Pretty things aren't meant to be broken.
But I broke her, and now we both have to
pay the price.
I'm her nightmare.
I'm her savior.
And now that I have her signature on an
ironclad contract, I own her body and soul.
She doesn't remember me.
She will.
It's inevitable.
Because as much as I know I need to stay
away, for fear of unlocking the memories I helped her father bury--I can't.
She was the apple in the Garden, dangled in
front of me, her core so tempting and sweet. A voice whispered. Just. One.
Bite.
I bit.
I tasted.
I fell.
Welcome to the world of the Russian mafia,
where death, is your only future.
Happy release day to the amazing Rachel van Dyken. For those of you that don't know Rachel. Here is a bit of info about her
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
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Here are some teaser of her new amazing book. I for one can't wait till I can read it!!
And like this isn't enough to get you excited, here's a little excerpt
“So.” She plopped into the seat next
to me and crossed her long legs. I fought hard to pull my eyes away. “Catch me
up, what exactly are we doing in Chicago.”
I opened a folder and slid it across
the table. “We are doing nothing. I, however, am making a speech at…a church.”
I didn’t miss her snort, or the way
she tried to hide her amusement.
“Something funny?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “In church.”
“Where did this attitude come from?”
“You kissed me.” Her eyes narrowed as
she leaned back into her seat, not missing a beat as she let her gaze wander
across my body like a caress. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good, to be
desired, wanted, and it was a welcome distraction from the pit in my stomach. I
really, really didn’t want to go to Chicago.
“You kissed me back,” I retorted.
“Doesn’t matter, you still kissed me.
The line between beast and his little toy has been crossed, therefore I kind of
own you like you own me, just in a more...irritating way. I have your balls in
a vise.”
“Let’s leave my balls out of the
speech if you don’t mind,” I said ignoring her little ploy to get under my skin
again.
“Hey.” Her grin spread smugly across
her pretty face. “It may just inspire the crap out of them, you never know.”
This was a conversation that Andi
would have loved, in fact, the more Maya talked the more I saw Andi in her,
which just made it that much worse. Here Maya thought I was going to Chicago to
slap hands with rich doctors and make speeches, when really, I was going
because I made a promise, to a dying girl.
Just one more girl, I’d failed to
save.
“Let’s leave all references to body
parts out of my speech, hmm?”
“I’ll try.”
“I am the boss.”
“So you are.”
“I’ve created a monster. Had I known
feeding you would gain this response I would have tied you up in the basement
with a protein bar and some Gatorade.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s Netflix.
Orange is the New Black combined with the nightmares…” She yawned and it was
then that I noticed how tired she looked.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat
wanting to press things further, what kind of nightmares had she been having?
“I haven’t been sleeping much. Then
again I blame you for keeping me from technology for so long.”
“Which brings us back full circle. I
should have never given you such privileges.” My voice came out in a bark.
“It’s a right, not a privilege,” she
snapped.
“So this…” What the hell was it? A
eulogy? Not really, that was Sergio, but he’d asked me to say a few words.
Shit. I struggled with how to ask, I didn’t know the first thing about being at
a funeral, I put people in the casket, I didn’t visit them after they took
their last breath. My eyes stung with exhaustion. “I need you to help me write
it.”
“Wait...” She visibly paled. “What
did you say?”
“Write.” I nodded encouragingly, my
anger surging, breaking through all of my carefully constructed walls. Anger had
no place in my business, in my life, and anger toward her, did nothing but put
her in danger. “You know, words on a paper, you put them down, I say them.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“Maya…” I tsked. “I am what I am.”
“Put that in your speech.”
“Maya.” I grit my teeth together to
keep myself from snapping at her. “I need a speech, something…encouraging,
inspirational, happy.”
Maya pulled out her laptop and opened
it up. “Inspirational…I can do inspirational. When was the last time I was
inspired…?” Her cheeks bloomed red.
“What was that?” I breathed, my eyes
lowering to the expanse of cleavage, it was a welcome distraction from my
morose and jumbled thoughts. “Didn’t catch what you just said.”
“I, uh, didn’t say anything.” She
nervously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, her cheeks pinkening even
further.
“Your mouth didn’t…your face did.”
“Let’s not talk about my mouth…”
“Why?” I leaned in. “Does it inspire
you too much?”
“Ass!” she hissed.
“I think you’re on to something…” I
chuckled, bracing my hands on the armrests. Six inches, and our mouths would
touch. I wasn’t just toying with breaking the contract, I was ripping it up,
burning it. Just as our mouths were about to touch, I paused, lingering where
our breaths mingled, hers warm on my lips, mine ragged and needy. I was right
about one thing; she would be a welcome distraction, one that wouldn’t allow me
to feel sad, or bothered by the fact that I was flying to a friend’s funeral.
And that history, if I wasn’t careful
could repeat itself.
She moved, dislodging her water
bottle. It landed with a soft thump on the floor.
I reared back and stared at it.
What the hell was I doing?
And as luck would have it, the water
droplets had cascaded against my left hand, my tattoo—the mark of the sickle,
the mark that would tell anyone who knew anything about the darker side of
life.
