering and beating awaited me. I briefly thought that Kieran Lancaster might be my way out of a nightmare, my way out of severe punishment and bitterness, but I was mistaken. I was really wrong, so utterly mistaken.The mansion was really beautiful, with white designs, endless marble corridors, and fine chandeliers that shone like diamonds. It looks like a scene out of a fairytale in movies, yet to me, it felt like just another prison, a place where I didn’t fit in, a place where I looked like a dog, maybe. As soon as I entered, a deep sense of unwelcomeness ran over me, and I knew instantly that my suffering had just begun.I had not even gotten into the house before a loud sound of heels echoed carelessly down the hall like a drum, followed by a voice that reeked with cold hate.“So this is what you brought home?”I slowly turned my head, my body shakin
Eleanor's POVI thought I had seen the worst of Bianca's ruthlessness and wickedness when she forced me to lick her shoes in that disgusting bathroom. Yes she told me to lick her shoes, she forced my mouth on the tile, I licked poo and a lot of disgusting things.As soon as she finished dripping in my humiliation, she seized my hair and dragged me through the mansion, ignoring my protests and my shivering body as I stumbled on the icy floors with my bare feet, She really made me suffer."You're not finished yet, whore," she spat, pulling me into her big bedroom. "You have something else to clean for me."I was nearly too weak to stand, yet I forced myself to move, pain running through me with every step. When we reached her room, she flung the door open and pushed me inside.The disgusting odor of blood hit me immediately.Then I saw it.A heap of dirty clothes is on the floor, dark stains of dried menstrual blood staining the fabric.My stomach twisted violently, the smell was just t
ELEANOR The darkness swam around me when I opened my eyes.It was frightening, too, to open them and see Lady Lancaster standing alone with her son, Kieran, staring down at me with impersonal looks on their faces. I could have screamed out in horror of how much they made me think of evil—of demons standing by my bedside, with the flowing black clothes they wore and how white their faces seemed. Pale and vampire-like. “You're awake,” Kieran said, as though he needed to remind me.I made a feeble attempt to nod, but my body felt like lead and it made me want to cry. “Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?” And there, the bombshell dropped. It made my heart start to race, and my skin went damp in that instant. “The girl is weak, Kieran,” Lady Lancaster said, as a smile spread across her lips. “There is no need to ask her such questions, is it not. Besides, the baby from your so-called wife is gone, just like a balloon left off to go on its own.”There was a slight, almost inaudib
VINCENT MOREAU Damian Blackwood stared at me, his eyes narrowing.I knew he was coming to terms with as he processed my introduction. It was almost always daunting to my listeners when I told people I was the Spider, and I loved to watch them lose themselves to my spell and what I meant. The name hung in the air like smoke, curling around his thoughts, and he watched me with wariness lurking beneath his eyes. I only smiled.“You have to be French.” He observed.“I am.” I agreed. It was the hardest thing for me to deny, not with how often my accent gave me away, making it clear to everyone that English was not my first language. It did not matter to me either—as long as those who I had my eyes on were being affected by the poison of my words, I cared less for the accent.It was working on him, and I could see the battle between hesitation, caution, and need being waged in his mind, all three weighing the implications of partnering with a man like me who operated in shadows, who someh
VINCENT MOREAU He made sure to down the contents of his cup before returning his gaze to me.“My men should know about it. They would know from the moment Wesley Black snaps a finger.”“Wesley Black isn't as stupid and naïve as you think,” I corrected, recalling that it had taken far more sophisticated arrangements to figure the boy out. “His plans are elaborate. He has men who have been there since the time of his father and grandfather guiding him. You seem to have doubts.”“Of course I do. Wesley is too sweet a soul to plot against me. He loves me.”“I believe your men can find me for as long as I am in Vieuti. You have spies.”“Why do you ask?” He questioned, a scowl on his face.“Because in ten minutes, your wife will be kidnapped from the house she is staying in, the one in which your grandfather lived before his death. You have no time, and even now you might be too late to rescue her. If you go fast enough, you will find that the Lone Wolf has been sent to get her. Right now,
VINCENT MOREAU It would take years before I found another worthy catch. By then, my little circle and I had long gone apart, each deciding that it was time for them to do something worthwhile with what they had earned. I gave them all my blessings—did they not call me Father, anyway—and watched them build empires with what they owned.We paid good memory to Marco, a friend who was our favourite when he wasn't injecting himself with heroin. I never forgot that each time I looked at him, I saw nothing but a man who could have flown over the world but who found himself pulled down by his own weight. He could have escaped the night of Ricci's attack if he wasn't so laden with his addiction that he could do nothing to save himself. We knew it was why he truly died. It was why the words we put on his tombstone were clear:“A DEAR FRIEND WHO COULD NOT FIGHT HIS DEMONS.”We also gave half of his share of all our money to his mother and family. Of course it was more honourable to give her a
