Brutal Prince (Brutal Birthright, #1)

by Sophie Lark

Part of me wants to disobey him. The other part wants to see what will happen if I play along.

I never knew why people had chauffeurs, and now I realize it’s one hundred percent for this reason—so you can turn a boring commute into the best part of your day. Someday, when we all have robot cars, you’ll look into the other windows and that’s what you’ll see—everybody banging.

There’s so much tension between us that it gives relief to the aggression. It gives us somewhere to channel it.

I’ve never had a relationship quite like this. There were always people I hated, and people I liked, and those two categories were polar opposites. My boyfriends always fell in the “sweet and fun” category, not the “drive me fucking insane” one.

somehow that makes my attraction to him ten times stronger. He captures all my emotions: resentment. Jealousy. Rebelliousness. Desire. Temper. Curiosity. Playfulness. And even respect. He bundles it all together in one package. The...

She really does have the most stunning hair I’ve ever seen. Thick, wavy, deeply hued. I think she dislikes how vivid it looks. How much attention it steals.

this is the first time we’ve ever held hands. He’s not doing it for show because we’re at an event. And he’s not grabbing me to pull me close. He’s holding my hand because he wants to.

Our relationship has proceeded in such a funny, backward way. Marriage first. Then sex. Then getting to know each other. And finally . . . whatever this is. A feeling of warmth and desire and affection and connection spreads through my chest, a feeling that grows stronger by the moment, especially when I glance over at the man sitting next to me. I can’t believe it. I think I’m falling in love.

It’s a scene I’ve been working toward for months. And yet, I find myself tuning out of the conversation because I want to look at Aida instead.

I’ve come to respect Aida, and like her, too. I like the effect she has on me. She makes me more reckless, but also more focused. Before I met her, I was going through the motions. Doing what I was supposed to without really caring. Now I want to achieve all the same things, but I want it so much more. Because I want to do it with Aida by my side, bringing life to the whole enterprise.

I’m burning with jealousy.

I have to know, once and for all, if Aida’s heart belongs to someone else, or if it might be available. Maybe even for me.

My relationship with my father is based off of work. All our conversations center around the family business. Problems we need to fix, deals we need to make, ways we can expand. We don’t talk about personal things. Emotions. Feelings. Still, I need advice.

Aida always rolls with the punches. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. And that doesn’t mean it will be easy to win her over. She’s a tough nut. What will it take to truly crack her open, to find that vulnerable core inside?

She showed me that I could rely on her, no matter what. And that’s what bonded us. That’s when I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. Because I could count on one person, at least.” Trust as the essence of love.

Any gangster knows that your friends can put a bullet in your back just as easily as your enemies—even easier, in fact.

Trust is rarer than love. It’s putting your fate, your happiness, your life in someone’s hands. Hoping they keep it safe.

I know what the evidence looks like, but I just don’t believe it. I don’t think she’s cheating on me. I think she’s in trouble.

But I know right now, if I find Aida, I’m not waiting a moment for anybody else. I’m going to go in and get my wife back.

He said it was the only time he got to see his parents for more than ten minutes in a row. Which is sad, but not sad enough to make me forget the kidnapping part.

it still gives me a sick feeling, knowing that I was a little dot on a screen, always under his eye.

A perverse giggle bursts out of me, as I realize that I’ve been shoved in a trunk twice this week. A new record, over the zero times it had happened in my entire life before this.

“I knew this would happen,” he says. “I knew he wouldn’t be able to take care of you.” I scowl, stomping through the sand. I never wanted anybody to “take care” of me.

Oliver wanted a chivalrous game. I wanted a challenge.

He was always calling me “princess” and “angel.” And I always thought, “Who in the fuck are you talking about? Because that sure ain’t me.”

Oliver doesn’t give a damn how much damage he’s doing. Knowing how he feels about this house, that can’t be a good thing.

I really think he’s losing it. When I knew Oliver before, he seemed like a nice enough guy. Sometimes a little shallow. Sometimes a little clingy. But mostly normal, with only little swings into oddness. Now, it’s the opposite—he seems to be dangling on the precipice of madness, only hanging on by a thread. But I’m not sure what that thread is—is it this house? Is it his affection for me? Or is it just the appearance of calm—fragile, and easily shattered?

I guess I never paid that much attention to him. I was looking for fun; he was just along for the ride. Now that I’m really looking into his eyes, I don’t like what I see there: need. Resentment. And a little madness.

He backhands me across the face, knocking me to the floor. It’s like being swiped by a bear paw. There’s so much force behind it that my whole body goes limp, and I barely catch myself before I hit the floor.

you think you can just give somebody something and let them have it and use it and believe it’s theirs forever. Then you rip it out of their hands again, just because you feel like it. Well, that’s not happening.”

“I can’t make you be mine. But I can stop you from belonging to anyone else.”

“She belonged to me first, and she’ll belong to me last,” he growls. “She was never yours!” I shout.

She’s got to be up here. Because if she’s anywhere else in the house, she’s already dead.

there’s a figure laying in the middle of the floor, hands tied in front of her, feet bound with rope, head propped up on a pillow. Nice. I’m glad he made sure she was comfy before he tried to burn her alive.

Really, I just want her out of here. Because the fire is raging beneath us, and I have a feeling I’m about to plunge down to hell.

“I love you, Aida,” I say. “Don’t you fucking dare!” she yells back at me. “You grab my arm, or I’ll jump in after you!” With anyone else, it would be an idle threat. Aida is the only person I know who’s stubborn enough to actually do it.

I kiss her like I’ll never let her go. Because I won’t. Not ever.

“What a fucking trip!” I shout, my heart still galloping like a racehorse. “Did you know Ollie was that crazy? I thought he was just normal crazy, like ‘I don’t want my food to touch,’ or ‘talking to yourself in the shower’ crazy, not like full-out Shining.”

Improbably, he’s grinning almost as much as I am. Could my uptight husband actually be starting to enjoy our adventures?

“I can’t believe I found you,”

He looks over at me, his blue eyes brilliant against his smoky skin. I don’t know how I ever thought his eyes were cold. They’re fucking beautiful. The most stunning eyes I’ve ever seen. Even more striking is the fact that he understood me, that he remembered our conversation. It almost means more to me than the fact that he came to rescue me.

“Well, shit,” I say, leaning back against my seat. This really was an eventful night.

“What hospital are you at?” I ask Nero. “We might need to join you.”

“I guess he’s not so bad when he’s on our side,” I say.

“Two hospital visits in one week,” he says, giving Cal and me a stern look through his horn-rimmed glasses. “I hope this isn’t becoming a hobby for you two.”

My heart feels heavy and warm in my chest. I love the idea of finding a place with Cal—not my house, or his, but one we chose together.

Cal scoops me up in his arms and carries me into the house, like a groom carrying the bride over the threshold. “Shouldn’t you save that for our new apartment?” I tease him. “I’m going to carry you everywhere like this,”

I’ve never seen a more flawless body. This man is perfect—perfect for me. I love the shape of him, his smell, the way his arms feel, wrapped around me.

It’s damn hard dealing with a cock this size. I’m developing a new respect for porn stars. How on earth do they get the whole thing in there, all the way down to the base? I’d have to be a bloody sword-swallower.

I really could do this all night. There’s nothing more intimate and trusting than having the most vulnerable part of yourself in the other person’s mouth. I’ve never wanted to make someone feel good more than I do right now, in this moment.