WRECKED

A DARK COLLEGE REVERSE

HAREM
ROYALS OF BLACKBRIAR
BOOK 1

EVE NEWTON
Copyright © 2024 by Eve Newton
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 To all of us who pant at the sick, twisted, addictive love that poisons our
veins and makes us go damp, who crave the danger and the darkness, and
who find beauty in the scars and shadows. This book is for those who thrive
on the edge, who embrace the chaos, and who aren't afraid to get their
hands dirty. For the hearts that beat with reckless abandon and the souls
that burn for the wild and untamed. Dive in, and let the darkness consume
you.
 CONTENTS

Author’s Note
1. Cian
2. Victoria
3. Cian
4. Luke
5. Victoria
6. Cian
7. Victoria
8. Cian
9. Gianluca
10. Luke
11. Victoria
12. Cian
13. Luke
14. Cian
15. Victoria
16. Luke
17. Victoria
18. Gianluca
19. Luke
20. Cian
21. Luke
22. Victoria
23. Luke
24. Victoria
25. Cian
26. Victoria
27. Victoria
28. Cian
29. Victoria
30. Victoria
31. Cian
32. Victoria
33. Victoria
34. Gianluca
35. Luke
36. Victoria
37. Cian
38. Luke
39. Victoria
Ruin Me Chapter 1
Also by Eve Newton
 AUTHOR’S NOTE

The Royals of BlackBriar are essentially villains. Cian, especially, is a

jealous, possessive touch her and you die character, and he is unapologetic
about it. Victoria is a badass who knows her worth, who holds her own and
puts him in his place. This is book 1 of 2. You will not find personal growth
in the first 31% of this book, or probably even 51% of this book, nor will
you come away with all your questions answered… that is what book 2 is
for :-)
A complete list of TWs for this book/series can be found exclusively on my
website. https://evenewton.com/royals-of-blackbriar or Scan the QR Code
below

Wrecked contains adult and graphic content, and reader discretion is

advised. It is a contemporary Reverse Harem Dark College-Age Romance.
All main characters are 21+.
Join my Facebook group for real-time updates on future reads:
https://facebook.com/groups/evenewton
 1

CIAN

“T OUCH HER , and you die. That’s rule number one.” The knife glides easily
into this cunt’s guts as he gurgles, his eyes wide as he stares at me. I shove
him harder up against the wall with the knife. “You won’t live to hear rule
number two.”
Victoria wraps her arm around my neck and licks my face, a salacious
marking as she laughs maliciously at the asshole who is about to die at our
feet.
“That’s it, baby,” she purrs. “Show him what an idiot he is to mess with
Cian Gannon.”
Narrowing my eyes, I turn to glare into Victoria’s baby blues. “Mess
with me?” I ask and let go of the knife, so the dude slumps to the floor of
the private room in the Student Union here on the BlackBriar University
campus—our elite clubhouse full of next-gen mafia kids. “Mess with you,
more like.”
She laughs again, her eyes wild with that driven brand of crazy that
makes my cock stiff. Grabbing her by the throat, I shove her up against the
wall next to where the soon-to-be-dead guy has slumped down.
She licks her lips as I tighten my grip on her neck, unzipping my pants
to drag my cock out. My hand goes up her short skirt, and I slide my finger
into her knickers, pulling them to the side to give me entry to that hot, sweet
pussy that drives me to the brink of destruction. Without another word, I
ram into her, hard and fast. She moans, an indistinct sound that mixes with
the heavy breathing and muffled groans from the guy bleeding out beside
us. It’s fucked up, the way this kind of chaos gets us off.
With every thrust, I’m more alive, more in control of this little world
we’ve created where fear and desire are tangled up so damn tight. Victoria’s
hands claw at my arm, nails digging in like she’s trying to get inside me, to
own me just as much as I own her.
Her leg wraps around my waist, urging me deeper, both of us spiralling
toward that edge where nothing else matters. She chokes as I increase the
pressure on her neck, and it makes me smile.
“Don’t use me as your fucking hitman again, Tory,” I murmur against
her lips before I snap my jaw, clamping my teeth around her bottom lip. She
pants heavier before I release her. “If you’re going to be a cock-tease and
you want a guy dead, do it yourself.”
“I don’t need you as my hitman, asshole,” she rasps. “I’ll get my own
hands dirty, but it fucking turns me on like a fucking light switch when you
kill.”
“Bitch,” I hiss as her pussy clutches my cock tightly, so fucking tight.
She is my addiction. My drug. I need her. I can’t fucking live without her.
Her eyes glint with that same fiery madness, matching the adrenaline
coursing through my veins. “You love it,” she spits back, her voice
strangled but full of venom and truth.
I pound into her harder because I can’t deny it—I do love it. This
twisted dance of death and lust that we’ve mastered is what binds us
together. It’s our fucked up kind of love, if you can even call it that.
Obsession.
Possession.
Compulsion.
Fucking delusion.
“You’re mine,” I growl, a declaration, a vow. She meets my eyes.
There’s no fear, no hesitation, just that same fucking madness that matches
mine. It’s a twisted kind of love, but it’s ours. “No fucker touches you but
me. Are we clear, Tory? You want to play these fucked up games, find
someone else to do your dirty work.”
I let go of her throat, and she gasps for air, gulping it down like it’s
sweet nectar. But there’s no hint of weakness in her—I wouldn’t stand for it
if there were. Victoria is every bit as dangerous and capable as I am. Her
cunt soaks my cock with her cum, and I dump my load into her with a
grunt, pulling out of her and snapping her knickers back into place so that
she can feel them damp against her bare pussy.
She shoves me away, a vicious look of triumph on her too-beautiful
face. She bends down, her hand clamping around Clyde, my wicked-ass
knife with the double serrated edges, and she twists it, finishing this asshole
off, who is starting to get on my fucking nerves with all his groaning.
“That’s a message to your asshole dad for trying to do dirty on mine,”
she snarls, and I roll my eyes, shaking my head.
Really?
This entire thing was about revenge. Gotta give it to my girl. She’s as
loyal as they come.
And I respect that. Loyalty in this fucked up world is rarer than a
goddamn unicorn. But it’s a double-edged sword, and the cuts run deep.
She stands up, steady as a rock, her eyes on the blade in her hand. She
wipes Clyde clean on the dead guy’s shirt, a twisted sort of caretaking that
sends another surge of lust through me. We’re a fucking mess, an
undeniable disaster waiting to implode, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather
be.
I finish zipping up and watch her move with lethal grace and raw edges.
There’s something chillingly beautiful about Victoria when she’s just dealt
death. It’s like she absorbs their life force, becoming more vibrant, more
foreboding.
Kneeling beside the body, I reach into his pocket and pull out his wallet
—nothing personal - just business. “Poor bastard never stood a chance,” I
mutter, tossing the wallet to Victoria.
She catches it effortlessly, a smirk on her lips. “No one does against us.”
I return the smirk as I straighten up, step over the corpse, and grab
Clyde from Victoria. As we head out the door of the private room, Luke
McIntyre, my right-hand man and Earl of Glenmorrow, looks up from
where he’s leaning against the wall.
“Clean up,” I mutter.
His green eyes linger on Victoria for a second too long, but she hasn’t
even noticed he’s there. It fires up my possessive streak, and I grab her hand
drawing her closer to me. Luke drops his gaze and strolls past me. He and
Gianluca will sort this clusterfuck out. I wasn’t planning on killing tonight.
I just wanted a few drinks, and my dick wet. I’m done with the first, not
with the second. Nowhere near done with her yet.
 “Come back to my place,” I murmur in her ear. It’s an order rather than
a request.
“Not tonight,” she says, pulling away from me as she does. It makes my
insides rage like an inferno. “Got an early morning meeting with Dad.”
She gives the excuse, but I can see it’s not just that. She is pissed with
me for calling her out as a cock-tease. It will have pissed her off. But I call
‘em like I see ‘em. Even with her. I don’t have the time or patience for
bullshit. BlackBriar University is my playground and my kingdom—and
I’ll be damned if I let any outside drama mess with the racket I’m dealing
here.
I watch her walk away, her hips swaying with a confidence that screams
power and danger. It’s a sight that leaves me with another fucking hard-on,
but I don’t stop her. Not yet. She needs to cool off, and so do I.
We’re both dancing with the devil, playing a dangerous game that will
inevitably end in flames. It’s only a matter of time before we are consumed
by the scorching heat, and our bodies are left charred and broken.
As I leave the Student Union behind me, heading out into the dark
night, I analyse Luke’s glance at Victoria. It’s a complication I don’t need—
not when Victoria and I are walking such a thin line between madness and
ecstasy.
There is only one way to deal with it. Shut it the fuck down before he
forces me to kill him for lusting after my girl.
 2

VICTORIA

I’ M FUMING as I stride away from Cian, my entire body humming with a

mixture of arousal and anger. His words keep replaying in my head,
branding themselves on my brain like a hot iron. Cock-tease. As if I don’t
have the right to use all the power I have to get what I want, and I wanted
that kill. I was prepared to do it myself, but Cian had to swoop in like a
fucking hero. His jealous streak wouldn’t allow him to do otherwise.
The air is cool outside as it is winter. Too fucking cold to be walking
around in a short denim skirt, lightweight jacket and heels, but fuck it. As
chilly as it is, it does nothing to quench the fire inside. The bastard knows
how to push my buttons, knows how to make me burn with desire and rage
at the same time. It’s infuriating that I love it so much, that I love him so
much.
“Fucker.” He is a Gannon through and through. They’re all like peas in
a fucking pod. Irish, tall, dark and way too handsome for his own fucking
good. Ruthless, charming, all the things that make my cunt wet. “Fucking
fucker.”
I ignore the glances from the few students still loitering around the
Union at this hour. They can sense something dangerous just passed by
them, and they’re not wrong. I feel lethal—like every step I take leaves
scorched earth behind.
I’ve shot myself in the foot, figuratively speaking, because I’m heading
home, which is on the other side of this vast campus. Cian’s is a stone’s
throw from the Union, his domain, just the way he likes it. But my
townhouse feels like a million miles away right now. I have a fifteen minute
walk in these heels and contemplate calling for a taxi, but that’s just fucking
dumb, and gives Cian exactly what he wants: an excuse to swoop in and be
the fucking hero. Again. No fucking way am I giving him that satisfaction
tonight.
So, I walk. The rhythm of my heels against the pavement soothes the
chaotic whirlwind that’s been on my mind since Dad called for this
meeting. We’re midway through the last year at BlackBriar, an elite
university where the kids of powerhouses in the mafia world stretch their
criminal wings, so whatever this is, it’s not good.
Halfway across campus, now deserted and dark, a prickle goes over the
back of my neck. Narrowing my eyes, I don’t stop. It’s just Cian being a
prick and following me to either scare me or make sure I get home. Not that
any idiot stupid enough to follow me to scare me is going to get what they
want. Not from me and not fucking tonight. So, I ignore him and keep
walking.
It feels like hours when I finally spot the townhouse looming in the
darkness. Striding up the path, digging in my jacket pocket for my keys, I
stop dead when I see the black box on the doormat. Pulling the thin stiletto
blade out of the holster at my back, I crouch down and glare at it. It’s the
size of a shoebox with one of those stick-on red rosette ribbons on it. Using
the tip of the knife, I gingerly lift the lid and then rear back.
“Oh, fuck no,” I growl as I scowl inside the box. It’s crawling with—
massive gag—maggots over withered-up roses, but the pièce de résistance
is a small rag doll with black woollen hair and a black cotton dress that has
been burned enough to disfigure.
Rolling my eyes, I pull out my phone and take a quick pic before I drop
the lid and shove it back into place with the top of the knife. This isn’t the
first threat I’ve had, and it won’t be the last. But I don’t do maggots.
Fuck off. No.
Rising, I take the pointed toe of my heel and kick it slowly down the
path until I reach the bordering hedge and slide it under there with my foot.
I’ll deal with it tomorrow, but I don’t want those little fuckers anywhere
near my front door while I’m asleep.
I shudder and walk back to the door, unlocking it and shoving it open,
checking the threshold for creepie-crawlies before I step inside.
 Giving it the all-clear, I shut the door and slide the bolt across. I leave
the lights off as I kick my shoes off to pad across the Italian tiled entrance
hall of this three-bedroom townhouse that my dad bought me when I was
first accepted into BlackBriar three years ago. I wanted to attend Castle
University, the quam optime of mafia elite universities, but Dad insisted on
BlackBriar. It’s where he went and ruled, and as his only child, so too shall
I.
I reach my bedroom on the second floor and close the door behind me. I
toss the phone and knife onto my bed, where it lands with a muffled thud on
the plush duvet.
The reflection staring back at me from the mirror across the room looks
worn out—eyes that have seen too much bullshit for one evening. Stripping
off my jacket, black tee and skirt, I let them fall to the floor, not caring
where they land.
Scooping my long black hair, I tie it up in a messy bun and then strip off
my black bra, letting my tits tumble free. They’re way too big for my liking.
Cian loves them, loves driving his cock between them, but the Double Ds
are not my best asset in my eyes.
But I can’t deny that when they grew, that’s when he stopped touching
me.
Gritting my teeth against the memories of a childhood best forgotten,
that I need to stay buried deep in my black soul, resurface in a moment of
weakness that I absolutely will not allow again anytime soon, I turn from
the mirror. After a quick shower, I crawl into bed, letting sleep, and the haze
of a couple of glasses of scotch drag me under.

