K.L. Donn's Blog, page 2

Carver Prologue

Meadow

Sister?

Drug addict?

Abandonment?

How do I correlate those words with the man who has raised me the past ten years? I don’t… I don’t know what to do with this.

We had a good life. A great one.

Now, suddenly, it’s gone.

Everything we had, were going to have. All gone.

I knew where I was heading with my life until he walked in the door. Until his eyes zeroed in on me like laser beams. Not once straying anywhere but on me.

He watched my reactions. My heartbreak. All the sorrow that crossed every feature on my face, each tear track down my cheek.

Carver saw my misery.

He watched my world crumble as past lies surfaced like a tsunami, sucking the life from our house. Ruining our dreams for the future.

Carver…

Carver…

Carver…

Like an addiction, he’s everywhere I turn.

* * *

Carver

One hour.

Sixty minutes.

Three thousand, six hundred seconds.

Small inconsequential numbers. They mean nothing. They are nothing.

To the average man.

I’m not your average man. I’m a killer. A righter of many wrongs. On a good day, I’m your judge, jury, and executioner. On a bad day, I’m your worst nightmare. I’ll make you wish for death while praying for the devil. Nothing scares me.

Not a fucking thing.

Except for the last hour.

Meadow…

Sweet, innocent, perfect Meadow. She’s mine. Has been for almost a year. King told me to back off. He swore when she was ready, I would have her. She would be Meadow-mine. She would be the one and only thing in this world to belong to me, and no one would take her. Hurt her.

McCray should have been dead. He was left for it. His carcass should be rotting in the wilds of Alaska.

But he’s not.

He’s like an annoying rash that won’t fucking go away.

And right now, he has minutes to live because when I’m through with him, he’ll wish he’d let the wolves tear apart his dying body.

When I’m done with him, he’ll pray for the end, but I won’t give it.

At least, not peacefully.

Atticus Prologue

Catalina

Summer, winter.

Light, dark.

Warm, cold.

Rain, snow.

That was my life. My truths.

Until they weren’t.

Until he came and ruined everything.

I had a good life. A happy life.

Atticus is hell. And he isn’t.

He is a river that doesn’t run dry but goes deep.

Truth is only a word. Deception is a game. And with him, I find out I knew nothing of what I thought.

He brings destruction and chaos.

He makes love and light.

By the end, we’ll both be destroyed by secrets and lies.

Castiel Prologue

Talia

You’ll get through this.

You can make it.

You must be obedient.

He’ll come for you.

Four stupid lies I keep telling myself.

Four lies I’m trying to believe.

Four lies that are going to kill me.

One day when I’m free…when I’m whole…I’ll obliterate every single one of them and make my own truths. I won’t allow this family to destroy me the way I watched it turn family against family. Friends into enemies.

I will rise above.

I will get out.

One day…I’ll fly free as a bird.

Luther Prologue

Ariel

Death.

I watched for years as death was delivered day after day to more men and women than I could count at my young age. I sat mutely as my father killed to get what he wanted.

I tried to protest as he murdered family after family to sell their children into slavery. My cries went ignored as much as theirs.

Destruction.

I was raised in it like others were born to have play dates and go to nice schools with caring families. I watched from the sidelines as other kids ran to their loving parents, went to birthday parties, and joined soccer teams.

While I had to keep track of how many little girls an Arabian prince wanted to buy, or what type of boys a Chinese CEO wanted delivered. Why a Russian diplomat needed another shipment of babies?

I minded the books, took the payments, and organized deliveries.

I was every bit as culpable as they were.

Death.

That is my fate.

Destruction.

That will be my revenge.

King Prologue

Lilith

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

I can feel my life bleeding away as I stick the needle full of cocaine into my arm. The freeing sensation is euphoric. For one split second, I perceive nothing and everything all at once.

It all falls away. The pain. The hurt. The suffering.

It’s all gone.

I’m no longer Lilith Riley, abandoned child to the foster system, forced to give my new ‘daddy’ blowjobs.

I’m nothing.

I’m free.

Until I’m not.

I’m a junkie. A user. You give, and I take. I don’t care about anything but my next score. You’re no one until I need you.

I’ll tell as many lies as I have to in order to get what I want.

That’s what life is anyway, isn’t it?

A great big lie.

Right?

Unchained Excerpt

The first meeting.

