Brutal Desire- Excerpt

Sherri White

Chapter One

Freya

My chest burns as I take another deep breath, the icy air doing nothing to calm the raging fire erupting into my lungs every time my feet pound into the pavement. The wind whips at my face and I resist the urge to wipe the tear clinging to the corner of my eye. Instead, I push more power into my legs.

Silence encases me, my noise-cancelling earbuds effectively blocking out the rest of the world despite not a single lyric leaving them. It’s the only time I like the quiet. The only time my thoughts aren’t louder than everything else. Even through the burn and the harsh inhales, I feel like I can breathe.

When I round the next corner the end of my family’s long driveway comes into view. The gate is still open from when I’d left on my run, so I pick up my pace, ignoring the tendrils of hair that have come loose from my braid sticking to my sweat-slicked skin.

As soon as my sneakers hit the driveway, it feels like that night all over again. Yet instead of stumbling barefoot in the dark, I’m trying to outrun the memories flooding my mind.

From the confusion of waking alone in a bed that wasn’t mine. To the way my ears rung at the thumping music, hinting at the party I should have been enjoying with my friends. Or how my head spun, making it difficult to put the pieces together. Though, it was the sight of my torn dress, the blooming bruises, and how the blood on my fingers shimmered through my blurred vision that made my stomach turn in the worst possible way.

I run faster, my breath turning ragged as my stride loses any rhythm it might have had.

By the time I make it up the front steps I feel like I could collapse. Dropping my head, I plant my hands on my knees and try to draw in as much air as I can. Rogue tears slip down my cheeks, and no matter how much I tell myself they’re from the wind, I know it’s a lie.

I’m not sure how many minutes pass before my panting calms and I’m able to straighten my back to put the code into the security pad. I use the second it takes for the door to unlock to swipe my hands under my eyes.

Pristine marble flooring greets me in the foyer, yet I don’t bother taking off my shoes that are probably tracking dirt inside. God forbid it looks like anyone actually lives here. It might only be a miniscule flaw to the perfect façade my mother wants to project but a small part of me takes satisfaction in it.

Until recently I’d never thought twice about the way we live and the world we belong to. I’d never had reason to. Not only did that night ruin me, but I became painfully aware of how much wealth and status rule our lives. Now I don’t give a shit about anything.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I crack the lid and raise it to my lips. As soon as the cool liquid hits my tongue I realise just how much I need it, gulping down the contents until there’s nothing left. Taking my earbuds out, I slide them into the small waist pocket of my leggings before heading for the stairs.

“I was hoping I’d get to tell you myself.”

The familiar voice wraps around my throat and I freeze.

Heavy steps move towards me and before my brain can send the signal to my tired legs to flee, I feel his body behind me. I jump when his arm wraps around my middle, his hand splaying across my stomach and pulling me into him.

Run.

My mind screams the single word at me, but it’s too late.

“What? No hello?” he drawls into my ear, and I flinch as his breath hits my skin. His other hand moves to my thigh, sliding up until he reaches the hem of my singlet.

My heart hammers in my chest, but when he slips his fingers underneath the fabric, my lungs constrict, barely letting in enough air to inflate them and my breaths become desperate. I plead with my body to do something—scream, fight, anything except this. Instead, my hands tremble uselessly at my sides whilst his touch makes my stomach turn.

The helplessness of being trapped inside of myself is torturous. It sends me spiralling back to that night. Except I’m not sure what’s worse—being rendered powerless by something outside of my control or becoming a captive of my own mind when I should be able to fight back.

Each time it happens I hate myself a little more. For being weak. For letting him get away with ruining me. Whilst he hasn’t had the chance to hurt me like that again, it hasn’t stopped him from finding ways to torment me for the past eight months. Small moments here and there, just like this. A text message. A note on my pillow. Anything to get inside my head.

“Don’t want to talk? That’s fine,” he says, letting his hand come to rest on my ribs, his thumb skimming my breast. “But you’ll have to find a way to get used to me because we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

What is he talking about?

I’d rather spend eternity alone than another second with him.

Ryan Townsend.

Heir to the Townsend fortune.

My brother’s best friend.

And the man who ruined my life.

“You know, I often think how good a repeat of our night together would be,” he says, and an almost silent whimper escapes me when he grasps my breast over my sports bra. “What it would be like to hear the little sounds you made.” He groans, dragging his lips along the edge of my ear. “Feel my cock sinking into your sweet pussy again.”

Hearing him describe the worst night of my life in a way that makes it sound like I had any choice at all has bile spilling into my mouth. My vision blurs and the feel of his arousal digging into my back turns my blood cold.

“Let me go, Ryan,” I say, finding my voice, and I’m at least grateful there’s no tremble in my words. They sound strong, even though I feel anything but.

For a moment, I wonder where Jackson is. If Ryan’s here, my brother couldn’t be far away. Being three years older than me, Jackson was always my biggest protector growing up. But we’re not those kids anymore.

What would he think if he walked around the corner now?

Would he see the tears in my eyes and the terror on my face?

What would he do?

“So, it’s going to be like that, Freya?” Ryan sighs, nuzzling the crook of my neck in a way that sends chills down my spine. “You can hate me all you like, but it won’t change anything,” he says, and a breath of relief seeps out of me when he releases my breast and takes his hand from under my singlet. Except when he grabs my left hand a strange sense of dread washes over me.

He raises my hand so that it’s clearly in my line of sight, then removes his hold on my stomach. With only my hand in his, there isn’t anything else keeping me here, though, for a reason I can’t explain, I feel even more trapped than I did a moment ago.

Ryan shifts behind me before his free hand reappears. The light glints off something but I can’t make out what it is through my blurred vision, yet when he starts sliding something onto my finger my breath hitches. Partially breaking through the paralysis that had rendered my body useless, I try to pull my hand away, but he only tightens his hold.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my heartbeat thrumming so loud in my ears I doubt I’ll hear a response if he gives one.

