Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I never thought a simple walk in New York City would lead me into the shadows of a sinister game.
One moment, I'm fighting off attackers in a dark alley, and the next, I'm saved by a mysterious stranger.
He drags me into a darkened building, his grip both protective and possessive.
I should feel safe, but I can't shake the feeling that there's something dangerous lurking beneath his surface.
Imagine my shock when I discover my rescuer is none other than Thomas Manwarring, the notorious prodigal son of the Manwarring dynasty, returned from Rome under a shroud of scandal.
His every move is calculated, every glance a mix of fury and fascination.
I don’t understand why he saved me or why he seems so fixated on me, but I know one thing for his intentions are far from pure.
He watches me, studying every move, every breath.
I feel like he’s waiting for something—for me to fall into his trap—for me to trust him just enough.
But I’m not as naive as he thinks.
I’ll play along, but I’ll also fight back.
Navigating his maze of shadows and deception, I won’t be another pawn in his game.
Beneath the glittering surface of high society, lies a world of forbidden lust and dangerous secrets. Journey into a realm of deception and desire in this thrilling series by USAT Bestselling authors Zoe Blake and Alta Hensley.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
ROSE
The footsteps were getting closer.
Sharp scrapes from boot heels against the sidewalk echoed down the oddly empty side street.
My gaze traveled over the tall buildings overhead with their unblinking eyes. On the other side of each lit window was a stranger who wouldn’t give two shits if I screamed for help.
Welcome to New York.
City of culture and excitement, with a constant frisson of energy coursing through its densely packed streets that could only come from the forced melding of countless different viewpoints, beliefs and backgrounds.
Also, the city of not-my-fucking problem.
As always, a thrill tickled up my spine whenever I cursed, even if it was only silently in my head, knowing how pissed off my mother would be to know I was even thinking about the word… shit. And… fuck.
Nice girls who were future obedient wives of important empire-building CEOs did not have filthy mouths. Or so I had been told my entire freaking life.
Another scratch of leather against cement brought me back to the current danger.
This was silly.
It might not be a crowded street, but I was still on a public street in the busiest city in the world. Practically within view of a church.
I was just being neurotic. Whoever was behind me was probably on their cell phone completely unaware of how they were creeping me the fuck out.
I clutched the box of glass ornaments more tightly to my chest as goosebumps that had nothing to do with the chilly October night rose on my arms.
Now I just needed to convince my freaking-out body, which seemed to react with all the primal instincts of a rabbit in an open field, that I was overreacting and there was nothing to be so afraid of.
Yes, the steps behind me seemed to follow.
Yes, it was getting dark, and I was all alone.
But dammit, I was a perfectly capable twenty-two-year-old college graduate. An adult, even if my family rarely treated me as one. I could handle this.
Swallowing past the lump of fear in my throat, I watched the shifting shadows play across the cinder block walls of the building to my right, to gauge how many men were behind me… and how close they were. As if the distorted shapes would reveal their owners’ intentions.
When our family’s usual driver was replaced by a stranger with a deep Irish brogue, I didn’t think it was strange at the time. My mother had a way of chasing off even the most career-hardened staff members.
And when the man claimed to have gotten lost on his way to St. Thaddeus church, despite it being one of the most recognizable cathedrals in New York, it was a minor inconvenience to get out of the car and walk the final three blocks.
I really wasn’t one to complain… again, because my mother did enough of that for our entire family. As a result, I usually went out of my way to not say anything contrary.
Always the dutiful daughter, that was me. Sigh.
Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I was seriously second-guessing the decision of letting the driver off the hook and leaving the safety of the car for this stupid errand my mother had me running.
With her reputation in tatters from all the manipulative, extremely shady things she had done recently in the name of family—although really just out of pure greed—my mother, Mary Quinn Astrid, was going all out for this year’s church charity bazaar.
She was determined to show the world what a generous and kind person she was—even if she had to lie and cheat to do it.
Like telling the organizing committee composed of mostly high society matrons from the best families in New York that she was donating a box of extremely rare family heirloom Christmas ornaments from England that had been in our family since Queen Victoria’s beloved Prince Albert introduced the Christmas tree to British society.
What a load of crap.
She’d sent the maid to scrounge through thrift stores in Brooklyn for them. Not even bothering to lend her our car and driver but making the poor girl take the subway from Manhattan.
I adjusted my grip on the heavy box, having a small appreciation for what the maid went through as I carefully stepped around a raised crack in the sidewalk and walked the last way to the dimly lit church.
Several of my close female friends had been targets of violence recently due, not only to my mother’s nefarious actions, but to our connection through marriage to the Manwarrings and their growing feud with the Irish mafia.
Something I, of course, was not supposed to know anything about as the sheltered, heiress daughter of the exalted—at least in their own minds—Astrid family of both New York and England.
The soft glow of the church’s stained glass windows was within view.
Only a few more steps and I…
A gloved hand covered my mouth.