On the cusp of becoming a woman in the eyes of their Lord, Sage Marlowe had questions no one seemed inclined to answer. Her mother, Alma, had finally granted her wish to accompany her on a trip into Loveland, Colorado to replenish supplies and have work done on the engine of her station wagon. It had been making funny noises for weeks. It also happened to be the first time Sage had left their compound. She was homeschooled like so many other children in the congregation and had never been allowed to venture out.

There were nearly three hundred members that lived in their small village. All of whom followed the Lord’s will and the word of the bishop, her father, Gideon. Lately, he’d been preaching about temptation and sin; how they must always fight from giving in.

Hell’s disciples would come for them in their sleep if they failed.

What he didn’t know was that her oldest brother, Porter, had been sneaking around with another parishioner. A married woman in an unholy union.

Sage caught them naked in the pond one night when she was sent to repent after disobeying her mother and not helping in the gardens. Instead, she chose to tell stories to some of the younger children about fairies and princesses.

During that incident, her father had grown so volatile that she feared him for the first time in her life. She began to question everything after that. What purpose did she serve on earth if she couldn’t have the freedom to tell a simple story? How was she to follow his rule?

Nearly a week had gone by before the bruising faded and Sage was introduced to a newly widowed member whose wife had passed from an unexplained illness. Morgan was a nice enough man, but he was older than her barely seventeen years, closing in on forty now.

She had a feeling her father intended for her to marry this person no matter that Sage wasn’t ready for it. She wanted to explore the world, fall in love, find out who she really was.

As her mother parked in the lot of what she’d described to Sage as a mechanic’s shop, she noticed a man. He immediately caught her eye because of the way he was wiping his face with the edge of his shirt. The skin of his stomach and chest was accentuated with muscles of the likes she’d never seen on a man before.

When he lowered the material again, his gaze pierced her own, snaring her in a trap only Medusa could extract herself from. He looked shocked as she watched him cover himself up. When she stepped out of the car after her mother, he left, and she found herself disappointed she wouldn’t be able to speak to him.

One Choice Prologue

Cracking knuckles.

Flesh hitting flesh.

Left hook, right hook. Jab.

The power behind each hit reverberated through Levi Hogan’s arms and directly to his heart, inflaming his need to inflict more pain on his opponent. The crowd’s cheering only spurred him on to swing faster, kick higher, cause more damage. The adrenaline rush flowing through his veins was unlike any drug some of the other fighters took before stepping into the ring. Levi got off on the pain. His pain, other’s pain. He needed it. Craved it.

A swift uppercut to his rival’s jaw ended the match as he felt the other man’s jaw crack in an unnatural way. Levi watched in fascination as he fell to the mat in slow motion. Blood dribbled from his nose, lip, and multiple open cuts along his cheek and jaw, pooling in a puddle below his unconscious face.

People were on their feet cheering for him, the underdog, the guy slated to lose. The bell rang, and the announcer hollered and cheered him on as the winner. Money exchanged hands. Dirty looks were given. Desperation was palpable in the air for those hoping he’d take the loss.

“Levi “Knuckles” Hogan, not a fucking scratch on him. The underdog, the motherfucking champ!” The announcer acted more excited than he was. “Hand over the money, pay your debts, and come back next week to see him fight another loser!”

Walking out of the home-made ring, Levi ignored the whores trying to get his attention and the fans wanting an autograph. He had to get out. Having no reason to keep up appearances since he fought in an underground ring, he had zero desire to make other people happy. All he wanted to do was fight. Inflicting pain was the only thing important to him. Being his first fight and win, he knew he was going to now have a reputation to uphold. Which meant harder training, more time, and letting his girlfriend go.

Christina had gotten clingier the longer their relationship went on. He hadn’t wanted anything serious when they first met, but the more they spent time together, the more he thought they could be. Until she met Soph. Her real colors showed through then.

Now, he wanted to start fresh, to move forward doing what he loved without the confines of a woman holding him down.

At least…

Not the right woman.

One Chance Prologue

“Sophia!” She had heard her mother before she saw her. A quick look around assured Sophia Bennett that her room was tidy, the bed was made, and she hadn’t recalled leaving anything out when she’d arrived home from school.

Footsteps in the hall announced her mother’s arrival. Standing quickly—shoulders back, and her back straight—she waited for the berating to begin.

“Did you hear me?” her mother, Rebecca—never Becky or Becca—Bennett demanded as she flung the door open.

“Yes, Ma’am,” was the only reply she knew would be acceptable.

“Well?” The tapping of her foot on the hardwood floor could be heard. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

Sophia’s brain blanked…

One would think they could just say, I heard you coming, but she knew that wasn’t an appropriate answer for her mother.

