Syndicate of Sins (Toxic Paradise, #2)

by Marie Maravilla

I bit the fucking hand because it never bothered to feed me, and I’d cannibalize that fucker before ever going hungry again.

Pain and suffering—the building blocks of my being.

There was something incredibly demoralizing about being capable of killing a person over a hundred different ways but still bowing your head like an obedient bitch to your deranged uncle.

The Italian Mafia, the Irish Mob, the Russian Bratva, and the Japanese Yakuza all operating in beautiful harmony? Fucking bullshit.

It physically pained me to sit there in submission, but after enough broken bones, I’d learned my lesson.

I was a fucked-up version of Cinderella. One who’d never known the love of her father and didn’t get rescued by a fairy godmother or Prince Charming. And if Prince Charming showed up now, I would probably eat him.

Subconsciously I wanted to run or curl up in the fetal position. Then there was the hussy in me who wanted to ask if he would speak directly into my pussy with that luscious rumble.

She had to be unhinged. The beautiful ones usually were because I was pretty sure she was about to say she was on her way to fuck my mom.

I’d never denied the fact that I was a sick fuck. But Miss Scarletta seemed to be her own version of fucked-up, if her blown-out pupils and the way her chest rose and fell were anything to go by. Ten out of ten chance that her underwear was soaked.

DID HE MOAN WHEN I STABBED HIM?

“I’ve never had a woman use talk of murder as foreplay, but I like it,” he said, his tongue swiping across his lips. “Then you haven’t had a real woman,”

“You better have some food in this fucking place because not only did you roofie me and then tie me to a chair, but the worst part was that you didn’t let me eat the lobster ravioli.”

Caleb and Scar did not get along because they were exactly alike. Full of fire and fight, unwilling to kneel to the other.

Fuck, this man felt like danger and poor decisions.

No, I didn’t want to disappear. I wanted to seat myself atop his thrown like a blasphemous goddess and make him watch as every man he commanded bowed at my feet.

You can call me your dirty slut and shove your cock down my throat and still cook for me and tuck me into bed, Niko,”

Caleb had no problem with either of us fucking his new wife. Well, those weren’t his exact words. But I was taking the fact that he hadn’t said, Don’t fuck my wife, after watching me lick the blood off her thigh and letting Kenji unzip her dress and see her tits as a green light.

“All you fucking assholes love to make me bleed,” she said against me, grinding her clit into my lower abs. “But how about one of you make me fucking come?”

What did it say about me that I wanted to set a man’s balls on fire for smiling at me, but then put a man’s balls in my mouth for kidnapping me?

AM I INTO THIS? SHIT, I THINK I AM

“If you flirt with my husband again, I’ll rip out your tongue,” I’d said to Mikayla when she continued to “accidentally” touch his arm. “She means that literally,” Caleb had added on, looking at me with something that looked an awful lot like pride. “And if you don’t push off their advances, I’ll cut off your balls.” He’d smiled at that.

There were no words exchanged, just our combined labored breaths. Of course, since we were both fucked in the head, we had massive grins on our faces as we attempted to beat the shit out of one another.

THREESOME…THAT’S THE TITLE

I didn’t for a fucking second think that she was actually being compliant. Sitting up in our tower like a good little prisoner? No, that woman was plotting.

“I’m not rude. You’re upset that you weren’t able to assert dominance over me. But just because I don’t have a dick doesn’t mean I’ll get on my knees to suck yours.” I leaned forward, digging the gun barrel deeper so it’d leave an imprint. “I owe you nothing. Not my name. Not my attention. And sure as fuck not my politeness,”

Men like him preyed on women who’d been told “don’t be a bitch.” That term had been used to shrink women for so long that some still believed the lie. Be a bitch. Eat the ones who want to prey on you.

“Where’s your shirt?” The question was out before I could think better of it. “Excuse me?” She narrowed her gaze on me. “Kenji, you walk around with a fucking katana and your chest spattered with blood, and I don’t say shit. If I want to walk around with my tits and ass out, I can.”

There’d always been an easy banter with Kenji. He drew out my daredevil side.

“Too bad we’ve got places to be. So put the helmet on and plaster that pussy to the back of my ass cheeks.”

He loved the violence, the same way I did. Seeing him bloodthirsty was turning me on, which was wildly inappropriate for his corner man.

“Hit me like you mean it, Kenji. Where’s the man who had the balls slice my skin and then lap it up?”

“You know,” I called out as I backed into my corner, “I’m pretty sure they have videos like this where the winner fucks the loser in the ring after,” I said, bouncing on my toes. A cheeky grin appeared on his face. “You want me to fuck you here in front of everyone, Scar?” “Bold of you to assume it’s not going to be me who fucks you,”

“I’m the new Mrs. Caleb Callahan,” she said, tilting her head in a move that felt predatory. The fight club owner barked out a laugh. “Does he still have a dick?”

GRAY SWEATPANTS AND DICKPRINTS ARE TO WOMEN WHAT TITS ARE TO MEN

“Fuck me hard enough that it’s your name I yell out. I have a few to choose from.”

She could put any fucking man in his place. He’d probably thank her for stepping on his throat. I would.

“You’re my fucking husband. I own you.”

Caleb had selected the seat directly across from me so he could stare into my soul like he was trying to consume me from the inside out.

BROTHER-HUSBANDS…LIKE SISTER-WIVES BUT WITH DICKS