I WAKE TO A BANGING ON THE FRONT DOOR , I GROAN AS IT ’ S TOO FUCKING

early. I know it is before I even pick up my phone from somewhere in the
covers to check.
“Ugh,” I spit out as I see ten missed calls and fifteen text messages. All
from Cian.
It doesn’t take a fucking genius to know it’s him at the door.
I push myself out of bed, feeling like shit warmed over. I grab the black
silk robe hanging off the bedpost and shrug it on, knotting the sash tight
across my waist. A yawn wrestles its way out as I trudge down the stairs,
each step making my head thud louder.
The pounding on the door doesn’t let up, and I know Cian won’t either.
He’s relentless when he wants something, and right now, that something is
obviously me.
I don’t even bother to check as I slide the bolt across and yank the door
open with enough force that I jar my fucking shoulder.
Cian stands there, his dark hair a mess and his dark blue eyes wild. He
leans one hand against the doorframe, his other balled in a fist that stops
mid-air when he sees me. Before he can say a word, I cut him off.
“What the actual fuck, Cian? It’s—“ I glance back at my phone, “—five
in the fucking morning.”
“Victoria,” he starts, but I’m not having any of it.
“No,” I press a finger to his chest. “You do not get to ‘Victoria’ me after
this shit.”
“Why didn’t you pick up?” he murmurs, the intensity in his gaze sends
that dark thrill skittering over my soul.
“I was asleep.”
“With who?” he growls.
Snorting, I shake my head. “Don’t be a jealous fuck or you can fuck
off.”
“Need you,” he murmurs, pushing his way into my house, forcing me to
step back or be mowed over. “You know how I get when you don’t answer
me.”
“Don’t give me that toxic bullshit. The way you get isn’t my fucking
problem,” I snarl, beyond pissed off with him right now.
He slams the door shut and grabs my upper arms, forcing me back to the
side table where I keep my keys. He lifts me up to sit on the table and
wedges himself between my thighs, already pulling his cock out.
“Mine,” he growls, and it’s not a fucking question. He’s staking his
claim, like he always does, his face inches from mine, eyes burning with
possessiveness. I can feel the hard head of his dick as he presses against me,
and fuck, I hate how my body responds to him.
“You don’t own me,” I spit back, even as my hands betray me and reach
for him. The silk of my robe parts, and he doesn’t miss a beat, his fingers
digging into my flesh, claiming every inch of me as if he has the right. It’s
infuriating and intoxicating all at once.
 Cian grunts in response, his mouth crashing down on mine in a bruising
kiss that tastes like desperation and need. There’s no tenderness, just raw
hunger. He grips my thighs, pushing down as he shoves his cock deep
inside me in one thrust.
All coherent thought is blasted away by the onslaught of sensation. His
movements are rough and urgent, driving into me with a force that borders
on pain but skirts the edge just enough to make it pleasure. It’s dark, and it’s
twisted – this thing we have – but in moments like this, I don’t want to
analyse it. I just want to feel it.
I rake my nails down the sides of his neck, making him grunt. His pace
is relentless as he pounds into me, each thrust harder and more brutal than
the last.
He stiffens and unloads into me before I’ve even got wet enough to soak
his cock.
“Nice,” I snap, pushing him away as he grins, that lazy fucking smile I
want to punch off his face. Or sit on. It’s a blurred line. Always with him.
“My fucking doll,” he murmurs, stashing his dick in his pants. “My
little cum dumpster.”
“Fuck you—” I slap his face so hard, his head snaps back. “Wait. What
did you say?”
He glares at me, bringing his hand up to his face. He is fucking furious
as I’ve split his lip, but I know with every cell in my body that he won’t
strike back. Not ever.
“Cum dumpster,” he spits out. “That’s all you fucking are.”
“Oh, fuck off, Cian,” I say, shaking my head and folding my arms. “The
first bit.”
He gives me a fierce frown. “My fucking doll?”
“Yeah, that bit. Was it you?”
“Was what me?”
Huffing, I pick up my phone where I dropped it and show him the
picture from last night.
His lip curls up. “No, but now I wish it was.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Not going to deny it,” he says with a smirk. “Someone sent this to
you?” He has gone protective now, the sudden shift in his mood that is as
erratic as mine. Maybe that’s why we work so well together. Well, that and I
don’t take any of his bullshit. “Where is it now?”
 “Under the hedge out front.”
He turns from me and opens the door, striding down the path as I stand
in the doorway with my thin satin robe fluttering around me in the breeze,
his cum coating the inside of my thighs. He crouches down and flips the lid
off the box, giving it a look of disgust.
The doll inside is a grotesque mockery, a pathetic attempt at a threat. It’s
fucking amateur hour. Whoever sent it, but the message is clear: I’m being
watched. It strikes me then that whoever I sensed following me last night
probably wasn’t Cian. He stands up, his jaw set in a hard line, and glances
back at me before his eyes scan the street like he’s going to catch the fucker
loitering with a latte.
He marches back to me, grabs my wrist, and hauls me inside. “You’re
cleaning up, and then we’re tracing this,” he orders.
“Can’t. Daddy time,” I remind him.
He nods slowly. “He coming here?”
I nod.
“Better get cleaned up then, princess. Unless you want to face him with
my cum dripping out of your pussy.” His smug smile pisses me off, but I
can’t help laughing at him either. “I’ll call Luke and Gianluca. No one fucks
with my girl.” He draws me in and kisses the top of my head, all sweetness
and protection. This is the Cian I would walk through fire for. Even when
he’s being a cock, I know this side of him exists. He’s as fucked up in the
head as I am, and we both know it about each other.
As Cian locks up the front door, I head to the bathroom, scrubbing off
the remnants of our rough encounter. When I’m done, I find clothes that
mean business: tight jeans and a black tank top—they make me feel in
control even when everything else is spiralling.
 3

CIAN

I’ M PACING the living room, phone pressed to my ear, as Victoria gets

herself together. The sight of that fucking doll has flipped a switch inside
me. It’s one thing to cross me, another entirely to threaten what’s mine—
and make no mistake, she is fucking mine.
The doorbell chimes, and I break off to glare at it. Striding over,
hanging up the phone, I yank it open to find myself face-to-face with
Victoria’s dad, Charles Stroud. It’s not hard to see where she got her looks
from as he glares down at me with those icy eyes. It pisses me off. I’m six
feet, so being looked down on is not something I’m used to. He gives me as
scathing a glare as I’m giving to him. There is no love lost between us.
“Gannon,” he sneers. “Why do I always find you here at odd hours?”
Giving as much sneer back as possible, I reply, “Maybe because you
always show up at odd hours.”
He snorts, I want to say with humour, but I know Charles better than
that. I wouldn’t say he hates me, but, yeah, he hates me. I don’t think it’s
personal, our families get along fine—as fine goes in the mafia world—but
it is all down to me dating his daughter.
Dating.
Fucking obsessed, one hundred per cent in love with her.
Whatever.
He shoves past me and enters the house, adjusting the cuffs on his black
Hugo Boss suit. It’s like a fucking uniform for these bosses. My dad is the
same. I shut the door and lean against it, watching him as he pauses in the
entrance hall and looks around.
“Where is she?”
“Upstairs.”
My phone buzzing in my hand draws his attention when I don’t answer
it. “Something important?”
“Nope.” No fucking way am I telling him about the box. That’s for
Tory, if she wants to, which I’m pretty sure she won’t.
Charles simply nods, as if he’s already assessed the weight of my lie
and deemed it unimportant or more likely, something to throw back in my
face at a later date. He heads toward the kitchen with an authoritative
saunter that is as casual as it is deadly. Before he disappears from view, he
turns, fixing me with a look that’s part challenge, part warning.
“Next time I show up, don’t fucking be here, or you’ll have more than
just me to answer to,” he says.
“I’ll try,” I say with a smirk, but I take that threat seriously. I’m not a
fucking idiot. His enforcer will chop my head off and simply deal with
every Gannon in the country who comes after him. The Butcher of
Barnsdale has a reputation for a reason. But fuck that—let him come. I’m
not about to let threats push me around, especially not in my own territory.
I watch Charles disappear into the kitchen and I pull out my phone
again, dialling Luke’s number. The call connects, and I don’t bother with
pleasantries.
“Luke, we’ve got a fucking problem,” I start, my voice low and
dangerous. “Someone sent Victoria a message.”
I hear the soft click of a keyboard stopping mid-stroke—a Luke
signature—before his voice, flat and calm, comes through. “What kind of
message? And is it really bad, or just the usual mafia bullshit?”
“Not sure. But it’s creepy and a bit fucking gross. A fucking scorched
doll that looks like her in a box with dead roses and maggots.”
“Maggots? Oh, fuck, no!”
His tone makes me snort. “Yeah, seriously fucked up. I know she’s a
stubborn bitch, but I want cams up today.”
He blows out a breath. “She’s not going to like that one bit. You know
how she is.”
Yeah, I fucking know. A badass motherfucker who can take care of
herself, but this is different. I can feel it in my guts somehow. It’s personal.
Not getting back at Daddy, nah. This is about her and any cunt who wants
to mess with my girl, messes with me. But then my eyes land on the door to
the kitchen, and a sinister smile crosses my face.
“Don’t worry about that. I think I have the right way to convince her.”
There’s a pause on the line, and then Luke replies, “Fine. I’m on it. But
if I turn up there and she shoots me, I’m blaming you.”
“Please do,” I murmur. “Where is Gianluca?”
“The Fixer is fixing.”
“Fixing what?”
“Princely business. The heir apparent is currently trying to prevent civil
war in his country.”
My eyes narrow. “Oh? He left to go to Esteria?”
“Nope, he’s on a video call.”
I can’t suppress the burst of laughter. “A video call?”
“Yeah, well, whatever works. I mean, you can’t make this fucking stuff
up, and what a great ad that would make. Preventing coups by Zoom.”
We chuckle together for a second, but then I sober up. “Get him on this
as soon as he is done preventing a rebellion.”
“Done.”
We hang up, and I pocket my phone. My trust in Luke is absolute; I
know he’ll tear down heaven and hell to get shit done. He’s not just my
right hand; he’s the fucking mastermind who makes things happen without
leaving ripples in the water. Gianluca could charm the knickers off a nun
and make her think it was her idea. Watching him work his magic is a thing
of beauty.
Heading straight to the kitchen, I stop and fold my arms as I give
Charles a glare. He looks up from his phone from where he’s perched on a
stool at the immaculate, glossy white kitchen island.
“What?” he asks.
“My guy is on his way here to install cams above Victoria’s front door. I
need you to convince her it’s non-negotiable.”
His eyes turn shrewd. “And why would I do that?”
“Because you know as well as I do that she needs the layer of security.”
He considers that and knows it’s true. It’s why I came to him. “You
don’t think you can convince her?”
“Do you see cams above her front door yet?”
 He sneers at my sarcasm, but I don’t back down. Never, ever back
down. “Is there a reason why this is now?”
“You’re here, and you are the only one who will convince her.”
He sizes me up. I can see the respect in his gaze, if only for a second,
that I’m not the kind of guy afraid to ask for help, especially when it comes
to his precious daughter. “Fine.” He goes back to scrolling through his
phone.
Raising an eyebrow as I turn to leave, that seemed way too easy.
Victoria walks down the stairs, as I meet her at the bottom, her raven
hair swinging loosely, making me want to fist it tightly while I fuck her
relentlessly. “Is he here already?”
“You good?” I ask, ignoring her question.
“I’m fine,” she replies with that fire in her eyes that tells me she’s
anything but fine. She’s pissed off, ready to tear someone apart with her
bare hands if she has to. Even in jeans and a tank top, Victoria Stroud is
fiercely stunning.
“Where is he?”
“Kitchen.”
“Why at this godforsaken hour?” she mumbles.
“To catch you on the back foot. Get on the front and get there quickly.”
I grasp her arm lightly as she passes and kiss the top of her head. “You’ve
got this, killer.”
She pulls away from me and stalks to the kitchen, greeting her dad
brightly.
I follow because there’s no fucking way I’m missing this showdown,
plus I’m interested in what brings him here so urgently.
“You’re getting cameras installed today,” Charles says, not beating
about the bush. I stifle my chuckle. It’s the only way with Tory.
“Huge pass. I don’t need babysitting,” she snaps at him, her hands on
her hips. “And I don’t need my every move tracked by you and…” she
turns to give me a vicious glare. “You.”
“It’s not about babysitting,” Charles retorts. “And who gives a fuck
where you go and with whom. It’s about being smart.”
There’s a tense silence that fills the room as they lock gazes—the same
stubborn glare shared by father and daughter. It’s like watching two
panthers ready to pounce.
 But Victoria isn’t one to back down easy. She stares right back at him,
every inch the defiant daughter of a powerful man. “Being smart is my
fucking speciality, Dad. Don’t play the protective card now.”
I step in before this escalates into something uglier. “This isn’t about
control. It’s about shit hitting the fan and us being ready to wipe it off
before it splatters all over the damn place.”
“Jesus,” Charles mutters at my shit analogy, which is gross, but
accurate. “With those cameras up, we can keep a better eye on things. It’s
precautionary.” He looks at her the way only a father who’s seen too much
can look at his daughter.
Victoria chews on her lower lip for a moment before giving a curt nod.
“Ugh! Fine. Whatever. I dislike this ganging up on me bullshit you two
have going on. Quit it. Now.”
“Gladly,” Charles mutters and dismissively waves at me. Whatever he
wants to talk to Victoria about is private, and I’m not invited. Turning on
my heel, I stride out of the kitchen and head up to her bedroom to wait for
her.
 4