So she stood there…

No words forthcoming, no immediate answer could be given.

“You can’t be that ignorant, Sophia.” The censure in her voice made Soph feel lower than dirt.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” she whispered.

“I don’t want your apologies; I want to be sure you’re going to be ready for tonight. By your appearance now, I can tell that’s obviously a no.” Disgust crawled across her mother’s botoxed face.

“I will be,” she promised. It was the only time she would get to see her great Aunt Millie. She was the sweetest old woman Sophia had ever known. Always had a funny story to tell and little candies in her over-sized purse for her. It was but once a year now that she actually got to see her.

Aunt Millie had fallen ill two years ago, and travel was hard on her aging body, so Sophia’s mother didn’t let her come across the country from New Jersey to visit them.

Her father was head of security for one of the largest criminal law firms on the west coast. The attorneys he kept safe were made targets by their clients, so he assured all meetings went smoothly.

Last summer, one of the lawyers lost a case for some drug dealer—she didn’t recall the charges—but the defendant’s gang retaliated and wound up paralyzing the man. It brought home how dangerous her father’s job was.

He was a good man and treated Sophia like a princess, as if she were his whole world. She sometimes wondered if that was why her mother hated her so much. They didn’t sleep in the same room anymore, and she couldn’t remember the last time they did. And when he was home, they barely said two words to each other.

Snapping fingers in her face ended her internal analyzation of why she was so hated. “Earth to Sophia! Did you hear me?”

She hadn’t. It was easy enough to figure out what she had been asked, though. All her mother cared about was appearances.

“I have a dress picked out,” Sophia said as she moved to her walk-in closet, grabbing the light green chiffon dress that would match her eyes. It wasn’t too revealing and swished with her body when she walked.

“You’re kidding me? Don’t be stupid, Sophia. You can’t wear the same color as me.”

One simple phrase.

Four meaningless words.

Her brain shut down.

Her body vibrated with pain.

Don’t be stupid, Sophia.

You’re so stupid.

Why do I have to have such a stupid child?

They’re just words, breathe.

Sticks and stones, Soph.

So why did she feel like her heart was being ripped from her chest?

Cowboy Bodyguard Prologue

Prologue

Monroe

Los Angeles, California — Four Years Ago.

“I’m tired of doing this, Mom,” I whisper to my mother, Helen, as she covers my overly made-up hair with more hair spray then should be legal.

“Tough. You almost won the last pageant. It’s time you start taking these titles home consistently instead of every other show. A lot is riding on these winnings, Marilyn.” I try to hide my sigh but fail. “Enough of that.” She tugs a loose curl, and I cringe as my head smarts. “What else are you going to do with your life? Huh? You’re not good at anything of value. At least, this will help you marry rich.”

My heart cramps at her hurtful words, but like always, I push the feelings to the back of my mind and stop speaking. It’s my sixteenth birthday. The last thing I want, today of all days, is to be so harshly criticized.

I should be giggling with my girlfriends.

Telling stories of my first love.

Opening presents and scarfing down cake.

Staring around the room, I look on at each of the other girls here and see nothing but competition and jealousy. I wouldn’t trust these girls with my makeup brushes, let alone my secrets. But it’s Mom's dream for me to become Miss America, Miss Universe, Miss…everything.

I’ve been painting my face with makeup and ratting out my hair for longer than I can remember. It’s all I’ve ever known. We travel the country, jumping from pageant to pageant, winning big prizes to get us to the next show and smaller accolades where I’m criticized with all my failings until it’s time to smile again.

I’m a real-life Barbie, and sometimes, I wish I was brave enough to run away.

“Alright, Marilyn Monroe Kingsley, you smile and express happiness in those eyes because if you lose tonight, so help me, I’ll work you until you drop.”

Ballet is my talent.

Prancing and spinning until my head spins.

Clean lines and soft drops are what gain me first place.

Sometimes, I screw up on purpose, other times, I’m too tired to be perfect.

From the look in Mom's eyes, perfection is the word of the evening.

I have to win.

I want to quit.

His Solace Excerpt

“What’s your name?” I finally ask.

Pulling open the gate, I pause at the opening. I’ve never left the church grounds before. “Pace Cardarelli.” As I feel his hand on my back, shoving me through the entrance, I spot a cardinal on his chest, the only covering with color. Reaching up, I don’t think about what I’m doing as I trace the beautiful bird. Studious and strong just like him.

“Pace.” He stiffens when I say that, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m touching him or said his name.