When the ring sits securely at the base of my finger Ryan wraps one arm back around my middle whilst keeping my hand up for me to see.

“Perfect,” he says, pulling me even tighter against him. As if merely knowing isn’t enough, feeling how much he’s getting off on tormenting me makes me want to vomit.

I stare wide-eyed at my left hand.

At the engagement ring.

This has to be a sick joke.

The obscene diamond stares back at me, and with a gold band that fits me almost too well, I ache to tear the thing off.

“You’re mine, Freya Ashwood.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. Hard.

And then he’s gone.

Chapter Two

Freya

A sense of relief washes over me when Ryan’s touch disappears, except my body remains tense, my eyes glued to the ring staking a claim on me. It’s another minute before I shake off the shock of what just happened and rip the thing off.

It has to be another one of his ways to get under my skin, yet somehow this interaction seemed more intense. More purposeful. And even though he’s gone, the pit in my stomach continues to deepen.

When my legs finally start working again, I head for the stairs, my shaky steps having nothing to do with the twelve kilometres I just ran.

“Freya...”

My foot hovers over the first step at the sound of my name, but I don’t turn towards the voice.

“Your father and I need to speak with you in his office, please.”  

I could ignore her. It wouldn’t be the first time. I can count the number of conversations we’ve had in the last eight months on one hand, but the slight uneasiness in her tone has my stomach dropping further.

Is something wrong?

Could someone be sick?

I turn towards my mother.

In a slim fitting, knee length dress, and heels I should have heard coming, she stands at the corner of the hallway that leads to my father’s office. Her blonde hair sits in soft waves, not a single flyaway in sight, and her makeup is flawless as usual.

She doesn’t look sick.

Is it Dad?

“Freya?” she asks when I haven’t moved. I hate the concern seeping into her voice and the slight pinch creasing her brows as she studies me.

It’s too little too late for that.

She knows I’m not okay.

That I haven’t been okay since that night.

And yet here we are.

Letting out a breath, I step towards her. My mother’s stare lingers a moment longer before she swallows and turns back down the hallway.

I follow after her, my mind running with cancerous tumours or whatever terminal disease my father could possibly have that would warrant a summons to his office with both of them.

“Thanks Richard, I’ll be in contact soon.” My father’s voice has my head snapping up, but it’s the man who’s hand he’s shaking that has my spine straightening in alert.

Richard Townsend.

What is he doing here?

Richard pays no attention to my mother as he walks by, but I don’t miss the quick once over he gives me, though it seems more assessing than anything. Still, I don’t let my guard down. If the apple fell anywhere close to the tree, I’m sure Ryan inherited more than his green eyes from his father.

My father and Richard Townsend have been acquaintances for as long as I can remember but I can’t recall the last time I saw him at our house. Sure, our families run in the same circles and attend the same stuffy parties, but they were never particularly close. Jackson and Ryan on the other hand are damn near inseparable.

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of my brother’s best friend and it almost feels like he’s still behind me, his hands on me. Jackson isn’t anywhere to be seen, except as my gaze follows one of the wealthiest men in the city, I start to wonder if he’s even here at all.

Richard screams old money and power, his suit perfectly tailored to his near six-foot frame and slightly softer middle. He says nothing, yet I don’t let myself breathe until he passes me, my eyes not leaving him until he’s out of sight. I can only hope both him and his son are letting themselves out. The dread settling in my stomach doesn’t go anywhere though and the dainty object in my hand feels heavier than it should.

“Freya…” My mother says, drawing my attention back to why I’m even with her in the first place.

It takes a second for my legs to start working again, and when I enter my father’s office, I find him pacing in front of his large desk. The calm collected man from a moment ago is nowhere to be seen.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

He stops in his tracks as if only now realising he’s no longer alone. My father clears his throat and straightens his tie before lifting his head and meeting my gaze. My mother stands off to my side, her head down as though she’s purposefully avoiding eye contact.

“Are you sick?” My voice is thick as I ask the question that’s been on my mind since my mother summoned me here. I’m not particularly close with my father but I’m not sure how I’d feel if it was something bad.

His brows pinch. “No…”

“What is it then?” If nobody is dying, what could be so urgent?

“It’s… complicated.”

My head thumps. I’m still trying to process what happened a few minutes ago, and the longer I stand here, the harder it is stay concentrated.

“The business is in trouble,” he finally says, before pressing his lips together, his features set in hard lines.

This is what they called me in here for? I almost laugh, but I can’t even bring myself to do something so simple. I have more important things to deal with than worry about the family business. I open my mouth to excuse myself, but my father cuts me off.

“Richard was kind enough to offer a solution,” he says, regarding me closely. “However, there is one requirement.”

I’m still trying to figure out what this could have to do with me, but I can’t seem to find the words to ask. The dread I’d felt before rushes through me at full force.

“You and the Townsend boy will marry...”

My whole world slows to a stop, then it shatters at my feet.

The tremble starts in my hands but it’s not long until my whole body feels like it’s shaking beyond my control.

No. I can’t have heard him right.

My father watches me, no doubt waiting for a response, but instead I turn to my side. My mother’s head is still turned down, her gaze fixed on the hardwood floor. She knew about this, and she still walked me in here. How could she do this to me?

Just when I think she isn’t going to meet my stare, her chin lifts. I almost wish she’d kept her head down when her blank expression passes over me. I don’t know why I expected anything else after what she’s done, but it still hurts.

Swallowing hard, I turn back to my father. “No.” My voice barely sounds like me, or maybe it’s the blood rushing through my ears distorting the sound. All I know is there’s no way in fucking hell that I’d ever marry Ryan Townsend.