LUKE

I’ M MONITORING feeds and tracing signals like a ghost haunting the fucking
digital world when Cian’s call comes through. The screen flickers as his
face pops up, all rugged charm masking the strain barely kept in check. I’ve
seen him in every shade of pissed off, but this, this is different. Protective
fury, that’s what’s etched into every line on his face.
“We’re a go,” he mutters from what appears to be him lying on
someone’s—not his—bed. It sends a bolt of deep-rooted lust straight to my
cock as I imagine it’s Victoria’s.
“Ordered and picking up. You sure she’s not going to shoot me?”
“Can’t guarantee it, but her dad convinced her it was in her best
interests.”
“Charles is there?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, fun.” I snicker at the sour look on Cian’s face.
It’s a fucking delight working with this lot, always dancing on the edge
of a knife. I hang up and check the last batch of encrypted messages
crackling through our network. All is clear for now, but I don’t expect that
to last.
My phone pings, and it’s the order I placed that has come through
already.
Prepping myself mentally for dealing with Victoria, I smile. She’s a
firecracker and no mistake. Pulling on my leather jacket, I check the
pockets for everything I might need—keys, phone, taser. Can’t be too
careful with her; she could try to take me out with a fucking hairpin if she
felt like it.
Cian would cut my balls off and feed them to me if I hurt her, but a little
electricity never did anyone any harm.
As I step into the crisp morning air, the mist clinging to my breath, I
imagine her reaction when I show up. I’m not exactly her favourite person.
Scratch that. I’m not even on her radar. I’m Cian’s mate, and that’s it. Not
that it bothers me—I’ve never needed to be liked. But Victoria has got this
way about her that gets under your skin whether you want it or not.
The sleek black sedan in the driveway is inconspicuous enough not to
draw unwanted attention as I climb in and fire up the engine. Heading out
towards the warehouse on the outskirts of the city, where the tech is ready
and waiting, I weave through the traffic like a pro, making every second
count. This isn’t a joyride; this is logistics with a side of potential mayhem.
As I drive, I run through every possible scenario in my head. Victoria
Stroud is unpredictable, which makes her dangerous, and I fucking love it. I
love the challenge of it, the way my adrenaline spikes when she’s pushing
everyone’s buttons just to see how much she can get away with.
The warehouse looms ahead, a nondescript beast squatting in the grey
early morning light. I pull into the car park and kill the engine with a sense
of purpose throbbing in my veins, not to mention my cock. Victoria is a
man’s wet dream, and she fills my mind most seconds of every day. I envy
Cian to the level where sometimes I can’t be around him.
Inside, the tech guys are already packing up the gear. Cameras that can
see in pitch black, mics that can pick up a whisper from fifty feet away—
state-of-the-art shit that most people don’t even know exists. I check each
piece personally because if something goes wrong, it’ll be on my head.
The guys inside give me a nod as I walk past; everyone’s on the same
page—get in, get set up, get out. No time for fucking around. I grab the
boxes containing the high-end surveillance gear and load them into the
trunk. My mind is already mapping out the installation points in Victoria’s
place. She, not to mention whoever this fucker is that’s messing with her,
won’t even know they’re there unless they’re looking for them—that’s how
good I am. The thing is, whoever this asshole is, I’m betting they’ve staked
her place out, and know there are no cams up. That means they will cock up
next time, and we’ll have them.
 The drive back is smooth; traffic has picked up, but nothing stands in
my way. As I pull up to Victoria’s place, an attack of nerves hits me square
in the chest. Not for the job, not even about her fiery attitude, but the
thought of seeing her again sparks something inside me—a dangerous
something.
I grab the gear and lock the car behind me, making my way to her door.
Just before I knock, I take a deep breath because this could go one of two
ways: she lets me in without much fuss, or she sends me packing with a
side of verbal castration. Or possibly even physical castration.
But when the door opens, it’s neither.
It’s Cian.
“That was quick.”
“Don’t fuck about. Where is she?”
“Waiting to have this talk with her dad. He took a phone call and is still
on it. She’s pissed.”
“Oh, fucking great,” I mutter. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Oh, don’t fucking blame me. Blame Charles. I thought she’d be
distracted, but here we are.”
“Well, I’m not here. A fucking ghost.” I place the case down and look
up above the door. “Let me work and keep her away from me.”
“Gladly,” he says with that smug smile that tells me he is thinking of all
the ways he can do that.
“Fuck off now,” I say, crouching down next to the case to get started on
the outside. There won’t be cams inside unless they’re placed there without
her knowledge. The thought of observing her in her natural habitat, alone,
naked, makes me stifle a groan of longing. But if she, or Cian, ever found
out I was spying on her, I’d be six feet under. If I’m lucky.
I work fast, hands steady even as my mind races with thoughts of her.
Each screw I fasten, each wire I hide, is one step closer to ensuring
Victoria’s safety.
In less than half an hour, the perimeter is rigged with eyes and ears that
would put fucking MI6 to shame. It’s discreet, it’s deadly effective, and it’s
going to keep her out of danger—or at least give us a fighting chance to get
to her if shit hits the fan.
Taking a step back, I admire my work from a distance. You wouldn’t
notice anything unless you knew exactly where to look. The gentle hum of
satisfaction in my chest doesn’t last long, though; the sound of footsteps
alerts me that my time alone is up.
Victoria’s father, Charles, rounds the corner of the house, strolling
through the garden as if this were a beautiful summer morning, and he has
nothing better to do.
“Luke,” he murmurs, looking up. “Nice job.”
I give him a sharp nod, knowing he isn’t just talking about the
surveillance setup. Old man Stroud is well aware of the tensions and the
dangers, and his acknowledgement means more than I care to admit.
“Thanks,” I say tightly, my eyes scanning the area one last time,
ensuring nothing is out of place. “It’ll keep her safe.”
Charles’s gaze hardens for a moment, a glint of something lethal behind
those eyes. “It better,” he replies with a quiet intensity that reminds me he’s
not just Victoria’s dad. Despite my own powerful family connections, this is
a hierarchy, and Charles is at the top of the fucking totem. He’s a man with
enough connections to make life very unpleasant for me if his daughter
ends up in any sort of trouble on my watch and not think twice about the
consequences.
He walks past me towards the front door and opens it, stepping inside
and then shutting me out. There’s nothing left but for me to pack up and
head out. As I climb in the car, I see a black SUV round the corner and
catch sight of the elusive Butcher of Barnsdale at the wheel as he pulls up in
the driveway. He is probably here to pick up his boss. I ignore him as he
does to me, and that’s the way this game is played.
Pulling away from the curb, I fight back the urge to look back at her
windows. Every move I make now has to be calculated and controlled. The
surveillance rig is my tether to her safety—my excuse to justify the need
that gnaws at me whenever she’s nearby. But it’s also a line I can’t cross.
She’s Cian’s, and yet every fibre in my body screams otherwise.
 5

VICTORIA

G ROWING MORE irritated by the second, I pace my living room, waiting for
Dad to finish his call. The tension in the air is thick enough to slice through.
I know that Luke’s been here, setting up whatever high-tech shit Cian thinks
I need to keep me safe. The idea pisses me off, but the thought of Luke
being so close, working silently around my home, sends an unexpected
thrill down my spine.
He’s fucking hot, with his brown hair and green eyes that have seen too
much already. Not to mention he’s a fucking Earl with enough land in
Scotland to get lost on. Not that the material shit is a main attraction for me.
I grew up in a ten-bedroom mansion as the only child of one of the UK’s
most powerful mafia bosses. Luxury is something I’m familiar with. But I
guess the idea of not being surrounded by it, by being able to roam free
with nothing and nobody for miles around, is appealing to me on a level
that taunts me.
The front door clicks open, and Dad walks in, bringing with him a chill
that has nothing to do with the weather outside.
“Finished, finally?” I spit out, unusually annoyed. It’s too fucking early
and Cian using me before has left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. I want
to go and use him back, ride his cock until I come all over him and then
walk away, leaving him with a cum-covered cock and no pussy to stick it in
to finish him off. I want to watch him be forced to finish himself off.
Dad just nods and sits down, steepling his fingers.
 “So, what is this talk about that is so important?” Whatever it is, it’s big,
family-related, and has nothing to do with the creepy box outside.
“Victoria,” Dad starts, his voice steady, but I can detect the undercurrent
of stress. “There’s a new player trying to encroach on BlackBriar. You may
have heard of them. They’re new to the university, but they’re making
moves fast, and not the kind we can ignore. Their leader, Jacob Kellerman,
is ambitious—too ambitious. He has his eyes set on taking over the campus
drug trade, and that includes our territories.”
“Kellerman. Yeah, I’ve heard the name. He tried to infiltrate the Union.
So, what? Are we going to war?”
Dad raises an eyebrow at my savagery. “Not if I can help it. We’re
going to try to handle this diplomatically first. But I need you to be careful.
They don’t play by the rules.”
I scoff, the idea of diplomacy with these kinds of people is almost
laughable. “Since when do any of us play by the rules?” My hand
absentmindedly drifts to my back, where the stiletto blade rests against my
skin, hidden but easily accessible. I’d prefer Bonnie, my nail-studded
cricket bat in my hand, but that thing is unwieldy and not something I can
carry around constantly.
Dad’s stare hardens. “This isn’t a game, Victoria. Kellerman is
dangerous, and he’s got a vendetta against the Gannons.”
“The Gannons…” I let that thought linger for a second, but Dad doesn’t
bite, forcing me to ask. “What’s the beef?”
“Not for me to say. Oisin is holding a summit with Cian later today.
That’s all I can tell you.”
Cian’s dad, Oisin Gannon, is a legend. Seriously fucked up, and while
my dad will shoot you in the face with a smile, Oisin, apparently, will slice
you into little pieces himself while he does an Irish jig on your
dismembered parts. A man after my own heart, really. Cian is more like
him, than he cares to admit. He is the black sheep, my dark prince, but fuck
if he’s not just like his dad in every other way.
I sit, my back straight as the tip of the stiletto digs into my skin and let
out a slow breath. The name Kellerman pulses in my mind like a sore tooth.
I’ve always been one to enjoy a bit of chaos, but this feels different.
Dangerous. And I fucking love it. A surge of adrenaline rushes through me
at the thought of the upcoming storm.
 But my mind can’t stay on Kellerman for long as it drifts back to Luke.
That son of a bitch has been under my skin since the day I met him,
standing all stoic and impenetrable next to Cian, his eyes giving nothing
away. It’s infuriating. The way he looks at me sometimes is like he sees
right through me—like he knows just how much I want to push him against
the wall and feel those capable hands on me.
But I can’t, can I? That’s the sick joke of it all. He’s Cian’s right-hand
man, through and through, and I’m not about to go planting seeds of
betrayal in the already fucked up garden we’re all playing in. Instead, I push
the thought of Luke out of my head. It’s easier focusing on Kellerman and
the shitstorm he’s planning to bring down on us.
I stand abruptly and cross over to the window. “Fine, I’ll be careful. I’ll
play nice and keep my toys tucked away.” My voice is laced with sarcasm
as I plaster a mockingly sweet smile on my face when I turn back to face
him.
Dad nods, understanding the implied promise behind my words - to
reign in my impulses. For now. “Good,” he says as he stands. “Keep your
eyes open, Victoria. And if you need anything—anything at all—let me
know.”
As Dad leaves, closing the door with a final click that sounds like the
chambering of a round, I’m left alone with the silence and the building
anticipation for what’s coming next.
Moments later, Cian enters the living room and crosses his arms as he
stares at me. “Well?”
“Have you spoken to your dad lately?”
He squints at me. “Why? What’s he got to do with anything?”
I shrug, but he can see straight through me.
“What do you know?” he asks, coming closer, danger sweeping off him
in waves.
Normally, I’m not one to stick my nose in, but this is going to affect us
all. “Jacob Kellerman has a fucking vendetta against your family, and that
means shit is about to get real dark, real fast around here.” I keep my tone
level, but there’s a hardness in my words that matches the threat simmering
on the horizon.
Cian’s jaw tightens, a subtle tell that I’ve hit a nerve. “Jacob Kellerman?
The first-year fucker who tried to get into the Union the other night with his
crew?”
 “The one and only.”
“He’s just another cockroach, thinking he can scuttle into our territory.
He’ll learn his place.”
“Maybe, or he’ll burn it all to the goddamn ground trying. Either way, it
sounds like you and your dad will have some family bonding over how to
deal with him.”
A muscle twitches along Cian’s cheek, betraying his calm exterior.
“Don’t worry about Kellerman,” he says with an edge of finality, but he has
completely avoided the bigger issue here.
However, I’m not one to leave things unsaid. “I don’t worry about scum
like Kellerman. I worry about what happens to us when we’re too busy
watching our backs from threats outside and not looking at the ones
brewing inside.”
“You mean Oisin?” he scoffs.
“You and your dad have fucking issues. I get it. Robert is the golden
child, younger and better, whatever. But you, my dark prince, are the heir to
that fucking throne and you need to start acting like it. Suck it up and deal
with your dad the way any of us do. Smile, play nice, agree and then do
what comes naturally. They didn’t raise us to be pussies—”
He growls, and I know I’m stepping so far over the line, I can’t even see
it, but this is now my life on the line as well.
Before I even know he’s moved, Cian’s hands slam on the window,
either side of me, caging me in. His eyes are wild, a storm of anger,
resentment, and something I can’t quite place. “You think you know how to
handle Oisin Gannon?” he spits the words out like venom. “You don’t have
a fucking clue, Victoria.”
I stand my ground, refusing to shrink back. This man doesn’t scare me.
“Tell me then,” I challenge him. “Enlighten me.”
Our faces are inches apart, his breath hot on my skin. I can feel every
contour of his body against mine, and fuck if it doesn’t make me want to
forget this whole damn conversation and rip his clothes off.
But there’s no time for that now. Not with the war that’s breathing down
our necks.
“You want to know?” He grimaces as if telling me is physically painful.
“Oisin isn’t like your dad, Victoria. You wouldn’t understand, so what’s the
fucking point?”
 A flicker of something passes over his face, the vulnerability he never
shows anyone. His eyes are wild, roiling with pain only he knows about.
“Oisin is a fucking monster. Think your dad is dark? Oisin’s the kind of
darkness that swallows whole families and shits them out without a second
thought.”
I hold his gaze. “I’m aware.” I push against his chest, needing space to
breathe, to think, but he is immovable.
“You don’t know the fucking half of it.” He pushes off from the window
and steps back, giving me space.
A deafening silence descends, and I’ve lost him. He won’t talk about
shit now and it will rot and destroy him. I knew about Cian’s father, the
ruthless head of the Gannon legacy, but his fear, this deep-rooted hatred
Cian has for him, adds a new layer to the darkness that already consumes
him.
I watch as he retreats into himself, his body language closing off as if
preparing for a battle only he can see. “We’ve all got our demons to face,” I
say, my voice steady despite the unease settling in my gut. But it’s like
talking to a brick wall.
He just stares at me with those calculating eyes, always one step ahead
in this twisted game we’re playing.
“I’ll let you know what he says.”
Cian turns on his heel and heads out, punching the wall next to the door
before he leaves. I get his frustration, but he needs to get over it. I can’t
imagine for one second Oisin is calling a Gannon family summit over some
punk who just needs his ass kicking. This is bigger than that. I just hope that
Cian can see past the hatred for his dad to see the bigger picture, or we are
all doomed.
 6