“Keep walking.” Our pace quickens, and as I glance behind us, I see Father Cassio and Albert on the sidewalk watching us. The priest is on his phone, and I get a knot in my stomach when I hear tires screeching as a vehicle comes racing down the road behind us. “On here.” Pace lifts me up, sitting me on the front of a motorbike facing him. Before I can ask what to do, he’s got my legs wrapped around his waist and my arms around his chest. “Don’t let go.”

My grip tightens as he starts the bike—the rumble of the engine loud in my ears—and speeds off before anyone can catch up to us. Closing my eyes as he weaves in and out of traffic, up and down streets at an alarming rate, my nails dig into the flesh of his muscled back and my thighs squeeze tighter on his hips.

When we finally come to a stop in a secluded area, my heart is beating out of my chest. Without a word, Pace lifts me with him as he gets off the death trap vehicle. He adjusts his hold so his hands are on my bare bottom, and my eyes pop open and my heart races for an entirely new reason. One I’m not sure I understand.

“What’s happening?” I ask as we enter a stairwell, and he takes the steps three at a time. “You’re very strong.” I don’t know why I say that; it just pops out.

“Cassio will be sending out a couple of purely diabolical guys to find us—though, they won’t—but before they even begin their hunt, I’ll be going back with my list of names and taking them all out.” The explanation is cold.

“You mean kill them?” He nods once. “Not Daia.” I lean back in his hold to look him in the eye. “She’s the only friend I’ve ever had.”

“She’s not on my list.”

“Or Maura. She’s misguided and afraid but not a terrible person.” Even though she got me in trouble aplenty.

“She’s on my list.”

“But she didn’t do anything,” I try to argue.

“She broke a child’s neck by shaking him because he wouldn’t stop crying. Shook several more children. They had to stop leaving them in her care.” I feel sick again.

“Oh.” Leaning my chin on his shoulder as we reach another floor and he opens the door, I realize we’re in a hotel. “How will you know it’s Daia? Anyone could say they’re her if you ask their names.”

“I have pictures of everyone on my list.” I feel him reach into his pocket for something, and the next thing I know, another door opens and shuts behind us. Entering the large room, which is twice the size of my sleeping quarters, he puts me down. “Don’t move.” Standing in the middle of the space, he leaves to another room as I hear church bells ring in the distance.

Turning, I stare out the wide window and see a cathedral church. The grandiose bell tower captures my attention as I watch the bell sway back and forth as it rings, signaling the noon hour. Closing my eyes, church bells are the only thing I’ve come to enjoy about the Lord’s house over the last several years.

“Arms up.” Pace’s voice startles me into complying, and soon, I feel the shirt he put on me earlier, lifted off my body. Completely naked, I have no idea what to do with myself. Nobody but Father Cassio and the sisters have seen me nude before. Picking me up by the hips, he places me on a bench seat, pushing my upper body to lay flat as I straddle it. “Relax,” he grits out, and I do as he says.

When I feel him sit behind me, his thick thighs cradling mine—he’s still got his pants on—I feel relieved. Until he pulls me closer to his body, my backside nestled against his groin. My eyes widen as I bite my lip to prevent myself from saying anything that will embarrass us both. Although, I get the feeling he wouldn’t embarrass easily.

I hear him unzip something before silence commences. Being at his mercy has my body shaking. I thought him my savior, my solace, but now I’m questioning why I trusted him so easily. The things he said, threatened with, should have had me running not begging him to take me away.

“Nice and easy now,” is the only warning I have before feeling a cool dab on my back then stinging pain. I arch away from the sensation as he places a hand on my lower back, where his fingers graze across the top of my buttocks. “The cuts aren’t deep, but they need to be cleaned. They should heal in time.” He’s so calm, it’s maddening, when I feel like a wreck.

“You have other scars,” he states. The fingers of his free hand trace across some of the more pronounced ones.

“It’s not the first time I’ve had a lashing.” I shudder as I think of the other times. Far too many over the course of my childhood.

He’s quiet, contemplative, as he gently tends to the cuts on my back. “There never should have been a first.” Glancing back at him, I’m struck at the way he watches me. His eyes are hooded, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, and the muscles in his chest ripple with each breath. He looks constrained. A tick in his jaw and the way his pulse pounds in his neck makes me nervous.

Riveted to the way he moves, my eyes close when I feel the fingers of both hands glide across my shoulders and down my arms. It feels like we’re in a trance. A bubble that only encapsulates the two of us.

Is this attraction? Lust?