My father clenches his jaw, his stare boring into me. “There’s no other option, Freya. It’s this or we lose everything,” he grits out.

A lump starts forming in my throat so I shake my head no instead.

“Honey, I know this may not be exactly what you want, but we have to do what’s best for the family.”

My head snaps towards my mother. “How can you say that?” The words come out strangled, my voice clogged with tears. Shame shines in her eyes, but it only lasts a moment before she tries to cover it up.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.” The pain of the knife twisting in my back is almost worse than when it was plunged into me eight months ago.

“Freya, just listen for a momen—”

“Get out.” I cut her off. My mind whirls, my fists clenching harder at my sides. I thought what she did that night was bad enough, but this, there’s no coming back from this.

“Freya!” The stern voice comes from my father, but I ignore him.

“Get out!” I scream at her, my voice cracking as the words scrape from my throat. My mother flinches, her wide eyes staring back at me. She really has the nerve to appear hurt. Not able to bear looking at her any longer, I turn away, tears slipping down my cheeks as I do. “Get out,” I say again, this time the words are barely above a whisper but when her sharp inhale cuts through the silence I know they hit her just as hard.

There’s a pause before the soft click of her heels retreat from the office. I try to calm my breathing but my body isn’t listening to any of the signals I’m trying to send it. “I’m not doing it,” I say after a moment.

 “Now is not the time to be selfish, Freya,” he grits out, frustration cutting through his words.

My father doesn’t know what happened, at least I’m almost sure he doesn’t, but the fact he’s still willing to marry me off to fix his problems without a care for how I feel and somehow, I’m selfish? “You’ll have to find another way…” I sniff. “…because I’m not doing it.” Lifting my chin I look my father right in the eyes. His stare narrows and his nostrils flare. Did he really think I’d agree to this? A dull throb comes from my palm as I squeeze my fists tighter, but my mind is too preoccupied to pay it much notice.

“There is no other way!” He steps towards me and throws his hands in the air, his control starting to slip. “We all have to make sacrifices. After you marry, your husband will inherit a portion of the business, and we’ll get everything we need to fix this mess.” He shakes his head.

“I don’t care about the business! I’m not going to be turned into a pawn because you fucked up. You can’t make me do this. I won’t.”

The backhand hits the side of my face with enough force to knock me to the floor and I only just manage to break my fall. A metallic taste seeps into my mouth as I sit frozen at my father’s feet, my heart thumping against my ribs. Slowly, I lift my head up, placing a hand over my burning cheek whilst still trying to process what just happened.

My father stands before me, eyes wide, and his breaths heavier than they were a moment ago. Even some of the colour has drained from his face.

He’s never hit me before.

I wait for the apology, remorse, anything, but he just stares at me. A minute later he swallows and steps back before turning his head to the side, as though not being able to see me might erase what he’s just done.

“How can you be so ungrateful?” The insult hits me hard, like he can sense the knife jutting out of my back and has no problem grabbing a hold of it, only to push it in deeper. “You have no idea what it means to work hard. Everything has been handed to you. If you’re not sulking or lazing around, you’re out partying. Enough is enough. You want to drop out of university and throw your fucking life away so be it, but I won’t enable you any longer. I may not be able to force you to do this, but if you won’t… then there’s no place for you here.”

My breath rushes out in a sharp exhale.

“You have a week to decide how much you really care about this family.”

With those parting words my father exits his office, leaving me on the floor to digest everything he’s said. The betrayal eats away at me, destroying whatever cracked pieces remain from the night my world broke. After what just happened, no part of me wants to stay. Except I have nowhere else to go.

The throb in my hand intensifies, pulling me from my thoughts for a moment. Uncurling my fist, I find the diamond ring Ryan forced on me nestled in my crimson smeared palm. No longer confined by the tight squeeze of my fist, a small rivulet of blood runs down the side of my hand before dripping onto the hardwood floor. My chest squeezes as I stare at it, the ring becoming blurrier with the tears slowly clouding my vision.

My father might believe this is purely a business deal that keeps company shares within the family, regardless of if it comes at my expense, but I know somehow Ryan is behind it. This goes beyond the occasional taunt. He couldn’t possibly expect me to go along with this. To marry him. Maybe I was right before. It’s a sick joke. Another way for him to torture me. Except this time, I’m going to lose everything.

I pick myself up off the floor, and by the time I make it to my room upstairs I’m so numb I barely remember how I got here. Out of habit I grab the edge of the small set of drawers by the entry, dragging it over the thin grooves that have slowly been etched into the floorboards. My muscles flex against the familiar weight until the drawers are planted firmly in front of my door.

If it came down to it, I’m not sure how much it would help, though beyond turning the lock, it’s all I have.

My palm throbs, almost as a reminder of the last twenty minutes, as if I could forget. Wiping a stray tear from my cheek, I make my way to my ensuite bathroom.

The engagement ring clinks on the bench, my hand still covering it from sight. With a deep breath I take my hand away, only sparing a glance at the bloodied diamond, before rinsing the cut under warm water. It’s not deep and by the time I finish cleaning it, it’s no longer bleeding.

What am I going to do?

Glancing up, I meet my reflection in the mirror. Tired eyes stare back at me, yet it’s an exhaustion that extends beyond today. Something that’s been eating at me, slowing chipping away more and more of whatever makes me whole.

The slight beginning of a bruise blooms on my jaw and I glaze my tongue over the cut inside my cheek. I flinch internally at the metallic taste still lingering in my mouth, but the sting of knowing how easily my family could turn on me hurts more than anything.

My mother made it clear that night her reputation was more important than her own daughter. As if what Ryan did to me could somehow make her look bad. I hadn’t thought it could get any worse than that.