What I did.
Who I worked for.
What I was capable of.
What I would do—to protect not just
my own identity but those closest to me.
My phone rang.
I reached down to silence it—ready to
silence it, when I noted the number. Cringing, I answered it with a smooth
hello.
“You know I have eyes everywhere.”
“Good afternoon to you, too.”
Maya pretended not to eavesdrop.
The last thing she needed to know was
that I was talking to her father—correction, receiving another threat.
This one not so baseless as the rest.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I
said, waiting for his response.
“She’s been touched.”
I rolled my eyes. “You sure about
that?”
The line crackled.
“She flushes when you’re near.”
“Most women do.”
“Cocky son of a bitch.” He chuckled.
“Remember the terms of our agreement, Nikolai, I scratch your back, you scratch
mine. She means nothing to me. You are the one who has everything
to lose. You’ve developed a god complex, but I know all your secrets. It would
take nothing for me to destroy you. You signed in blood. And it will be your
blood that is spilled if you go back on your promise.”
My nostrils flared, heat surged
through my body as I watched Maya happily pull out a magazine and cross her legs.
Damn it, he was right. What the hell was I doing?
My lack of self control would end up
getting her killed.
I knew that just as much as he did.
I was stuck.
And he knew it. Part of me wondered
if he was aware that I’d developed a conscience—then again, I’d stopped working
directly with him long ago, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t still owned.
“We’ll be in touch.” The phone went
dead.
Damn Russian mafia.
And damn me for being one of the
best. I didn’t get the nickname The Doctor because I had a good bedside manner.
And I wondered, as I tried not to
stare too hard at Maya while she read through her magazine, would she still be
alive if I hadn’t have taken the job that changed everything?
Had I damn her, then?
Had I truly saved her?
I let out a low growl of frustration;
clenching my phone in my hand, ready to break it in half. I wanted so
desperately to protect her from Andi’s fate, but would it be better that she
died?
My body tensed.
Would I be extending her mercy, by
snuffing out her life?
Maya frowned down at the magazine,
her eyebrows furrowed as the plane rose to altitude.
I didn’t shake, didn’t so much as
tremble. I was a doctor, after all, and whenever I made a decision of life and
death, I was calm. Humanity didn’t slip through. I didn’t have a come –to-Jesus
moment, where I wondered if what I was doing would sentence me to the darkest
depths of hell.
It was…clarity.
The only way I could explain it.
“Something else to drink?” I asked
Maya while she popped her knuckles again. Shit, twice in a few minutes? Was
there something about the plane? Or my conversation?
“Wine.” She said quickly. “If you
have it.”
I nodded, already walking to the bar.
I glanced to my left to make sure she wasn’t watching me, then reached into the
cupboard and pulled out a syringe of sodium pentothal. It wouldn’t harm her. If
anything, it would relax her more, make it so that I would be able to hold a
conversation with her…without her remembering a damn thing, though the dosage
needed to be precise. The last thing I needed was for her to end up
unconscious.
“What time is it?” I asked while I
poured the wine, keeping the small syringe in my right hand.
“Oh.” Maya yawned then glanced at her
watch. “It’s nearing four in the afternoon, why?”
“Just thinking about our dinner
plans,” I lied. Two and a half hours since she’d last eaten. I mentally went
over her stats, weight one-forty, height five seven. She’d need a half dose at
the most.
Clearing my throat, I turned, sliding
the syringe into the top of my sleeve and bringing over the two glasses of
wine; hers was more full.
“Wow, generous in all areas aren’t
you, Nikolai?” Maya eyed the wine glass and took a long sip.
“Drink it all,” I instructed with a
half smile. “Doctor’s orders.”
“All of it?” She laughed lifting the
glass into the air. “This is at least two glasses.”
“At least half,” I said in a more
gentle tone. “You seem stressed, and I know…I’m not the easiest to travel
with.”
Maya blinked then took another sip of
wine. “No, you think?”
“It’s a…” I coughed into my hand
letting the syringe slip out to the tips of my fingers. “It’s not you. It’s
me.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, setting her
wine down on the arm rest.
“Nope.” I offered a encouraging
smile. “A few more sips, trust me, you’ll feel so much better.”
Maya rolled her eyes but drank
deeply.
The alcohol would work beautifully
with the sodium pentothal. Truth serums, didn’t necessarily work by themselves,
they were used in conjunction with other tools and drugs, allowing the human
mind to be open to suggestion.
But no human mind or body was the
same, meaning, the outcome was always different.
If Maya had any sort of…secret she
was keeping close, something she wanted to tell me, but couldn’t or refused to,
it would most likely come out at some point in the next half hour.
If she were harboring memories, dark
ones, ones that scared her, and I offered her a caring ear, she’d jump at it.
And I’d know.
If she was getting triggered and how.
It sounded sick.
But it was of the utmost importance
that she be kept in the dark, especially since her father clearly was still
keeping eyes on her.
I told myself that as she drank more
wine.
If you need more after this. Here is the link to the book trailer: https://vimeo.com/141860787?ref=fb-share
Amazing right? You can buy RIP here:
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