CIAN

I STORM out of the room, my knuckles screaming from the impact with the
cold, unyielding wall. The door slams behind me with a satisfying crash,
echoing the turmoil in my skull. Victoria—fucking Victoria. She doesn’t
know shit. None of them know what it’s like growing up under Oisin
Gannon’s shadow, having every fucked-up aspect of this life etched into
your being until there’s nothing left that doesn’t reek of blood and violence.
I punch the wall again near the front door, not caring about the pain that
shoots up my arm. It’s merely a satisfying confirmation that I still feel
something, even if it’s just anger.
I should be working on our next move against Kellerman, but all I can
think about is Oisin and the goddamn family meeting he’s called. It’s never
anything good with him—always another layer to his twisted games that
only serve to tighten his grip on our lives.
Victoria’s right; Robert is the golden child. Younger, yes, but not better
—just more compliant, a puppet dangling on Oisin’s strings. As for me?
I’ve never been good at playing nice or hiding my contempt for the man
who calls himself my father.
Dealing with Oisin Gannon, you don’t just play nice. You survive, or
you break. And despite everything, I’m not ready to break—not for Oisin,
not for anyone.
As I march down the path outside, a slideshow of memories invades my
mind. My old man’s icy gaze as he doled out criticism, his voice devoid of
any compassion as he demanded perfection from his sons.
 I can still taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth from when I’d
spoken out of line, earning a swift backhand across the face. A reminder
that Oisin Gannon didn’t raise spineless shits. But maybe he did; maybe
that’s why I can’t get past this fucking rage that burns whenever I see him
or even hear his name.
Victoria doesn’t get it; none of them really do. It’s not just about dealing
with Jacob Kellerman or any other small-time pretender. It’s about a legacy
carved into your soul before you can even speak, a weight so heavy on your
shoulders that sometimes breathing feels like too much effort.
Reaching the end of the path, I bend down to grab the fucking black box
still stuffed under the hedge. This needs to be dealt with swiftly and
mercilessly. Whoever this fucker is that thinks they can get to my girl by
being a lame-ass creep, has another thing coming.
Striding across campus back to the house I share with Luke and
Gianluca, I make a mental list of all the ways I can trace this bastard. I
might despise my asshole dad, but one thing’s for sure—I’ve learned from
the best.
The door to our place swings open before I even reach it. Luke stands
there like some brooding Scottish spectre. His expression is grim, and I
know he’s already caught wind of the shitstorm brewing. That tells me one
thing. He has been watching a live feed of the cams he shoved up at Tory’s
place.
Asshole. What is he trying to see exactly?
Apart from the obvious, obviously.
“We’ve got a problem,” I announce, barging past him and tossing the
box onto the coffee table of this fairly nice four-bedroom terraced house
with more force than necessary. It doesn’t have a scratch on Tory’s place,
but then again, I paid for this place, not my dad.
Luke doesn’t even flinch at my temper. He simply closes the door and
raises an eyebrow as he joins me. “Another one? Or is this an extension of
our current fuck-fest?” His voice is dry, humour lurking beneath the surface
like it always does with him. It’s his fucking coping mechanism and
usually, I’m all for it. But not today.
I ignore his attempt at lightening the mood. “Same fucking one, but I
want answers. Who sent that fucking box?”
Luke gives it a disgusted glance. “Are they still in there?”
 Okay, now I allow the humour to ease the ragged beast as I laugh. “I
don’t fucking know. Open it and find out.”
He gives me the finger but doesn’t move an inch.
“Coward,” I joke because he is anything but.
Except when it comes to maggots, apparently.
Gianluca emerges from the kitchen then, pitch-black eyes locking on me
as he senses the tension in the room. He’s holding a cup of that too-strong
Italian coffee that you can smell a mile away but sets it down with careful
perfection, ready to snap into action if needed.
“What kind of present?” Gianluca asks, his Italian accent thicker since
he’s been speaking to his people.
“Zoom coup abated?” I ask instead, flopping down in an old leather
armchair that has seen better days, but I won’t get rid of if you paid me. It’s
like an old friend.
He snickers. “Is that what we’re calling it? But yeah, for now. The
Rebels have been appeased. There is too much bullshit going on with the
neighbouring country, Arachon.”
“Have you tried cutting out the middleman?”
He narrows his eyes. “You mean going to their Queen?”
“I mean going to your counterpart, G. Rue Di’Castello, is it?”
“Hmm, you mean a meeting of minds.”
“Maybe, but not now. I need you to fix this fucking mess with Victoria.”
“What fucking mess?”
“Open the box to find out,” Luke pipes up, hovering, his hands clapped
in front of him as he waits for someone, anyone, else to open the box.
Gianluca tilts his head, eyes flicking from me to Luke, then back again.
The hint of a challenge brightens those dark eyes. He strides over without
hesitation. He’s fucking intrigued.
Gianluca flicks the lid open with a flick of his wrist, and he lets out a
noise that sounds like a choked laugh mixed with a strangled gag. “Oh, has
Victoria actually seen this?”
“Are they still in there?” Luke asks, hopping manically from one foot to
another.
“What? The maggots?” Gianluca snorts. “Yeah.”
“Yes,” I answer G’s question. “It was delivered to her while we were at
the Union last night.”
 “Okay, eww,” he says and then peers in. “Is that supposed to be her?”
He points to the scorched ragdoll.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“So, it’s personal.”
“Yep.”
He lets out a slow exhale. “It’s interesting.”
“How so?”
Gianluca straightens up, his eyes closed for a second as he processes.
“It’s not random,” he finally says. “It’s thought-out, a message. It’s got the
stink of vendetta all over it.”
I nod, grinding my teeth. “I know.” That’s what’s got me on edge, the
thought that it could be someone from inside our circle, someone who’s
watched her closely enough to do this.
Luke finally steps forward, expression tight. “We need to tighten
security around Victoria,” he says, and there’s an edge to his voice that I
don’t usually hear. “Did you bring her dad in?”
“If I had, we wouldn’t have that box, and Victoria would be on her way
back to Daddy’s mansion.”
Gianluca looks between us, reading the room with that meditative
silence he’s good at. “We need to find out who’s behind this shit, so start
with fingerprints.”
He looks at Luke, who shakes his head. “Not until you get rid of
those… things.”
I stand up, sudden energy coiling in my muscles like a spring ready to
snap. “Old man wants a summit. I’ve gotta go.”
“Oh, fun,” G murmurs, picking up his coffee again and taking a sip.
“Not fun, but necessary. There will be shit to deal with when I get back,
so if you could try to get to this before then, that would be awesome.” I
stick both my thumbs up.
“Great, you go off gallivanting, and we get… this.” Luke gestures to the
box.
“I’d swap you in a heartbeat, mate. Seeing Oisin is definitely going to
ruin my day.”
“Yeah,” he says, knowing more than most.
“G, keep eyes on Victoria. She will be heading to lectures soon. I’m not
too concerned about her so much as anyone watching her. You with me?”
“Yeah, I got you,” he says.
 The tension in the room is a live wire, buzzing and crackling, as I head
for the door.
It clicks shut behind me as I step out into the cold morning. The
university campus is buzzing with students milling around, ready for
lectures, oblivious to the shitstorm beneath the surface of their quaint
academic lives.
I shove my hands into my pockets and tilt my face up to catch some
weak rays from the English sun. Victoria will be out soon, moving amongst
them. She’s a fucking beacon for trouble, and it’s killing me not to be there
with her every second.
But duty calls.
I don’t even wait for the text to come through from Dad telling me
there’s a meeting. I just get in my car, a beat-up old Jeep that pisses him off,
which is why I keep it and head out of town for the two-hour drive back to
the Gannon estate.
 7