Not for the first time, I wish the ground would open and swallow me up, so I don’t have to deal with it anymore. With any of it.

Breaking my gaze away, I open the second vanity drawer and rummage through my make-up cloths until my fingers grasp the small bottle. My hands shake as I open it, and it only intensifies when I tip the contents into my palm.

How many times have I stood here like this, holding something that could take all the pain away?

My chest tightens and my vision blurs with every passing second. It should be simple, but the internal struggle has my heart racing. A sob builds in my throat, and the longer I try to hold it in, the harder it becomes to breathe.

End the pain.

The three words reverberate through my head. A plea full of desperation, interwoven with a deep-rooted fear I can’t seem to overcome. The sob I’d been containing finally breaks free.

Why can’t I do it?

A scream tears from my throat as the handful of pills ping off the wall before scattering across the tiled floor. Slowly, I sink down, burying my hands in my hair as I lose any strength to keep my sobs contained.

Chapter Three

Lucas

Flowing blonde hair catches my eyes first, followed by the slim-fitting black dress that clings to her body in all the right places. My eyes trace her as she moves further onto the dance floor, but a groan of displeasure vibrates my throat when I lose sight of her amongst the crowd.

With two clicks the image on my screen changes. It doesn’t take long before I find her again with the new CCTV angle, and when I do I rest my elbows on my desk, leaning closer to the monitor. She’s dancing, her body moving to the music as she buries her fingers in her hair and closes her eyes.

Not for the first time, I wonder what she’d do if I came up behind her, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Would she welcome my embrace, glancing over her shoulder so I could see her pretty blue eyes as her body fit against mine? Or would she push me away and curse me out for touching her? A smirk tilts the corner of my lips, at the thought of her trying.

When John Ashwood’s daughter stepped foot in my club four months ago, nothing but curiosity had me keeping an eye on her. Except, then she came back, week after week, sometimes night after night, and the more I watched her the more intrigue grew into fixation.

At first glance, she’s your typical spoiled rich kid. Carrying around their silver platter whilst splurging daddy’s money on designer shit and expensive booze.

Shallow.

Except as she loses herself to the music, the atmosphere, I see something shimmer beneath the surface. The thing that’s had me fucking fixated on her for the last few months. She might be able to tune out the noise, but in doing so, she reveals something else entirely. Something deeper, raw.

Instinctively I lean even closer to the screen.

It’s not the first time I’ve watched someone slowly unravel. I’ve seen what happens when they crumble until there’s nothing left. It should be reason enough to forget about her, yet I can’t look away. A sliver of something pinches my gut, demanding to know what’s causing her to fall apart, but I quickly squash it.

Freya Ashwood doesn’t mean anything to me. She’s nothing but collateral damage. Easy leverage for her fuck-up father.

Someone who doesn’t know me might call me an asshole, but those who do call me much worse.

Ruthless. Merciless. Brutal.

A knock sounds at my office door, but I ignore it. When I don’t answer, another one comes followed by, “Boss?” The voice is muffled through the thick closed door, but I can make it out enough to know it’s Micah.

“What?” I snap.

Micah takes that as his permission to enter, though I ignore his approach and continue to watch the club's security feed.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asks, now standing on the other side of my large desk, frustration creeping into his tone.

I don’t need to hear anything to know what he’s in here about. “I’ll deal with it,” I say without looking away from the monitor in front of me.

“They destroyed another shipment, Lucas, and we lost three men. If word gets out of what’s happening and that we haven’t done anything about it—”

“Watch your tone, Micah.” The air shifts as I flick my gaze to him, and I don’t miss his slight swallow at my narrowed stare. After eight years of working at my side, Micah knows how far he can push me before it becomes a problem, and right now I’m not in the mood. “I said, I’ll deal with it.”

I expect that to be the end of the conversation but when he doesn’t leave, I let out a disgruntled sigh. I could order him to leave me alone, but he’ll only come back later, and we’ll go through this whole thing again. It’s not like I don’t already know what he wants to say, I can see it written all over his face. This is the third shipment we’ve lost in as little as two months, burnt to the ground. With nothing to trace, and any evidence as good as ash, finding a lead has been difficult to say the least. “Do you have any proof the Moreland’s were involved?”

“Nothing yet…” He grits his teeth. “…but you know as well as I do they’re trying to push you out.”

The Moreland’s have been a mid-level crime family for decades but it’s only since Barrett Moreland handed the reigns to his eldest son that things have started to shift. It’s clear Blake Moreland wants to build the empire his father never could. In as little as a year their operations have almost doubled, and their reputation has gone from dangerous to downright ruthless.

I’d be lying if I said the thought of them being involved wasn’t one of my first after the initial incident. Although starting a war when we don’t have an inch of proof is reckless at best.

Whilst neither Blake nor his brothers have made any moves against me directly, I’m not stupid enough to think they won’t try something sooner or later. When you’re trying to get to the top, who better to take down than the king himself. It’s what I’d do. It’s what I did do.

The reality of ruling Sydney’s underworld is that almost everyone is an enemy. I set the rules, and the cost of breaking them is deadly. The heart of the city is mine. It’s been that way for nearly eight years, but given the chance, any one of these assholes wouldn’t hesitate to take me out and claim the throne for themselves.

All I can say is they’d better make sure I’m fucking dead.

“When is our next shipment due?” I ask.

“Two weeks. I’ll assign more men and change the routes again.”

“Don’t.” Micah frowns at my response. Our routes change all the time, even more so since the attacks started, yet it doesn’t seem to have made an impact. Whoever is behind this is getting their information from somewhere, and the thought it could be coming from one of my men has my molars clenching together. “Take a few men you trust and tail the shipment. But choose fucking wisely because I don’t want any word of this getting out, to anyone.”

Micah is silent for a moment, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head. “You think we have a rat?”

