Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
He calls me prey.
I call him a bully.
Sebastian Arturo isn’t just cruel, he’s downright terrifying.
With piercing green eyes, a body made for doing very bad things, and a charming demeanor, it’s no wonder everyone thinks the world of him… everyone except me.
When I wake up with pieces of my memory missing he’s the only one who can give me answers.
But he doesn’t give me answers, instead he tells me to stop asking questions, or else…
I heed his warning and do my best to avoid him but since he’s my boss and I live in his house that’s kinda difficult.
Then one night his hate for me reaches its breaking point…and the lines blur.
Hate twists into lustful obsession.
His cruel words become seductive praises.
One touch sparks a raging inferno of desire, and I find myself burned to ash beneath his fingertips.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
This may be hard to believe, but I don’t just go around killing people. Many perceive me to be this ruthless, coldhearted murderer, but much to their dismay, I don’t make a habit of homicide. Death is messy and the easy way out if you’re asking my opinion. I prefer to give my enemies the hardest path possible if they want to escape me.
As I stand here in my grandfather’s study, I realize there’s no blood on my hands—not physically, at least—and no indication that anything terrible has happened except for the echo of the gunshot ringing in my ears.
A glass of whiskey sits abandoned on the desk alongside a cigar, the tip still smoking faintly in its marble ashtray. A fire roars in the grate, the wood crackling and popping like it’s trying to escape.
I stand frozen in the center of the room, suspended in time, my entire body trembling. The rich scent of leather from the books and furniture mingles with the pungent odor of gunpowder, like metal and wood, filling my lungs with each shallow breath I take.
I blink, slowly returning to awareness, my gaze skittering around me. Papers litter the burgundy rug on the floor, and I sink to my knees, my free hand landing palm down on one of them.
At the top of it, in what might as well be flashing neon lights, is a single word: CONTRACT.
It’s unmistakable. Typed out in big, bold letters.
Fuck. Why would he do this? Take a girl—no, a woman—as payment for a debt? Even for him, it’s a new low.
Acid climbs up my throat. This is what started the fight. Me proclaiming that you can't own another person, not in the way he proposed to, not with bars and cages and contracts. I was all about control, but not even I could stomach this.
My grandfather had laughed in my face, the sound almost bitter with the depths of his disappointment in me. The thing is—I’m not stupid. I know you can own someone, with fear…with love. Even with heartbreak and hope, but not with locks and windows with bars over them.
I own the fact that I am unwell—maybe insane, even—but I don’t come close to this level of depravity.
And I don’t want to.
Standing, I peruse the crumpled paper in my hand. I am fine with tormenting people. Fucking with those who deserve it, and hell, some who don’t. I am even fine with letting my dark side come out to play. I consider myself among the cruelest of the cruel, but I could not silently stand by and allow him to do this.
Even I have lines I don’t cross.
He never seemed to understand that about me. The harder he tried to mold me into something I wasn’t, the harder I would fight. That doesn’t matter now, though. Fighting was pointless. I’ve trapped myself in the cage and thrown away the key.
How had I let this happen?
Giving my head a slight shake, I snap myself back to reality and snatch my phone out of my pocket, letting the gun and the contract slip from my other hand as I do so. The paper flutters while the gun clatters to the floor loudly. I don’t care. I’ll dispose of it later. I scroll to my messages, my fingers hovering over the group text that I have with my friends, my most trusted allies.
They would be here without a second thought to help me if I called them.
I know this, but…
Do I really want to involve them?
To drag them into this twisted, dark mess I’ve created for myself? No. The answer is no, but I still hesitate. They’re my people, the closest thing to family I have.
Fuck. I’m selfish, but I can’t risk bringing them down with me in the event this goes sideways. I navigate back to my contacts and pace. Two steps to the right. Two steps back. I don’t have a lot of options available. I thought I could handle it myself, but I can’t, and now, I have to fix the problem.
How could I be so stupid?
Gritting my teeth, I tug at my hair above my temples. My gaze strays, drawn by blood and pale skin, and I pull my focus forcibly back to my phone. There's only one other person I can call, but once I do this, there will be no going back. Saving her will intertwine our lives. The alternative is worse, though—another guilt stacked on the pile of others that will forever stain and tarnish my soul.
I could let her die, but then this will all have been for nothing…
Fucking hell. There’s no other option. Unsurprisingly, my subconscious chooses then to remind me of that. Swallowing my own frustration, I hit a number I've never needed to call before. It’s a mistake that I even have his number to begin with.