VICTORIA

G RABBING Bonnie the nail-studded bat with one hand and my book bag
with the other, I sling the bag over my shoulder as I head down the stairs.
As much as every instinct is screaming at me to go with Cian, even just to
wait in the car for him, I know I’ve got my own fatherly shit to deal with.
Grades up or any chance of a power once I leave here, vanishes. I’m no
mug. I know the fucking score, and I won’t give him the satisfaction of
seeing me fail. Not now, not ever. Making my way out of the house, I pause
to look above the door. I can’t see any cams, but that’s Luke for you. Still, I
stick my middle finger up at them and turn to make my way across campus.
When I reach the quad, I stop and shake my head with a smile.
Someone is watching me and it’s not just because I’m a hot piece of ass. I
know when eyes are on me. It makes my spine tingle. I don’t give them the
satisfaction of turning around to look, but I do make a point of twirling the
cricket bat around and around, making sure everyone can see it. People
back off. It’s something I’m used to. They think I’m crazy, and maybe I am
a little. Past events have made me that way, not to mention growing up with
my dad. All the students here are a little unhinged, but me? They think I
belong in a straitjacket. It doesn’t bother me. I’m not a people person, so the
more assholes who stay away from me, the better.
I make a beeline for the lecture hall, my boots thumping against the
cobblestones, Bonnie held close like she’s part of me.
As I push open the heavy door to the lecture hall, I spot Gianluca
Etienne—Cian’s left-hand man, if that’s a thing—leaning against the wall,
his phone out as he pretends to be engrossed in whatever’s on the screen.
But his eyes flick up to mine for a split second.
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head at my over-the-top protective
boyfriend. Cian needs to be reminded that I’m not some idiot who needs a
bodyguard. Although a girl could do worse. Raking my gaze over the
incredibly hot Prince of Esteria, some teeny country nestled on the Italian
border, I lick my lips. I’m not the only one looking at him. Men and women
alike are practically panting at this presence here, which is an anomaly. He
is a history major, not Crim Psych.
I slip into my usual seat at the back of the class, dropping Bonnie onto
the table with a clatter that earns me a few wary looks. Professor Marshall
doesn’t even bat an eyelid; he’s got his own demons and is probably on
something just to get through his lectures. He drones on about
psychological theory, but my mind keeps drifting back to that fucking box
and who would send me such a twisted gift.
After a few minutes of trying to pay attention to the monotonous
lecture, I give up and start scribbling in my notebook, not notes but doodles,
pictures of sharp objects and spirals that seem to have no beginning or end.
It’s therapeutic in a fucked-up way, helps me keep the edge off. I can’t
afford distractions right now.
The lecture finally drags to an end, and I grab Bonnie, ignoring the wide
berth the other students give me as I exit. Gianluca is still there with a sexy
half-smirk on his face when he sees me notice him. Not that it’s fucking
hard or anything.
“Nice of you to stick around,” I say, approaching him. My tone is
sarcastic, but there’s a trace of something else, too. A dark thrill because
even though it pisses me off to be babysat, Gianluca’s presence is
distracting.
“It’s not exactly a hardship,” he says, his eyes drinking me in like he has
all the time in the world. Fuck. He’s flirting with me. We barely speak. I
never see him without Cian around, and even then, Cian keeps my attention
most of the time. This is new and unusual.
I roll my eyes again but can’t suppress a giggle. The man has charm
leaking out of every pore. “Just don’t get too comfortable. Once Cian’s back
from his old man’s joyless summit, you’ll be back to grunt work.”
He laughs—a rich sound that seems out of place in these sterile halls. “I
doubt it will be that simple.” He steps closer. His nearness is startling and
sends a shiver racing down my spine that feels a lot like danger mixed with
excitement. “Cian trusts me with his life, and you are his life. He’s not
taking any chances.”
There’s a challenge in his eyes, and part of me wants to take it up. “Is
that right?” My voice is low, and the air between us is charged with
something fierce.
Gianluca nods slowly, a calculated move as he closes the gap even
more. “Absolutely.”
I can feel the heat of his hot body against mine, and I’d be lying if I said
it didn’t affect me.
Gianluca towers over me and reaches out to brush my hair away from
my neck, his gaze on my lips.
Fuck. He’s good. I’ll give him that.
“Look, Princey. I don’t need eyes on me.”
“Who said they’re on you?” He smiles, slow and sexy and I feel my
pussy go damp. I’m still in need of a proper fucking since Cian used me this
morning and it’s affecting my ability to think straight.
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “So Cian didn’t send you here to watch over
me?”
“I know you don’t need that. I’m here to see who is watching you,
princess.”
“Princess, hmm? That means more coming from you.”
He doesn’t say anything, just steps back and lets me pass by, wishing I
had the guts to jump him. But I’m not that girl. I love Cian. He is a twisted
fucker with demons bigger than most, and our relationship would be
labelled toxic by anyone who doesn’t understand it. But what they don’t
realise is that I’m twisted, too. Childhood sexual abuse will do that to a girl,
and you deal how you deal. For me, it’s to bury it deep and take my rage
and pain out on anyone who looks at me wrong. I won’t ever be a victim
again, even if that means I’m an aggressor. I don’t give a fuck. I protect
myself now like I couldn’t back then. Plain and simple.
I stride out of the building, letting the cool air hit my face and trying to
shake off the lingering warmth of Gianluca’s proximity. Fuck, that man
knows how to push buttons I didn’t even realise I had. But I can’t let any of
that shit get to me. Cian is all that matters, his fucked-up love is what keeps
me sane, in that fucked-up sort of way.
 He probably won’t even be at his dad’s house yet, so I don’t bother
texting. I know without a shadow of a doubt, he will be checking up on me
as soon as he parks up. He can’t help himself.
The world seems to recede with every step I take, swallowed by the
shadows that are as much a part of me as my own skin. I’ve got an hour to
kill before my next class and a mind that won’t sit still, so I head to the
campus café, hoping a strong coffee will be the ticket.
 8

CIAN

T HE ESTATE COMES into view as I pull up, the familiar sight of home doing
nothing to ease the sickening feeling of being here. Two hours away from
BlackBriar’s campus, from Victoria, and I’m stepping into a different kind
of hell. I kill the engine of my old Jeep, the thing coughing like it’s on its
last legs. I pull out my phone and shoot a quick text to Victoria, for once,
not waiting for her reply as I get out of the car.
The late morning sun, struggling to escape the grey clouds, should be
welcoming, but it doesn’t reach me. The front door swings open when I
reach for the handle, which instantly puts me on alert.
Pulling Clyde out of the holster at my side, I walk in deeper into the
vast mansion, and the world explodes into noise and violence. Gunfire pops
and echoes off the high ceilings, men shouting, glass shattering. The thud of
bodies hitting the floor rings out, a soundtrack to the madness. My dad’s
men are locked in a fight with intruders, masked men who move with
deadly intent through the halls of my childhood.
Adrenaline surges through me like lightning, sharp and hot.
What the fuck is this?
“Cover him!” I hear someone yell, and I recognise the voice – it’s one
of Oisin’s security team, a guy who’s been around for as long as I can
remember. They’re scattered, taking cover behind the expensive furniture,
firing back at these invaders.
I don’t stop to think. I can’t afford to. The training that’s been drilled
into me since I could throw a punch takes over. I pick up a fallen gun, its
grip familiar and cold in my hand, and I move forward, sliding into the fight
without hesitation. Dad’s men acknowledge me with quick glances and
nods.
We charge ahead, methodically sweeping through each room. My mind
is eerily calm as if I’ve been numbed to the horrors of this war zone. My
family has always been unfazed by violence and death; we were bred for it.
It’s almost sickening how effortlessly we wade into the bloodshed like it’s
just another day at the office.
Every step I take, I’m aware this isn’t just some random attack. This is
personal, an assault on our very foundation.
There’s no room for error, not here, not now. Every move is calculated,
and every shot counts. I make my way towards Dad’s study at the back of
the house. The heavy oak door of his study ahead is partially open, and
voices spill out.
I burst through the study door. There’s a crack that splits the world
open, louder than anything else. The world comes to a screeching halt as I
watch my father collapse to the floor. A dark pool of blood spreads beneath
him, seeping into the cracks of the hardwood.
The bastard with the gun, wearing a ski mask, all black, like a shadow
you can’t shake, turns to see me, and he launches at the windows, firing off
a shot to crack the glass before he rams his shoulder into it, shattering the
remaining pane, and leaps out headfirst.
“Well, shit.”
I glare down at my father. Definitely dead.
And I feel nothing.
Not a single fucking thing.
Except maybe a crushing realisation that this is it. This is what he
trained me for. All those days and nights spent honing skills, forgetting how
to feel, until there is nothing left but a black hole where your soul used to
be.
I’m in charge now. The eldest Gannon, thrown into the deep end with
the sharks circling.
I turn around, bracing myself against the surge of security pouring into
the room, their eyes wild with panic and confusion. Their boss is dead, and
I’m what’s left. They’re looking to me for orders, for some reassurance that
the world hasn’t completely gone off its hinges, but fuck, I’m trying to wrap
my own head around it all.
 It’s not even about Oisin. Good riddance, as far as I’m concerned. It’s
about who the fuck had the stones to walk in here and take out a major
player on the board in his own home without a thought to the consequences.
“Through the window,” I state coldly and turn to stride mechanically
from the study, blood roaring in my ears. Chaos unravels like a storm
around me. Clyde’s grip is firm in my hand as I ditch the empty gun and
sprint towards the commotion.
My breaths come out even, measured. It’s precision. Debris scatters and
a vase explodes near my head, shards flying like lethal rain. I don’t even
duck. I just keep moving like the fucking Terminator.
The rage that simmers beneath my skin ignites, burning through every
nerve ending. This isn’t just about taking down intruders anymore. It’s
personal. It’s not even fucking vengeance. It’s about showing these fuckers
that you don’t fuck with a Gannon. You can take out the head of the snake
but the one waiting to pop up and take over is just as ruthless, just as deadly
and now they’re going to know that. I don’t bother with orders; these guys
know what’s expected of them. The only thing on my mind is to get rid of
as many of these masked assholes as possible. I don’t even want any of
them alive. I want every last one of them dead. I know who this is. It’s
Kellerman. It has to be. And if I’m wrong and it’s not, it doesn’t matter. All
that matters is sending a message. Clyde, my trusty knife gripped in my
hand, wants blood, and I’m not one to deny him.
I plough through the chaos like it’s nothing, tracking the fleeing figures
as they retreat toward the boundaries of the estate. My breath is a steady
rhythm in my chest, each exhale a promise of retribution. I’m the fucking
reckoning rising from the carnage of this place.
I hurl Clyde at the unsuspecting figure before me. It pierces through the
air like a bullet, aiming straight for its target. The blade finds its mark in the
man’s back like a fucking bull’s eyes.
“You run, you get stabbed in the back, asshole,” I sing-song as I stride
forward. Reaching for the knife, I pull it out and kick the dying guy, the last
of his kind, over. Without hesitation, I slice through the skin and muscle of
his throat with ease. His final moments marked by a gurgling and desperate
grasp for breath. Blood sprays out in a sick display, coating everything in its
path with a gruesome shade of red. I straighten up with a twisted grin on my
face, revelling in the carnage that surrounds me.
 It’s brutal but necessary. The message is clear: Gannon territory is
sacred, and violations will be punished.
Blood stains my clothes, but I feel nothing – no sickness or regret. Just
cold practicality.
“Clean this shit up,” I say to some of the guys lingering around, looking
lost now that the adrenaline has worn off. They jump to it without a word.
Walking back into the house, I survey the destruction as I make my way
back to Oisin’s study. I glare down at him, dead. Gone. No longer of this
world.
And I smile briefly, one moment in time where peace descends but is
quickly dashed as I remember that this is my life now. His life is mine.
Somehow, I’m going to have to juggle this shit because I can tell you
one thing… I’m not leaving Victoria at BlackBriar on her own. Not now,
not ever. It’s non-negotiable. Without me there, she will forget about me.
She will walk away and never look back and there isn’t a chance in hell I
will allow that to happen. Whatever the cost, I’ll be balancing these two
worlds now, one of bloody violence and ruthless power plays, the other
keeping the only woman I can feel anything for next to me, however, that
goes, whatever lies I have to tell.
I look up as an explosion goes off outside. Frowning, I walk over to the
smashed window and let out a low chuckle. The guys, knowing exactly how
this fucking game is played, are setting off a barrage of fireworks, despite it
being mid-fucking day, to cover up this shitshow with whatever neighbours
were close enough to hear something.
Leaving them to it, I storm through the house and up the stairs, crashing
into my old room. I grab an old, clean black shirt, stripping off the bloodied
tee and bunching it up.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I button up. Hard lines etch
my face; determination or fury—I can’t tell which. There’s no denying who
I am anymore. The reflection shows a man born of darkness and shaped by
it, too. I’m every bit as dangerous as the old man was, maybe even more so
because I’m not weighed down by decades of grudges and heavy-handed
leadership.
Fuck that.
Closing my eyes and drawing in a deep breath, my cock goes hard from
the fight, from thoughts of Victoria’s pussy clenching around me. Dragging
my cock out, I stare myself in the eyes as I grip the shaft tightly and tug
hard. My thoughts flash to Victoria, to the curve of her smile, the fire in her
gaze when she challenges me.
Each stroke is like an electric shock, bringing back the twisted
memories of her tied up and begging for more. It’s a sickeningly satisfying
concoction, blending pain and pleasure until I can’t tell which one I crave
more. My hand moves faster, driven by a sick obsession to reach my
climax.
Visions of her naked body invade my mind—her chest heaving as she
struggles against the ropes, her cunt getting wet under my touch, her
screams muffled by my hand as I choke her.
With a guttural grunt, I cum against my palm, my depraved desires
sated, at least for now.
Wiping my hand down the mirror over my reflection, I turn from it and
walk across to the bathroom to methodically clean up, wondering what
Victoria will think about me masturbating without her. Will it turn her on or
make her pissed off that I found pleasure without her?
But it’s time to shove those thoughts aside.
Shit needs to get done. With everything that went down today, there are
moves to make—calls to rally what’s mine by right of blood and violence.
 9