“I think we wouldn’t have lost three fucking shipments if someone wasn’t talking. I don’t care what it takes, just bring me one of them alive.” Whoever has been selling us out better start counting their days because it’s only a matter of time before I find them, and when I do, they’ll be begging me to put them out of their misery.

When Micah leaves my office, I put in a quick call to Ethan asking him to focus his search closer to home. He’s been looking for any kind of electronic trace or chatter since the first attack, but so far nothing has come from it. If there’s something to find, he’ll find it, but it seems whoever is messing with us has managed to keep their tracks clean and their lips tight. Not even my men on the ground have heard anything of use.

Putting my phone down on my desk I return my attention to the club's security feed, only my little mystery isn’t where I left her. I scan the crowd, my impatience quickly rising but finding blonde hair and a black dress in a full club isn’t fucking easy. My phone rings and I groan at the interruption, the sound deep and menacing. I’m about to silence the thing when I catch a glimpse of the name on the screen. Fuck.

I glance at my watch. It’d barely be seven a.m. in New York. I let it ring a few more times, my hand turning into a fist on top of my desk before I finally pick it up.

“What is it?” My voice is sharp and to the point.

“Is that any way to speak to your father?” There’s no trace of humour in his voice, not that I expected any.

“You only call when you need something and I’m busy, so I’d rather you tell me what it is so I can get back to work.”

His sound of displeasure echoes through the phone and I can almost picture his lip curling with disdain. Not many men would dare speak to Riccardo Valenti in such a manner. Not if they valued their life. But I’m not any man. If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it eight years ago.

“I hear you’ve made some enemies.”

“You should know better than anyone that enemies come with the territory.”

His brief pause is enough to tell my words have hit their spot.

“Perhaps, but I know how to handle mine,” he sneers and my jaw clenches at the insult.

He doesn’t need to elaborate for me to understand he knows about our recent incidents. Even after the conversation I had with Micah, I trust him with my life. Much to my father’s displeasure, his loyalties lie with me and not him. Micah wouldn’t have gone to him behind my back.

Aside from Micah, only a couple of trusted men know of my paternal lineage. It’s something I’ve worked hard at keeping buried. To everyone else, I’m Lucas Hale. Fucking king of Sydney’s underworld. Not the bastard son of Riccardo Valenti, one of the Cosa Nostra’s most feared dons.

“It’s time to come home, Luca.”

My blood goes cold at his words.

It’s not a heartfelt request. It’s an order.

One I have no intention of following.

“That wasn’t the deal.” My voice is deadly calm.

“Things have changed. It’s clear you’re no longer in control of things there.”

I grind my teeth together. “Everything is being dealt with as we speak—”

“I need you here,” he cuts me off, pausing to make sure the words sink in. “I’ll send Vito to take over things there.”

The liquid in my veins goes from cold to boiling in a matter of seconds.

I built this club from the ground up. Took over the city as I saw fit with as much blood and sweat as was needed. There’s no fucking way I’m just going to hand it over without a fight. “He’ll be dead in a week,” I say, my fist tightening. “You’re forgetting my men are loyal to me. You may reap the benefits of my hard work, but the Valenti name doesn’t mean shit here.”

“This isn’t up for discussion,” he says, his voice rising slightly, exposing a hint of the emotions he rarely shows.

My father isn’t naïve enough to think he could simply replace me here and business would continue as normal. And considering I send him more profits than half of his capos there must be something big going down for him to risk it. Yet I still can’t think of a reason he’d need nor want me back in New York. Not after what I did. It’s also the last fucking place I want to be.

“I’m going to need more than that to give up my fucking life.”

“I forgave your indiscretions once because you were grieving, but don’t fool yourself into thinking that I wouldn’t destroy you and everything you’ve built, Luca,” he says, and my hand tightens around my phone so hard that I’m surprised it doesn’t break.

“I need time to sort things out here.” I force the words out. I need time to figure out how I can survive disobeying my father.

“You’ll be in New York by the end of the week.”

Before I can respond, the line goes dead. Fuck. I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is the last thing I need right now. As much as I build up the illusion of freedom, even ten thousand miles away I’m still stuck under his thumb. It’s true what they say, once you’re in the life there’s no getting out. Not unless you fancy the inside of a body bag or better yet, the crushing weight of freshly disturbed soil. Not that you’d be breathing enough, or at all, to enjoy it.

This was my out. At least as close as I was ever going to get. Officially I have no ties to the Cosa Nostra or my don father. It was the best way to establish myself here without preexisting enemies or the federal police on my ass before I could even get started. Although after eight years, I have more enemies than friends.

Unofficially I’m as much a branch of the Valenti family as any of my father’s capos.

And I fucking hate it.

Successful or not, I was prepared to die for my actions eight years ago, expected it even. What I didn’t anticipate was my father giving me a choice. Live or die. He was the reason my mother was gone, and as much as he knew continuing to work for him would be more torturous than any death he could subject me to, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of giving up.

Still holding my phone, I open my recent calls. “Boss?” Micah answers on the second ring.

“Do you still have your contacts in New York?”

“It’s been a little while, but I think so, yea. What’s going on?”

I’d do it myself, but there’s no one I trust enough not to run to my father first. If there’s something to find, I’d rather him keep thinking I’m in the dark.

“I need you to find out why my father wants me back.”

“He what—”

“Just fucking find out Micah.”

I slam my phone down on my desk, not caring that the screen splinters with the force.

This is a fucking nightmare.

Chapter Four

Freya

 A bead of sweat rolls down my temple as the song comes to an end and the DJ starts another. I gather my long hair in my hands above my nape, letting the air hit my bare skin for a moment whilst taking a quick glance of the dance floor. A few meters from me, Amber dances with a tall blonde, her arms locked around his neck and her tongue clashing with his as they grind their crotches into each other in the most unsubtle way.