VINCENT MOREAU With them, our first big play was a heist.It was not the kind New York was used to, and the target was a man who laundered money for half the city’s elite. His security was top-notch with every kind of security that could be thought of—from biometrics to secure firewalls and armed guards.We were hard pressed to find a weakness to prod, but I figured it out anyway.His arrogance and the number of skeletons he had hidden in his cupboard.It was a game of chance we were playing when Lila breached his system, planting a backdoor that let us steal away $10 million during a crash into his systems. The skeletons in his cupboard, which we determined as his weakness, was the reason why he could not report it without exposing his own dirty deals, and he could only watch as we funneled the funds through shell accounts. The account was soon empty, and he almost went bankrupt.The heist put us on the map, but it also drew angered eyes who could not identify who it was. Everyone s
VINCENT MOREAU The time then came when the Spider found the web he had cast over Paris a bit too small.Something about the Parisian Mafia felt minor and small scale. Nothing much except bank robberies here and there, and a few drugs being sold about. I thought that if I could play the same game somewhere else, I would be far bigger. So I gathered all that I could and moved to America. In Paris, my network had become intricate, but it was limited as well.It struck me that I wanted more power, and a delicate web spun across petty thieves, small gangs and their occasional rivals was nothing. As far as I was concerned, the city’s underworld had grown stale—or I had rather grown past it—and its opportunities had become too predictable. I wanted to be bigger and better. I wanted to be a legend.In America, with its bawling population and rising powers, I thought I was promised a larger river to cast my net over. The continent called to me like the gold rush—a haven of men with greed and
VINCENT MOREAU I would earn the name ‘The Spider’ three years after that, when I turned twenty.It was mostly because I learned the one thing my father did not. To kill. The test of the story was because of something I did, something that brought my name to the Parisian slums. One lesson I learned just as early was that people liked smart people. When you did things that would ordinarily not come to their minds, they liked you and lived in admiration of you. For the gangs, they thought I was smart because I knew everything about everybody. I knew who was plotting to kill his boss. I knew who had done something to attract the Police. I knew who was sleeping with who’s woman. I knew who was going to die next.It made me highly covered, indeed, and in danger of death all the time. They would want to sneak up on me and beat what they wanted to know out of me, which was why I had to learn two skills I found extremely important.How to escape, and how to kill. I made money from both.I r
VINCENT MOREAULooking at Damian Blackwood as he told me about the problems that had arisen between himself and his wife, telling me the details just as he had from the very first instance of their saddening scenarios, I knew I would like him.Oh… do I need to introduce myself as Vincent Moreau, his friend?Maybe tell you a little about myself too…Paris is easily one of the most beautiful cities in the world, so they tell me, but it is hard to say it as a Frenchman myself, especially as one born in the densest slums of Paris, where the eyes refuse to see and the air stinks of rot and every shadow hides a blade. It was where I realised that watching my father, Édouard Moreau, was my first lesson, and it showed me how life chewed up hope between those rugged, closely packed houses we lived in. He had been a smuggler without much traction—a small-time criminal that always went chasing the next sourcd of his jobs—cigarettes, booze, fake watches, whatever he could move. For the longest t
DAMIAN BLACKWOOD The more I thought about it, the angrier I got with myself.And the more I thought about it, the more I started to despise Eleanor. She was a villain seeking control over me, and I was determined to stop her. The day then came when I found her holding up one of my shirts and inspecting it, her hands trembling. The brown stain on it caught my eye, and we both knew it was dried blood, and it was from a human. “Damian,” she began, the tears already gathering in her eyes so that they sparkled.“What?” I asked, fixing an eye on her. “We talked about this,” she said, in a manner that made it look like I was a child who needed correcting, and not a man who had been escaping death for so long. “We’re going to have children who need to be kept safe—”“Or who will learn how to keep the Blackwood name high, Debbie,” I shot back, stepping closer. “Like me. I killed my first man at fifteen and have lived on the edge ever since. I built everything you see around you with blood.
DAMIAN BLACKWOOD At first, the world was mine. Then, and all of a sudden, it wasn't.It started with rumours of a plot against me, and from the ones I expected in the least, from the eldest of the three Black grandchildren Victor Black had left in my care when he died. I had allowed them to have the rights to their property piece by piece and as they advanced in age, and cared for them as I would have with my own siblings. Yet, the eldest of them, Wesley, had somehow nursed hatred and resentment for me all that time, even to the point of wanting to take me captive.Someone must have advised him against it, seeing that I would not be easily taken because I soon set a number of spies on him and the influx of information soon changed. He was no longer setting his eyes on me, deeming me too big for him to catch. Next, he set his sights on the one person he thought he could take to get at me. My wife, Eleanor.I prepared well for him, setting a few men to watch over Eleanor, and asking t