GIANLUCA

“F UCK ,” I mutter, rubbing at my jawline, staring at the phone in my hand as

I keep half an eye on Victoria.
But when Cian calls, I answer—because that’s how this twisted world
works. We’re bound by blood, loyalty, and an unspoken understanding that
when one of us is in the shit, we help shovel it out.
I text back a single word: Understood.
No need for more; we’re men of action, not words.
Grabbing my leather jacket off the bench I’d slung it on near the cafe, I
put it on as I head off campus. My bike waits for me like a dark steed
poised for battle; I swing my leg over it and shove my helmet on.
The purr of the engine is a soothing counterpoint to the chaos that’s no
doubt unfolding wherever Cian is. He didn’t say what went down, but it
doesn’t take a genius to figure out that something big must have happened
for him to want me at his dad’s house. It’s fucking two hours away, but
nothing will stop me from going when he calls. No hesitation. No second-
guessing.
I gun the engine, feeling the powerful machine roar beneath me, as I
speed out of the university town. The landscape blurs past me, but my
thoughts are hyper-focused as I need to be prepared for any scenario.
With years of experience riding, I effortlessly lean into the turns while
pushing the bike to its limits. The wind whips at me, but it’s nothing
compared to the storm I feel I’m about to ride into.
 Flashes of Victoria’s wicked eyes seer to my memory, and it’s
something I can’t shake off. She is captivating. She is also off-limits. But
her flirting has riled up the simmering heat I have for her. That woman is a
firecracker, but she is also probably the only woman I might be able to be
myself around. She doesn’t care about my title. Women flock to my side in
the hopes that they will sweep me off my feet, but it’s fake. A dream for
them to become a Princess. It has made me wary and very picky about who
I stick my dick into. God knows I’d have not-so-accidental heirs running
around all over the place if some of these women had their way. Holes in
condoms and fake birth control pills are the least of it. It makes it lonely,
but I’m not an idiot. I won’t settle for anything less than my princess, and
every ounce of my essence is telling me it’s Victoria Stroud. I want to braid
her hair, one on either side, so I can wrap my fists around them while I fuck
her mouth, holding her in place. Then I want to come in her mouth and have
her swallow every last drop, claiming her from the inside out before she
gets me hard again so I can ride her pussy until she screams my name. I
don’t have this outside of my fantasies. An ass fuck here and there with a
condom that has to be immediately disposed of.
It is in a word… shit.
I want the fire and passion that Cian and Victoria have. I don’t even care
if she has us both. Maybe that’s even better. Cian gets to keep her while I
get to have her as well. But I value my life too much to suggest it. He will
gut anyone who comes near her. I let out a soft sigh and play with her in my
fantasies as that is all I will get.
As I near the estate, my grip tightens on the handlebars. Unease settles
around me, and it’s not a feeling I like. Something isn’t right.
When I finally pull up to the gates of the estate, they’re flung open
before I even slow down.
Pulling up next to Cian’s Jeep, I kill the engine and swing off my bike,
pulling off my helmet, wondering what the fuck I’m walking into. What
was so important to call me away from Victoria?
Striding into the house, I raise an eyebrow at the carnage. “Okay,” I
murmur. “Cian?”
“Back here.” His voice filters down the hallway, and I follow it.
I find him in a study with a large blood pool soaked into the Aubusson
rug. Narrowing my eyes, I flick my gaze to him, sitting behind a big
mahogany desk, looking like something smacked him in the face, and he’s
not quite sure what to do about it yet.
“What happened?”
“An execution.”
Blinking once, I lick my lips. “Of whom?”
“Oisin Gannon.”
My blood runs cooler. “Your dad?”
“You know of another?”
“Well, there’s enough of you, Gannon fuckers; I’m sure there is another
one or two out there.” I joke to lighten the mood because I know, not as
much as Luke, but I know how he felt about his dad, and it works on him.
He snickers, full of humour. “Well, you’ve got me there.”
His laughter dies quickly, though. I watch the weight of his new role
settle on him like a dark cloak. As he stands, his movements are precise,
contained, and stone-cold. Not that he was a joyous puppy before, but now,
I can see the difference.
I wonder what Victoria will make of this? Has he even told her yet?
My hand instinctively moves to adjust the knife I always carry strapped
on my belt. In our line of work, trust in steel over lead—it’s silent and
doesn’t jam.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I give him a once-over to make sure
he’s steady. Cian and booze are a bit of an issue, not that I blame him for
wanting to forget his ghosts. “You’re head of the family now.”
“Yeah.” He nods once, sharply.
“And what’s next?” I ask, keeping my tone even.
Cian’s eyes meet mine, dark with something feral. “Revenge.
Retribution. We find out who did this and then we burn their entire fucking
world to ash.”
I feel a grim smile tug at my lips. Sometimes, there’s satisfaction in
being part of this life; it’s twisted but clear-cut—betrayal and loyalty so
starkly defined you can taste them.
“I’m with you,” I say simply, because what else is there? This isn’t just
about Cian’s loss – it’s a threat to our entire existence. We’re part of
something bigger than ourselves. This is about survival. Whoever was
dumb enough to take out Oisin Gannon in his own fucking home has balls
bigger than I’ve ever seen. It’s a statement. A fucking stupid one, but a
statement, nonetheless.
 He nods at me, grateful and ready for war.
“Any ideas?”
“Kellerman. It has to be. That’s what this summit was about?”
I nod slowly. “The first-year? You think his family is behind this?”
“It’s a start. If not, we move on, taking out every last motherfucker on
the planet until I find the asshole who made me head of this family at
twenty-fucking-one.”
Yeah. I figured that was his issue as opposed to losing his dad. “Have
you told Robert?”
He gives me a scathing glare. “Obviously. He is upstairs crying.”
Ouch. Brotherly bonding is not on the table, then.
“Have you called Luke?”
Cian hesitates, and his gaze flickers somewhere far away for a moment
before returning to me. “Not yet. He needs to stay on the box. Is she okay?”
“She was when I left. I didn’t see anyone watching her. But she saw me,
so there was that.”
Cian nods sharply, processing that information with a calculated
coolness that would make lesser men shiver. I can’t see what’s going
through his mind at my words, but I’m betting it’s not good. “Keep it that
way. She, her family, has got nothing to do with this mess.”
There’s an unspoken understanding that Victoria’s safety is paramount.
But he knows, as well as I do, that’s not how this world works. The allies
will rally, and the Strouds and Gannons are tight, not just Cian and Victoria.
She will be dragged into this tangle whether Cian likes it or not.
“G,” Cian starts, his voice hard as steel, “I know this changes things.
Between us.”
I shrug. “That’s one way of looking at it. Are you staying at
BlackBriar?”
“Yes.”
“Then, as far as I’m concerned, we’re solid. We have our crew, and you
just have a bit of extra responsibility, no?”
There’s a cold fire burning in Cian’s eyes now, an intensity that tells me
he won’t rest until blood has been paid for with blood. He runs a hand
through his hair, a rare show of agitation. “You sure about that?”
“Since when do you have to question me?”
“Never.”
“Then don’t do it now.”
 He nods. “We’re upping the game here. This was personal and strategic.
They wanted Oisin gone, and now they’ve got it.” He leans forward slightly
on the desk, palms pressed flat against the wood grain, a gesture of control
over the chaos.
Cian pushes off from the desk and strides over to the shot-out window,
staring out at the grounds where order is slowly being restored. The
remnants of battle are stark against the serenity of the estate—a grim
reminder of our reality.
“We need to secure everything,” he says without turning around. “No
one gets in or out without being vetted, and I want surveillance on
Kellerman.”
“On it,” I reply. “I’ll head back to campus. You need me there more than
here.”
Cian turns back to face me, and there’s a finality in his stance now—a
declaration of war.
“We’re going to make an example out of whoever did this. We need to
send a message. No one fucks with the Gannons and lives to tell the tale.”
I nod in agreement. This is our world. Brutal and unforgiving. It’s not a
life for the faint-hearted, and once you’re in, there’s no way out except in a
body bag.
I turn away from Cian, ready to leave, when he calls out after me, “G?”
“Yeah?” I look over my shoulder at him.
“Thanks.”
“Fuck off.”
We share a laugh, and as I make my way out of Oisin’s—Cian’s?—
mansion and back to BlackBriar, I feel that things are about to get a whole
lot bloodier. Cian’s rage is concrete, and it’s going to spill out into all our
lives. The balance has been tipped, and now there’s no telling who’ll be
caught in the crossfire.
 10