I need another drink.

I start making my way through the crowd, not bothering to interrupt them. The warm haze of alcohol already flowing through me makes my steps a little more unsteady than usual, but I’ve gotten used to the feeling over the past several months.

The few drinks I’ve already had tonight barely distract from the lead weight in my stomach. It’s been two days since my father gave me the ultimatum.

A week to decide how much I really care about my family.

There was never a decision to make. It wouldn’t matter if there was a gun to my head, I’m not marrying Ryan Townsend.

I should probably be home figuring out what the hell I’m going to do when the deadline passes, and my father kicks me out. Although forgetting about everything seems much more appealing.

Maybe I could ask Amber if I could crash at her place. As soon as the thought enters my head, I scrunch my nose. We’re not close friends anymore. In fact, I’m not close with any of the friends I had before. It’s amazing how superficial all my relationships became when I stopped caring about the latest fashion trends or who’s dating who, and… well everything.

The crowd is thick tonight, and it takes me longer than I’d like to get through it. A long bar runs through the centre of the club, wrapping around a ceiling high glass shelving feature like a sleek marble island in a sea of opulence and luxury. The beauty of it draws me in but I continue past it, knowing the other side would be just as busy as this one.

Instead, I opt for the bar a little further away. It’s slightly less busy than the main one but there’s still a healthy crowd waiting to be served. The atmosphere is also more relaxed over here.

Cheers erupt close by, drawing my attention to the VIP area. A small roped off staircase leads to the sizeable platform raised above the rest of the club. I can’t see much from this vantage point, but from experience, I know there’s another bar, a small dancefloor, and several rounded booths with plush black velvet couches basked in soft mood lighting. The cheers sound again as a bartender places an obscene six litre bottle of vodka on the corner booth. The girls clink their glasses together in celebration, smiling and laughing at each other.

A pang of sadness aches in my chest that I don’t have that anymore. Not really. I still see my friends occasionally, but it’s not the same. There’s no depth. Sometimes I question if there ever was. Or maybe it’s simply my fault for pushing everyone away. Yet it also felt too easy. Like none of them truly cared enough to find out if there was something more to my absences.

Focusing back on the bar, I manage to weave my way through to the front and lean against it. The spot I find is off to the side so I know it will be a little while before I’m served. I use the time to read over the small menu. Five signature cocktails grace the list, along with a few signature shots. Except even though my mouth salivates at the potential flavours, I won’t be ordering any of them.

After a few minutes the bartender catches my eye. He doesn’t move from the middle of the bar right away, instead, he tilts his head to the side in question, even though he knows exactly what I’m going to order. When I give him a nod he smiles in return.

“One of these days you’re going to surprise me, Freya,” he says over the loud music and chatter.

I doubt it. The small voice in my head tries to tell me being on a first-name basis with a bartender probably isn’t a good sign, but I brush it off. He places the premixed can on the bar in front of me before cracking it open. Even the most upscale club in Sydney still has the classics. I don’t take my eyes off the drink as he pours the contents into a glass, his movements slightly slower than the times I’ve watched him serve others. As soon as he’s done, I slide the glass towards me, covering the entire opening with my palm whilst tapping my phone to pay.

The heat of the crowd on either side of me has me licking my dry lips and I take a quick sip of my drink. The refreshing flavours of vodka and lime burst on my tongue, and I end up drinking a third of my glass before deciding I really need to find a spot where there aren’t any sweaty bodies rubbing against me. I know there’s a few round ottomans and small tables past the other end of this bar, maybe if I’m lucky I can snag a seat.

The bartender watches me for a moment, a look in his eyes that if I wasn’t intoxicated, I might think was concern. I give him a quick thank you before he moves on to another customer, and I turn away from the bar. Except before I can get anywhere, I slam straight into what feels like a solid wall.

With a gasp I stumble back into the edge of the bar, the rest of my drink soaking into the front of my silk dress.

“You should really watch where you’re going, darlin’,” the man I’d just tried to walk through says, raking his gaze up and down my body. Then he pauses on my breasts. I’m all too aware of my nipples beading at the sudden shock of cold liquid, the now wet silk only making matters worse.

My stomach turns as the man licks his bottom lip, nerves fluttering through my veins the longer he stares. I was never blessed in that department and can usually get away without wearing a bra, but I’ve never wished I was wearing one so much as I do now, no matter how much it would have clashed with my dress.

“Let me get you another,” he says, his eyes still below chin level.

“I’m fine.” My words come out in a rush. The last thing I want to do is stick around.

I place my now near-empty cup back on the bar and go to move past him, but a hand on my arm stops me.

“Hey, where are you running to?” he asks, finally meeting my eyes. “It’s the least you can do after throwing yourself at me and ruining my shirt.”

My jaw drops at his complete lack of sense. Throw myself at him? I flick my gaze to his shirt and the measly couple of drops that will dry into nothing in five minutes.

“I’m not interested.” I try to pull my arm away, but his grip tightens and a bite of pain pinches my skin. My chest squeezes, danger signs flashing through my mind as I try to tug my arm again to no avail. “Let me go,” I say, barely keeping my voice from shaking. Flashbacks cloud my head and I struggle to keep myself from drowning in them.

“Don’t be like that, it’s just a drink.” His lazy smirk says he’s trying to flirt, badly, but the sleazy look in his eyes and the way they keep dropping to my breasts says he’s interested in more than a drink and without even thinking I drive my knee straight into his balls.

A pained groan bursts from his mouth and he hunches over, cradling his bruised jewels. If people weren’t paying attention to us before, they certainly are now. The hand on my arms loosens and I use the opportunity to rush past him.

“You little bitch.”

