Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 71179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
They’re drawn into a world of seductive sin…
Savannah Gallo sacrificed herself to save her lover and is now imprisoned inside an opulent mansion belonging to a rival crime family. Despite the confining walls, her spirit remains unbroken. She’s nothing if not resilient, and she’s determined to use every ounce of her strength and cunning to outwit her captor.
In prison, Falcon Bellamy mastered the art of survival, and he refuses to surrender the woman he loves without a fight. After enlisting his ex-Navy SEAL friend, he goes after Savannah with precision and determination.
But Savannah’s captor is also determined. She must face some harsh truths about her family—secrets and betrayals more complex than she ever imagined that put both her and Falcon’s lives in danger.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
SAVANNAH
“You’re not coming anywhere near me!” I glance around quickly, looking for something, anything, to use as a weapon.
I pick up the Jane Austen I was reading, using it as a shield.
“Put that down, Savvy,” Miles says. “Eat your damned dinner. I can’t have you fainting from hunger.”
He’s right. I can’t faint. I want to be completely conscious for whatever he has in mind for me. If I’m unconscious, I can’t fight back.
“Eat,” he says again.
I take the tray and set it on the small table in the living area.
A fork.
Good.
And a spoon.
No knife.
The salmon is flaky and doesn’t require a knife. Not that he would have given me one anyway.
I force myself to ingest the food. All of it. And the water.
I rise. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
He blocks the door to the bedroom. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Would you rather I piss on you?”
I regret my words as soon as I say them. With my luck, I just turned Miles on with that threat.
“Fine. Go.”
I head into the bathroom and close the door.
Of course there’s no lock.
And of course he can see everything I’m doing anyway.
Fucking cameras.
Is it really that important to watch me take a crap?
But I’m glad I ate the food. Already I’m feeling stronger. Healthier.
I made a deal, and I’ll see it through, but I won’t make this easy or enjoyable for him.
Then I laugh out loud.
Enjoyable for him? He’s already enjoying this. Whether I lie like a dead fish or fight him to the end, he’ll enjoy it. He’ll get off.
I flush the toilet and look in the mirror once more. My skin is pale, my hair is stringy, and the anxiety of the last several hours is imprinted deeply into my eyes.
I see myself as whoever is watching me sees me.
A pawn.
A weakling.
A mere thing.
I can’t escape. I made my choice.
I chose the wellbeing of Falcon over my own.
And as much as I hate what’s about to happen to me, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
I leave the bathroom, enter the bedroom—
Miles is there already, standing by the bed, naked, his hard cock jutting out and ready.
I swallow, forcing the food to remain in my stomach.
I lie on the bed, and he lifts my satin gown over my hips, hovers over me, his face menacing.
“Tonight you’re mine, Savannah Gallo. Welcome to hell.”
1
FALCON
In every prisoner’s life there’s that one day they can recall that changed everything. That put them on a different path.
For me it was the day Zion came to my cell block.
Zion, I knew, would be trouble.
Different from the way Fletcher or Bruno had been trouble for me.
It only took me that one time in the cafeteria to get Fletcher in line, and Bruno? After I freed Tommy Ortiz from his tyranny, he stayed in line as well.
But Zion…
The first day I saw him, I knew.
He was as burly as they come, solid muscle, but a good five inches shorter than I was.
Already I saw it in him. Small man’s complex. He’s the guy who has to exert his dominance over everyone to compensate for his lack of height.
He had a shock of sandy brown hair, and a nearly pretty face—one that would’ve made him a target if he weren’t so burly.
You can tell a lot by how a man walks. Especially on the inside.
A lot of new prisoners come in with a hunched posture, which doesn’t bode well for them. Those who can come in while walking upright with a straight back are trying to look brave so they won’t be a target.
They walk briskly, swinging their arms freely. They look straight ahead while not making eye contact with anyone.
If they’re good at this act, they won’t see a lot of trouble in prison.
These are the guys that fly under the radar, are left alone.
The ones who look at the ground, shoulders slumped—those are the targets. The ones whose screams I try to ignore at night. The ones for whom prison is a whole different experience.
But then there are those like Zion.
Those who come in walking upright, a slow even gait, and they look everyone—everyone—in the eye.
The kind that assesses everyone with a single glance. Separating the strong from the weak. Ready to assert dominance over the situation, whatever it may be.
That was Zion.
He walked past Bruno, eyeing him. And then past Fletcher, who is bigger than I am.
Until he got to me.
He looks me up and down, his gaze taking in everything about me. Judging me. Sizing me up as a competitor. I curl my hands into fists, my gaze never wavering from his.
I look him in the eye. Always in the eye. These criminals only take about a millisecond to respond to that split-second you take your attention away from them.
I don’t speak to him.
I don’t speak to anyone until they speak to me. It’s kind of my calling card.