LUKE

G INGERLY DUSTING the doll after I left the box open at the far, far end of the
back garden for those creatures to crawl out, I hunch over the box with the
little duster brush flicking in the hopes that this jackass cocked up enough
to leave a clue behind. It’s meticulous, mind-numbing work, but
somebody’s gotta do it.
I pause, the bristles of the brush suspended over the burned fabric. I’m
loyal to Cian and always have been, but my growing feelings for Victoria
are complicating things. I shove the thought aside and focus on the task at
hand. There must be something on this doll that’ll give us a lead.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, a text from G.
All hell’s broken loose. Oisin executed. Coming back to BB.
Christ. That quick text doesn’t cover half of it, I bet. I hammer back a
response.
Wtf, man? You’re going to have to elaborate.
His reply is almost immediate.
Cian’s on warpath. Kellerman might be key. See you in two.
“Well, fuck,” I sit back and stare into space for a second. That is not
something anyone would joke about. But Oisin Gannon being dead is not
good. “Fucking G,” I grumble. “Could’ve been more specific.” I know
better than to text him back now. He’ll be on his bike, so I’ll just have to
wait. I’m not texting Cian. He will have enough to deal with.
Kellerman. The first-year with too much arrogance and not enough
sense—possibly tied to Cian’s dad getting killed? He doesn’t seem smart
enough to plan his own breakfast, let alone this hit, but then again, pawns
don’t need brains; they only need to follow orders.
I make a mental note to dig into Kellerman’s background and see who
he’s connected to. It clearly isn’t BlackBriar’s Kellerman pulling the
strings, but he’s an obvious pawn in this game played by his father. Or
wait… is it his mother? I seem to recall a conversation overheard some time
ago. They’re relatively new to the business, so they’re a bit of an unknown.
Well, I’m going to make it my business to dig up every buried skeleton.
Going after a huge family like the Gannons, who spread far and wide across
the UK and Ireland, is dumb. Seriously fucking dumb.
Sighing, I get back to work on the doll. Each stroke of the brush could
be uncovering a vital clue or just more bullshit that’ll lead nowhere. It’s like
trying to find a specific needle in a haystack made entirely of needles.
Finishing up, I come up empty, but that wasn’t a shock. Whoever this is,
I wonder if it is connected to Oisin’s death. Are they making us chase our
tails by focusing on Victoria?
I shake my head to release that thought. These are two entirely separate
incidents.
Rubbing my face with both hands, I allow myself a moment of
weariness. The world expects us to be unstoppable forces, but even the
toughest steel can bend under pressure.
Turning back to the monitors, I bring up the live feed of the cams
outside Victoria’s. My blood runs cold.
Another box.
Reaching for my phone, I dial Victoria, having hacked her phone one
night so I could go through her photos, hoping to find one of her naked and
possibly masturbating.
I didn’t find one. It was a long shot. But it did give me her number.
“Who the fuck is this?” she asks after one ring.
Chuckling darkly, I breathe into the phone just to piss her off.
“Fuck you, fucking creep. You’re fucking thick ringing me with your
number on display, you know.”
Letting out a loud laugh, I say, “It’s Luke. I’m just messing with you
because I’m a dick and I can’t help it sometimes.”
“You,” she hisses. “You with your fucking spying.”
“Yeah, well, thank me for my fucking spying. Where are you?”
 “What’s it to you? Are you going to ask me what I’m wearing next?”
Her sass is gorgeous.
“What are you wearing?”
“Just a smile and Cian’s cum all over my naked tits.”
“Liar,” I murmur. “He’s still at the estate.” But I want to weep openly at
the image she has presented me with.
“What do you want?” she asks, and then a gust of wind blows down the
phone, so I know she’s outside.
I sober up instantly. “Don’t go home.”
A pause.
“Why?” Her suspicion is tangible.
“I wasn’t spying, but I did check the live feed a minute ago. Another
box has been delivered.”
“Oh, really?” she drawls.
“Do not even think about it. I will be there in a few minutes.”
“Bye, creep,” she says and cuts me off.
“Fuck!”
I throw the phone onto the desk; it skids across and hits the wall.
Patience isn’t my strongest suit, and Victoria, it seems, knows just how to
prod my last nerve.
Snatching my keys off the desk, I rush out of the room, taking the stairs
two at a time. My mind is racing a mile a minute as I consider what might
happen if Victoria’s caught in whatever mess this new box could bring. It
could be a trap, another message, or worse.
Bursting through the front door, I sprint to my car parked on the street.
It’s going to be quicker than sprinting across campus to drive the one
minute around. The engine roars to life as I practically throw it into gear.
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel.
That sass of Victoria’s is like a double-edged sword—sexy as hell but
dangerous in a situation where her life could be at stake. She is too
arrogant, too ready to dive in headfirst.
Cian will fucking behead me and then shove my castrated nuts down
my neck hole if anything happens to her while I’m the only one here.
Seeing her place, I step on the accelerator and then pull up the
handbrake, executing a turn as I skid to a stop across her driveway as she
comes belting across the road, running like the devil is on her ass.
 She hurls herself over the bonnet of my car, her chest heaving as she
slides gracefully over it to the other side. She’s wearing a snug, black t-shirt
under her leather jacket that looks like it’s painted on, and jeans hugged
tight to every fucking curve. She’s not just wearing a smile—she’s armed
with a look in her eyes that could cut glass.
“What the actual fuck?” she spits out. “Go away.”
“Not a fucking chance, rosebud. You are not going anywhere near that
box.” I grab her arm and haul her to a stop, despite the fact that Bonnie is
clutched in her other hand, ready to swing.
And she fucking does.
“Fuck!” I duck and let her go as the nail-studded cricket bat sails over
me where my head was a second ago. “Jesus, woman. What the fuck?”
“Do. Not. Touch. Me.”
Looking up at her from my crouched position, I see wildfire in her eyes.
She is deadly serious and not just in an I-belong-to-Cian way, but in the I-
will-gut you if you come near me without my consent way.
Holding my hands up, I rise slowly so as not to scare her, step back, and
nod. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
Her chest heaves, and she lowers the bat, turning to her front gate.
“Don’t. You don’t know what’s in it.”
“More maggots and probably a beheaded doll. I know where this is
leading. It’s creep 101.”
Snickering despite the seriousness of the situation, I fall into step beside
her. “Let me.”
Victoria casts a sideways glance, her eyes narrowing with that fierce
spark I’m growing accustomed to. It’s like staring down the barrel of a gun,
knowing she could go off at any second. “Why? So you can play hero?”
The scorn in her voice makes me smile and for reasons unknown to anyone,
including me, I fall ass over tit in love with her.
I’m dead.
Cian is going to murder me and string me up.
I shake my head, keeping my hands visible so she doesn’t take another
swing at me. “Not a hero—just not an idiot. You think I fancy having my
balls served up as a starter at Cian’s next meal?”
She smirks, and for just a fraction of a second, I see the tension ease in
her stance. But it’s gone as quickly as it came—replaced by that hard-ass
attitude that tells me she doesn’t need or want my help. Still, she hesitates,
just a beat too long, and I know I’ve got her thinking.
“Cian would never let anything happen to you,” I say softly, despite
wanting to throttle her for making me worry. And neither would I.
My loyalty to him is unwavering, even if everything else is fucked up.
Her gaze flicks to mine for a split second before she looks away,
brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with the hand not gripping
Bonnie. “Fine,” she relents with obvious reluctance. “But no fucking
tricks.”
“No tricks,” I agree quickly, too quickly maybe, because her eyes
narrow again.
She motions with her head towards the box near the door—a plain black
box that looks as innocent as a bloody Trojan horse. We inch toward it
together but keep our distance as if it might detonate any moment now.
Who knows? Maybe it will. But something tells me this fucker is
playing games with her and doesn’t want her dead.
Yet.
Crouching down, when we reach it, I pull my knife out and edge the lid
up with the tip, expecting the worst. I brace myself, half-expecting a cobra
to launch at my face, but no such luck.
Inside a fucking white rose with—I’m going to take a leap here and say
blood drops on the petals—rests on top of an envelope. No maggots, no
severed doll heads—just the flower and a note that smells faintly of
expensive cologne. It’s almost laughably pretentious.
Victoria watches me with hawk eyes as I reach into my pocket for a pair
of latex gloves and slip them on before I extract the envelope gingerly, half-
expecting it to explode into flames or some shit. But nothing happens—no
traps, no sudden moves from lurking shadows. I can practically feel
Victoria’s impatience vibrating in the air between us.
I slide out the card from inside—a single line scrawled in a bold,
taunting script: “A gift for Beauty from the Beast.”
“Motherfucker’s got a flair for dramatics,” I mutter.
Victoria snatches it from my hand before I can stop her, her eyes
skimming over the words with an intensity that says she’ll tear the world
apart to get to this bastard.
Her lips press into a thin line, and her hand tightens around Bonnie.
“You’re getting your fingerprints all over it,” I groan.
 “Whatever,” she says, giving me a scathing glare. “I doubt there’s any
others on it.”
I want to fucking kill whoever did this.
“Looks like you’ve got a stalker,” I say.
“Asshole,” she spits out. “Fucking coward should come at me face-to-
face.”
“Not exactly how stalking works, rosebud.”
Her nostrils flare as I call her that again. I don’t even know why I am.
It’s just…natural.
“You want to take this inside and give me your laptop?” I suggest,
gesturing towards her house.
“Why?”
“So, I can go back to the feed to see who dropped it.”
“You didn’t do that already?”
“No, you didn’t give me time, by launching your ass across campus to
open this by yourself with no backup.”
“Humph,” she mutters rudely, but nods curtly, already leaning forward
to unlock the door, muscles taut and ready to strike at anything that moves.
I retrieve the box and follow her into the extravagant marble-floored
entrance hall, feeling like a predator entering another’s den, knowing full
well the danger that comes with it.
Victoria tosses the envelope back into the still-open box and spins
around to face me, bat still in hand, as if she expects me to start sprouting
horns any second now.
“Laptop?” I prompt.
She lays Bonnie carefully on the side table with her keys as I kick the
door shut behind us and place the box next to them. She pulls the laptop out
of her book bag, and I take it, opening it and then rolling my eyes.
“Password?”
She gives me a slow smile, and I return it as I turn the laptop around so
she can type it in.
Her fingers flit across the keyboard with a grace that belies her earlier
ferocity, and as the screen flickers to life, I admire the seamless switch.
She’s a fucking enigma—wild one second, ice-cold the next. I like it. It’s a
challenge.
Victoria edges closer, peering over my shoulder as I navigate the
security footage. The tension rolls off her in waves, every line of her body
strung tight with anticipation and barely contained anger. We’re quiet, the
only sound is the soft clicking of keys under my fingers as I work
backwards through digital time.
I start pulling up the security feeds, going back over the footage from
before she found her lovely, boxed surprise. In the clear colour of the
camera feed, I see a shadow slink up to the door. Dressed head to toe in
black with a hoodie, gloves, and a mask on, the bastard’s careful, keeping
his face turned away, but there’s something in his movement that piques my
interest—lithe and fluid.
Victoria’s hot breath tickles my ear as she leans in closer, an
unintentional display of intimacy that sends a twisted thrill through my
body. “Could be anyone,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I concede. “But it’s a start.”
The atmosphere between us is charged with a warped energy unlike
anything I’ve felt before. It’s darker and more menacing. This forbidden
desire courses through us like an addictive poison, threatening to absorb our
very souls.
She feels it as well. I know she does. Her gaze has gone heated, and
when she lifts the laptop from my knees and places it on the coffee table, I
nearly keel over with lust when she slides onto my lap.
“We can’t,” I croak, even though I want to. Fuck, I want to so badly, my
cock is practically bursting out of my pants.
She feels it and wiggles, rubbing up against me with that smile that does
things to me no other woman ever has or probably ever will. She cups my
face, biting her lip as she takes my hand and guides it to my cock. Then she
slips off my lap and sits on the coffee table directly in front of me.
“I’m not going to touch you, but I want you to touch yourself. Look at
me and jerk off. Show me that the lust in your eyes is real, Luke.”
“Fuck,” I groan. “Victoria, this is… Cian will kill me.”
“For doing what? We’re not touching each other. I’m watching you.”
Those last three words set a fire burning deep and nothing can stop me
from unzipping my pants and pulling my cock out.
Victoria’s gaze goes straight to it, and she lets out a soft pant. I know
my cock is big. Nine inches and a real handful.
Gripping the shaft in my hand, I start to stroke, my eyes locked on hers.
Her tongue flicks out, wetting her lips as she watches me, the air around us
thick with need and something darker, more urgent. The friction of my hand
sliding over my cock sends waves of pleasure through me, but it’s her eyes
that undo me. Predatory yet somehow innocent, they demand everything I
have to offer.
Her breath hitches as I tighten my grip, increasing the pace. “That’s it,”
she whispers, her voice laced with command and an edge of vulnerability
that makes me want to protect her and fuck her all at once.
I can feel the tension coiling in my gut, the pressure building to a
breaking point.
“Look at you,” Victoria murmurs, licking her lips again. “So fucking
gorgeous when you’re falling apart.”
I can’t hold back any longer; with a few more strokes, I come hard,
spilling over my hand and gasping her name like a goddamn invocation. As
the last shudder wracks through me, I slump back against the couch, chest
heaving as I reach for the box of tissues I spotted on the end table.
Victoria stands up smoothly, her eyes still fixed on me with an intensity
that could scorch the earth. “Good boy,” she says softly, but there’s a steel
undercurrent to her words that reminds me who she is—the untouchable
Victoria Stroud.
I tuck myself back in and zip up my pants, never taking my eyes off her.
This is more than just lust; it’s a game of power and control, and we’re both
too deep to back out now.
She turns away with a satisfied smirk, giving me space to compose
myself. It’s clear I’ve just passed some sort of test, but the rules are hers
alone. Christ, I shouldn’t want her like this – shouldn’t want her at all. Cian
is my mate, my leader, the one I’ve sworn to stand beside through any
fucked-up storm that comes at us. And yet here I am, cock throbbing with
the aftermath of an illicit performance for his girl.
“When do I get a reciprocation?” I ask hoarsely.
She faces me again, a wicked smile on her lips. “Who says this is a tit-
for-tat?”
“Not fair.”
My gaze bores darkly into hers, but it does nothing to convince her to
drop her knickers and give me a return performance.
“Patience, sweet boy. Do you think you can handle that?”
Rising, I step into her space, making her uncomfortable as I loom over
her. She steps back, but I grip her upper arms tight, remembering what she
said about keeping my hands to myself. But right now, it’s tough shit. “You
owe me,” I growl.
She lifts her chin to glare at me towering over her. “I don’t owe you
shit.”
My grip on her tightens just a fraction as I lean down and whisper,
“Don’t play games you can’t win, Victoria.” She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t
show fear. If anything, her defiance turns me on even more. It’s a dangerous
game we’re playing, one that could end in disaster for us both.
I let her go abruptly, taking a step back. The air trembles with the
unsaid, the unfinished business hanging between us like a thundercloud
ready to burst. “You might not owe me,” I say with brittle calmness, “but
you don’t want to start something with me you can’t finish.”
She smirks again, a dark promise in her eyes that says this is far from
over. “Don’t worry about me, Luke. Worry about yourself.”
I don’t respond. I don’t trust myself to. Instead, I turn and leave the
room with as much dignity as I can muster when every cell in my body
screams to take her right there on the coffee table.
Out in the cool corridor of the mansion, I lean against the wall and try to
collect myself. My heart pounds against my ribcage like it’s trying to
escape. Christ, what am I doing? Cian will have my head if he finds out
about this little sideshow.
But Victoria isn’t just any woman; she’s like an addiction that gets
under your skin and makes you crave things you never thought you wanted.
And now that I’ve had a taste—fuck.
There’s no going back.
 11