I’ve nearly made it when he grabs my dress. He’s still half hunched over but his murderous gaze is trained on me. I take a fistful of the material and try to pull it out of his grasp.

“Hey, man, let her go.” Another guy steps towards us.

I need to get out of here.

The sickening sound of fabric tearing steals my breath, and my heart thunders against my ribs as panic sinks its claws into my flesh.

It happens so fast.

One second the man holding my dress is looking at me like he wants to murder me, or worse, the next he’s on the floor. A guy twice his size, dressed in black slacks and a black tee, presses his face into the sleek, sticky flooring with his forearm against the back of his neck. The sleazebag also has one arm twisted behind him at an uncomfortable angle.

“Miss, are you okay?” The hand on my shoulder makes me jump and I whirl around to find another bouncer behind me.

“I think so.” I have no fucking idea. My heads a mess and my heart rate hasn’t dropped yet, but all I want to do is get out of here.

“You need to come with me,” he says.

I’m not quite sure why I’d be kicked out when I haven’t done anything wrong. Although considering I’m ready to leave, I don’t argue.

With one last glance at the guy still pinned to the floor, I follow the second bouncer. We make our way through the busy club, a path easily clearing for the guy whose muscle mass alone probably weighs as much as I do.

I should find Amber first to let her know I’m leaving but I decide to text her when I’m out instead. With my mind still spinning it takes me too long to realise we’re no longer moving in the direction of the exit.

“Excuse me, where are we going?” I ask, glancing towards the main exit. When he doesn’t respond, my steps start to slow. Could he be taking me to a side exit?

“Miss, please follow me.” He glances over his shoulder, his expression unreadable but his tone as intimidating as one would expect from someone who looks like they could squish you between their fingers.

My saliva sticks in my throat as I try to swallow. How far would I get if I tried to make a run for it? With these heels and the Saturday night crowd probably not far, but when we reach a guarded door that doesn’t look anything like an exit the running option starts to feel more enticing.

My bouncer nods to his co-worker before flashing a card to the reader on the wall until the little red light clicks green.

“You know, I think I’m actually just going to leave,” I say, taking a step back. The last five minutes seems to have sobered me up and the panic that hadn’t even had a chance to settle fully starts to build again.

The guard by the door raises an eyebrow at my announcement whilst the bouncer who led me here pushes the heavy door open and turns back to me with a look of mild annoyance.

“Miss, you can walk freely, or I can make you. It’s up to you, but you’re not leaving until you’ve spoken to the boss.”

The boss? I only kneed the guy in the balls for god’s sake. What are they going to do, call the cops on me?

Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of my fucking life.

With one last glance towards the exit, I reluctantly step into the dimly lit hallway. The bouncer follows after me and as the door closes behind him, the loud music from the club disappears with it. Maybe I should have made a run for it after all.

After reaching the end of the first hall and turning down another he finally stops me before opening a door to my right. “In here.”

“I still don’t see what there could be to talk about,” I say, stalling. This is ridiculous. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Boss’ orders,” he says, stepping towards me and instinctively I move back.

Before I can process what he’s done, he closes the door that’s now between us. “Hey!” The protest falls on deaf ears as it clicks shut, effectively cutting me off.

Shit.

“You caused quite the scene.”

My heart jumps into my throat as the deep voice washes over me. Fast enough to make my head rush, I spin towards the sound, and what I find has my head rushing for an entirely different reason.

A dark-haired man stands from behind a large oak desk, buttoning his suit jacket before making his way around it. Men in suits have never done anything for me, maybe because I’ve been around them all my life. Or maybe I haven’t been looking at the right men because as the expensive material that fits him perfectly tightens with his movements, I find myself momentarily distracted.

That is until I realise what he’s said.

Shaking my head, I break my lapse of concentration, the lingering panic slipping below my rising temper. “I didn’t cause anything. That man was a pig who couldn’t take no for an answer.”

I shouldn’t be provoking him but I’m so angry he has the audacity to blame me I can’t seem to stop. Angry that men like him think they can do whatever they want. I’m angry at my family. At Ryan. I’m pissed off that my life has gone to fucking shit and I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself from falling apart completely.

“That bastard should have been dragged in here, not me, I didn’t do anything wrong!” I say, my chest rising and falling faster. At first, I don’t realise my hands are shaking but when they get worse, I tighten them into fists. Have they been shaking this whole time?

He stops a step away from me and I only just now notice how close he’s gotten. Conflicting emotions clash inside me as I realise my mistake. A dangerous aura radiates from him, and I barely resist stepping back as much as my instincts tell me to.

“You’re right,” he says, interrupting my assessment.

My brows furrow, and my argument fizzles out on my tongue. He agrees with me?

“Then why am I here?” I ask.

He doesn’t respond and I can’t help but search his expression for answers, yet I can’t seem to find any. I don’t need to ask to know that Obsidian is his club. The dark marble and gold accents somehow reflect him perfectly. Not only that, I may have only just met the man but somehow, I can’t imagine him taking orders from anyone, much less an employer.

At first glance, I thought he was good-looking, but this close I’m all too aware of how attractive he is. The strong nose. The sharp jaw that’s visible even beneath the few days of neat stubble. But it’s his rich golden-brown eyes, framed by lashes no man deserves, that capture my attention for a moment too long. I wet my dry lips, and I don’t miss the way he follows the movement.

His gaze drops to my breasts and the desire swirling in those depths has my palms sweating. The gravity of being alone in a room with a man I don’t know settles in, especially one who looks like he gets, or takes, whatever he wants.

He only pauses a moment before continuing down my body, but when his nostrils flare, I glance down to see what he’s looking at. There’s a slit in my dress that wasn’t there before, the fabric torn nearly to my hip.

My gaze flies back to him, but instead of malice, I swear I see rage flickering in the golden depths before they meet mine again. The thought he might be angry on my behalf has my heart skipping a beat, but it’s gone as quick as it appeared.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say, the urge to flee getting stronger.

He considers me for a moment, his steely expression unwavering. “I wanted to know if he hurt you.”

My lips part at his words. His tone doesn’t come across concerned, but from the intensity of his stare I somehow get the impression he needs to know the answer.

“He didn’t…” I say. I’m not even sure I believe him. Why would he care? Unless he’s lying and the danger I sense rippling beneath the surface of his calm exterior is waiting to be unleashed on me. Maybe he saw what happened in the club and figured I’d be an easy target. “I have to go,” I say, already stepping back.

“Wait.” He grabs my arm, and for a second panic clutches at my throat.

I’m not going to be able to fight him off. There’s no club-goers in here to step in, and I don’t imagine anyone rushing in if I screamed. At least you could scream this time.

The caress on my arm cuts through my thoughts.

“He’ll be taken care of.” The man I’ve only just met brushes his thumb over my arm again, over the red marks still lingering from where the guy in the club grabbed me.

 I don’t know what he means by that, but I’m too distracted to think much on it right now. A thousand sparks prickle over my skin where he’s making contact and even though his hold isn’t as tight as I first thought, I can’t seem to pull away. Maybe I’m not as sober as I thought because I almost like the sensation. It also terrifies me.

His touch seems to last a lifetime and I find my head dizzy with confusion. At some point he lets go of my arm, although before I can mourn the loss completely, he grips my chin. “Who did this?” he asks, turning it slightly to the side, his hold of me somehow both tender and firm.

My chest tightens and I swallow, hiding the small wince as he brushes his thumb over the bruise I thought I’d covered well with my makeup. “The loser in the club.” The lie rolls off my tongue before I can even think about it.

“Tell me the truth.” He guides my chin back so he can see my eyes.

The longer I hold his stare the more I want to look away, but I know if I do, he’ll see right through me. “I am.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

So much for that.

“I’ll find out one way or another,” he says with another brush of his thumb. “It’ll be easier if you tell me.”

A lethal energy rolls off him and I can’t help but breath it in. It coats my skin and seeps into my pores, searching for something to corrupt. Instead, it finds the decay hiding deep within, a torturous rot slowly making its way to the surface. It seems to weave through the corrosion, filling the gaps with a different type of darkness, and it terrifies me even more than his touch. Abruptly, I step back, breaking the connection and turn away.

 Relief flits through me when he lets me go, and I refuse to entertain the idea that I might miss the contact. I take a step towards the door with every intention of walking straight out, but it seems like my body has a mind of its own tonight, either that or the alcohol really has gone to my head.

“What the hell does that mean?” I ask whirling around. My survival instincts having clearly shifted from freeze to flight to fight in a matter of days and minutes. “Why did you really have me hauled in here?” I don’t know how he could possibly find out anything.

“I told you why,” he says with a slight tilt of his head like he’s trying to figure me out.  

“Now who’s lying?”

“People only lie when they’re afraid.” He drags his gaze up and down my body. “I can assure you I’m not.”

“That’s not true,” I say. It’s not fear that had me holding back the truth. As much as I shouldn’t, I can’t help the shame sitting in my heart. I don’t owe this man anything. Certainly not the rawest parts of me.

He studies me for a moment. “If you won’t tell me who hit you, you can tell me why you’ve been drowning yourself in mixed vodka all weekend.”

My mouth drops open, and a rush of heat floods my cheeks.

Who does he think he is?

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“Then enlighten me.”

“Why do you care?” I yell, but more than anything I sound broken. “I’ve got enough shit going on, the last thing I want to do is explain my life to a stranger.” Although, as the words leave my lips, I find a part of me almost wants to.

As though he can sense my weakening resolve, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches me, waiting. Whilst I don’t think he wants to hurt me I also don’t believe his excuse for having me escorted to his office. But worse, I can’t figure out why I haven’t left yet if he’s not going to stop me again.

My pulse thumps so hard in my neck I wonder if he can see it.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I say, my voice tight.

“Try me.”

The pressure in my chest builds, the intensity of his golden stare only making it worse, so I turn away from him. I can’t tell him. I don’t even know his goddamn name. Maybe that’s exactly what I need. To unload on a stranger I’m never going to see again.

My mind races, my thoughts bouncing around in my head until my lips start to move of their own accord. “My family wants to marry me off to save my father’s business.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can decide what to do, and whilst the pressure lightens a little, hearing them out loud has my eyes burning and rage flooding my system all over again. “Like I’m some kind of fucking token to cash in,” I say spinning back to him.

A small crease settles between his brows and it’s the first real emotion that’s crossed his face in the five minutes I’ve been here, not that I can quite figure out what he’s thinking.

“And you don’t want to?” he asks.

My jaw slackens. Is that a serious question?

“No.” My voice cracks.

“Then don’t,” he says, and the seriousness of his tone catches me off guard.

“Nothing could make me marry that…” I stop short of revealing too much, my fist clenching so hard the cut on my palm starts to ache again. “I’m not. I just haven’t figured out what I’m going to do when they disown me.” I try to appear nonchalant, but it sounds even more pathetic than it has in my head the past two days. I’m twenty-two, I should be able to take care of myself. Though I guess when your life goes to shit certain things stop becoming a priority.

His frown deepens, and the silence is almost deafening. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be telling this man anything.

“Marry me instead.”

My stomach drops. “Nice joke, but I’m not really in the mood.” I knew this was a mistake. With not even a hint of a smile, he pins me with a hard stare that somehow says more than words. My heart stutters, the palpitation almost making me choke. “Wait…you’re serious?” He can’t be.

“Deadly.”

Copyright © 2025 by Sherri White
Release date- TBA
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