VICTORIA

W ATCHING L UKE STRIDE AWAY , his dark side having reared its head in full
force, has my knickers damp. Alive and thrumming with a heady mix of
power and desire, I hear the front door slam and then head upstairs. There’s
something about pushing him to the brink, dictating his pleasure with just
my words and gaze, that makes me feel untouchable. I can still hear his
ragged breathing, the haunting echo of his voice as he falls apart under my
command.
As I make my way to my room, I smirk, pleased with myself. I’m
playing a dangerous game, flirting with the lines between loyalty and
betrayal, pleasure and control. It’s exhilarating.
I close the door behind me and lean back against it, closing my eyes to
savour the lingering rush. The image of Luke undone, pleasure contorting
his handsome features as he follows my orders – it’s enough to fuel
fantasies for weeks. He wants reciprocation, and he’ll get it. When he least
expects it, he’ll get it.
Checking my phone as I pull it out of my jacket pocket, I see a message
from Cian saying he’s on his way back and he’s coming here. That was over
an hour ago, so he will be here soon. Time to put at least part of my plan to
torment Luke into action. I strip off and take my phone into the bathroom. I
set it up to record as I step into the shower, not giving the camera a view of
anything but my ass.
The water cascades over me, hot and insistent, and I let out a soft moan
for effect. My hands roam across my skin, making sure to stay mostly out of
shot – it’s all about the tease, the suggestion of what he can’t have. I run my
fingers through my hair, the wet strands slipping through like silk. The
knowledge that Luke will be watching this later, his body hungry for what
I’m not giving him, sends a thrill straight to my core.
I finish my shower with an exaggerated shiver of pleasure, shut off the
water and step out, wrapping a towel around me without giving the camera
any satisfaction. As I replay the recording, I smile at the perfect balance of
invitation and denial in every frame. This will drive him mad, and it’s not
even the start of it. The illicit thrill is intoxicating.
Wiping steam from the mirror, I peer at my reflection—a flushed face
with eyes sparking mischief back at me as the doorbell goes. Snatching up
the phone, I set it back to video. Now that I’ve started this game, I want all
sorts of scenarios to torture Luke with, and myself as I watch them back.
Hurrying downstairs, still in my towel, I place the phone on its side on
the table near the door, angling it to have some kind of view and press
record. Cian’s presence is like a punch to my senses when I open the door—
masculine energy mixed with danger and an undercurrent of raw emotion
that clings to him like a second skin.
“Hey,” he says with a tight smile as he rakes his gaze over me. His
voice is heavy with something unspoken, but whatever it is, gets lost in the
passion that overtakes him.
He sweeps inside, kicking the door closed as he takes me in his arms
and crashes his mouth onto mine. It’s not a kiss of tenderness—it’s hard,
desperate, a little bit punishing. He’s staking his claim, one of possession
and control.
Cian’s hands explore every inch of my glistening skin, sending sparks
of intense pleasure through me. I eagerly part my lips, silently begging for
more as he rips away the towel, leaving me exposed. His eyes hungrily
trace my curves from head to toe, and a low groan escapes his lips at the
sight. He takes a step back to fully appreciate me, his urgency etched into
his features.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he growls before lifting me up, my legs
instinctively wrapping around his waist. “You’re fucking mine.” The rough
texture of his jeans scratches against my thighs as he turns and slams me up
against the front door, playing right into my sneaky video. I don’t even have
to ask if he minds. I know he will find it as big a turn-on as I am. Although
part of me, the part that needs consent, screams at me.
 My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as our kisses deepen
into something chaotic and raw. “Recording…” I breathe.
He chuckles and doesn’t waste time with pleasantries or foreplay—not
here, not now. Cian’s fingers slide between my legs, eliciting a sharp gasp
from my lips as he twists my clit just this side of painful. He feels how
ready I am for him. How ready I’ve been for him all fucking day, how ready
the encounter with Luke has made me. “Fuck, Victoria,” he hisses. “You’re
so wet for me.”
“Yes,” I moan in response, pressing myself into his hand with desperate
desire. “Only for you.”
That seems to be what he needs to hear because the next second, he’s
unbuckling his belt and freeing himself from the confines of his sexy black
jeans. His cock is hard and ready, and he doesn’t hesitate to thrust into me
in one smooth motion.
The sensation is sharp, a mix of pain and pleasure that sets off fireworks
behind my closed eyes. I wrap my legs tighter around him, urging him to
take everything he needs. The sound of our bodies slamming against the
door creates a rhythm that feels like it’s been set to the beating of my heart.
“Cian,” I cry out, the word a plea, a demand, an acknowledgement of his
claim over me.
He doesn’t relent, his thrusts are deep and punishing, each one driving
higher stakes into this dangerous game we’re all playing. Life or death, love
or lust—it’s hard to tell them apart anymore. His breath hitches as he leans
in, burying his face into the crook of my neck. “Mine,” he repeats between
pants, each word punctuated with another thrust.
My response is loud and uninhibited, cries that echo through the
entrance hall as he hits all the right spots. This isn’t just sex; it’s a
reclaiming, a branding of sorts. But it’s also temptation—fuel for the fire
between Luke and me, stoked by each scream that rips from my throat, each
grunt that pulls from Cian’s.
Abruptly, he pulls back slightly to look at me. Those blue eyes are dark
with desire but also something else—something heavier. Something
happened at his dad’s place earlier, but now isn’t the time to ask.
He growls, grabbing my chin roughly and forcing my eyes to meet his.
“You’re a goddamn masterpiece when you let go for me.”
The intensity is too much, too fierce. It’s a blend of raw authenticity and
dark fantasy, and it’s all-consuming. I claw at him, nails digging into his
skin as if trying to pull him even closer, to merge with him entirely. My
body climbs, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. I can feel the
tension coil tighter as I grip him with my thighs, rising up so he can hit that
spot in my soaking pussy dead on.
“Cian,” I gasp, the name coming out as a strangled plea.
“Do it,” he commands, his voice rough. “Come for me, killer. I need to
feel you.”
It doesn’t take more than those words for the dam to break. My climax
crashes over me in waves, relentless, fierce. My scream of release could
wake the dead as pleasure obliterates every other sense.
Cian follows shortly after with a low curse, pulling me impossibly tight
against him as he spills his cum into me. His face is buried in my shoulder,
his body shuddering against mine with each pulse of his cock buried deep in
my cunt.
He’s still for a long moment, his breathing ragged against my skin. The
door to the world outside might as well be a million miles away; it’s just us
in this tangled, fucked-up moment that I can’t get enough of. His weight
presses me into the wood, and I feel every line and curve of him.
“I need to tell you about today,” he rasps, and I nod, still trying to catch
my breath. The catch in his voice sobers me up quickly from the post-
orgasm haze. Cian never shows weakness. If he’s rattled, things are worse
than bad.
He gently sets me down, his hands steadying me as I find my footing.
The cool air hits my skin. I watch as Cian turns away from me to fix his
jeans. Every movement is precise but slower than usual, like it takes effort
for him to control his body after what just happened.
I grab the towel from the floor and wrap it around myself. When he
finally turns back to face me, something in his gaze shifts. It’s like he’s
steeling himself for what comes next. “Oisin is dead,” Cian states flatly.
“What?” I ask in surprise. “What happened?” I have the presence of
mind to grab my phone and flick it off, cutting the video off.
“When I arrived, they were there, masked men, probably Kellerman’s
crew. Shot Oisin in the head before I could stop them. The fucked up thing
is, I don’t think I would’ve even if I’d had time. You know?”
“Yeah, I know,” I say, going to him and stroking his face. It’s what he
needs to hear. He doesn’t need to be guilt tripped. He needs me to
understand him. I’m probably the only one who can. Well, Luke and
Gianluca, as well. “So you’re it?”
He snorts. “Yeah, I’m it. Head of this faction of the Gannon family.
Robert is pissed.” He almost seems pleased by that.
“That’s a weight.”
“No shit,” he spits out, but he’s not angry with me. “I can’t deal with
this right now, Tory. I need…”
“What do you need?”
“You. And maybe someone to punch.”
I grin. “You wanna go looking for a fight? Maybe fuck a little after? I’m
down.”
He returns the smile, shaky but genuine. “Knew you would be.”
“Let me get dressed, and we’ll go looking for trouble.”
He grabs my hands as I move to pass him and kisses it. “You’re fucking
perfect for me.”
“As you are for me,” I say lightly and pull away so I can get dressed;
thoughts of tormenting Luke not far from my mind as I grip my phone. Not
now. I want him with Cian when I send the video of me in the shower. I
want him to watch it on silent, turned on and desperate for me.
I remember the box and turn back to tell Cian, but he slumps down the
wall and stares off into space.
So, I leave it for now.
 12

CIAN

I STAY SLUMPED against the wall long after Victoria leaves to get dressed.
It’s not that I can’t stand up, it’s just that the weight of what I’ve become is
fucking suffocating. Oisin dead, me at the helm. Fucking Robert ready to
tear into me with his teeth bared.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. I know what I want—to crash
through Kellerman’s ranks like a wrecking ball, to make them bleed for
what they’ve done. But that needs planning, precision, not just blind rage.
The clack from Victoria’s heels tears me from my thoughts as she
reappears ready for whatever fucked up version of a date night we’re
embarking on—one that might involve smashing some heads in if we find
any of Kellerman’s assholes lurking.
My gaze starts at her feet as she plants them in front of me. Killer heels,
shiny black with a thin blade of a six-inch heel that is a veritable weapon. I
linger for a minute before drawing my eyes upward. Legs for miles, toned,
pale, gorgeous. All the way up past her mid-thigh, and the frown descends
as I rapidly take in the rest of the outfit. It’s not even clothes. A black skirt
so short you can probably see her ass cheeks from the back and a black
PVC—I use the term top loosely—barely covering her magnificent tits. Her
stomach is bare, her shoulders are bare, her back is bare.
“You look like a fucking whore,” I drawl.
She rests the tip of Bonnie on the floor and leans on it a little as she
cocks her hip. My gaze meets hers, but she is anything but pissed.
 “I’ll let that one slide, fuckface, seeing as that’s kinda the point. You
want to beat heads? Then I’m your bait.”
“Fuck,” I breathe out and feel so unworthy of this goddess it nearly
chokes me. Getting to my knees, I grip her ankles loosely and bend down to
kiss the tops of her feet.
“I fucking love you,” I practically pant.
She straightens up, her breath hitching when I drag my tongue over her
right ankle and slowly, salaciously up the inside of her leg. Her knees
tremble when I pass by, and I slide my hands up the outside of her legs,
under her skirt.
“Are you even wearing knickers?”
She giggles. “Barely.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t start with that bullshit,” she murmurs, sliding her free hand into
my hair and tugging harshly, guiding me to her pussy.
I dart my tongue out over the very scant black lace with a low groan.
She is damp and tastes of cum.
“By the way, another box arrived,” she states, stopping me cold.
I snap my head back and glare at her. “Oh? When? Did you open it?
What was in it? Where is it now?”
She blinks at the barrage of questions. “Earlier, no Luke did, a rose and
a lame-ass note, and it was on that table, but I’m guessing Luke took it with
him.”
Holding onto the jealous rage that is about to burst free, I rise carefully,
steadily, fixing her with a menacing stare that only makes her more defiant.
“Luke was inside the house?”
She licks her lips and narrows her eyes. “He needed to use my laptop to
check the feed.”
“What was he doing here in the first place?”
“He checked the cams at your place and rang me to warn me. Seems the
little fucker knows me quite well because he raced me here, knowing I’d
open it.”
“Does he now,” I growl. “And since when are you two best buddies?”
“We aren’t. Before today, I’ve barely spoken to him.”
Her words are like ice on my fired-up nerves. Luke and Victoria are too
close for comfort, and I can’t stop the dark thoughts creeping at the edge of
my mind. I knew something was building in him, but her? That crushes me.
 “Keep away from him,” I snap, my possessiveness getting the better of
me.
She frowns, the playful glint in her eyes brightening. “I’m not your
fucking property, Cian. I can talk to whoever the hell I want.”
I know she’s right, but fuck if it doesn’t burn. Luke’s mine—my right
hand, my brother in arms—and Victoria, she’s my heart laid bare. Yet here
they are, intertwined in ways I can’t control or comprehend.
And the fucked-up thing is, I can’t blame Luke for wanting her. Look at
her. She is… everything.
“Fuck that, anyway,” she says, breaking through my internal storm.
“We’ve got heads to crack.”
“You’re set on this?” I ask, studying her face for any sign of hesitation.
There is none.
I nod, then reach into my back pocket, where my phone buzzes. The
screen flashes with a name I hoped I wouldn’t have to deal with tonight—
Robert.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. Robert’s timing is always impeccably
shit.
“What?” Victoria asks, trying to peek at the screen.
“It’s nothing,” I lie smoothly as Robert’s words drill into me.
We need to talk. Now.
My fingers clench around the phone as if squeezing it could strangle the
message out of existence. I can’t deal with Robert’s shit right now—not
when revenge is pulsing through my veins, burning the edges of my soul.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and grab her hand. “Let’s go.”
“Where to?” she asks.
“Do you have somewhere in mind?”
“Actually, yeah. The Blue Bell. The hardcore techno place on
Riversway. That place hops night and day, and what better way to fish than
to dance?”
My sinister smile lights a fire in her. I pull the phone back out as I nod,
and she opens the front door, letting me go to stride to the Jeep. I fire off a
text to Luke and Gianluca to meet us there in an hour. I need them with me,
but also, I need to see how Luke deals with seeing Victoria half-naked.
Also, I need more information about that fucking second box. I didn’t ask if
Luke discovered anything. If he had, she would’ve said. Lifting my eyes
from the screen, I see her from behind and groan. That skirt is going to kill
me.
But she’s right. It’s going to do the job we are set out to do, and that’s
beat off some of this fucking rage that is festering inside me. I have a
feeling that Victoria needs it, too. Something dark lurks within her that
drives her actions. I don’t know what, and I won’t push her to tell me.
She’ll talk if she wants to. But she gets the need to scream into the void or
smash heads in, whichever is convenient at the time. Putting my phone
away again, I close the door and climb into the Jeep. Victoria lifts her hips
and fumbles behind her, pulling a hair band out of the back pocket of her
skimpy skirt that houses her phone just barely. She scoops up her hair and
ties it in a tight bun. I’d rather she left it down, but I get it. She knows it can
be used against her in a fight.
“Blue Bell here we come,” I murmur, and gun it out of the driveway
before the sun has even set on this shit show that has been today.
As the Jeep roars towards the Blue Bell, the noise of my thoughts is
louder than the engine. Victoria’s silence beside me is a brooding storm of
its own, her gaze out the window, sharp and calculating. The ominous neon
lights of the Blue Bell beckon us through the evening haze. This place is a
fucking dump where your feet stick to the floor with spilt booze, and God
knows what else. But Victoria is right. It bounces all day and night, drawing
the attention of the criminal underworld like flies on shit. It belongs to a
rival gang, but one neither of us has an issue with. The Fitzpatrick’s are old
family alliances on my side, and this is going to piss them off, but I don’t
give a fuck.
We arrive, and the thumping bass from inside shakes the ground beneath
our feet. The line to get in snakes around the block, but we don’t bother
with that shit. With a nod to the bouncer—a badass monster who recognises
us immediately—the rope barrier unhooks, and we stride inside.
No one even checks for weapons or even glances at Victoria’s bat. It’s
life. It’s the life.
The place is packed, bodies grinding, pulsing, sweating in the humid air
charged with pheromones and aggression. It’s perfect.
We carve our way through the crowd, moving with a purpose that has
people parting before us like we’re reapers amongst the damned.
Victoria’s eyes scan the crowd, predatory-like. She hands me Bonnie to
gatekeep, a sign of trust no one else is privileged enough for, before she
disappears into the sea of flesh on the dance floor. My jaw clenches at her
absence—it’s unsettling. I am going to have to stand here while my woman
attracts the attention of every fucker in here. The thing is, though, I know
her. She will revel in it, but as soon as someone places a hand where she
doesn’t like… they are dead meat.
I stalk around the edges, catching glimpses of her as she moves through
people, graceful and gorgeous and mine. She’s like a blade cutting through
cloth—efficient and unstoppable.
Luke finds me first, his eyes scanning over my tense frame before
following my gaze to Victoria. “She doesn’t waste time,” he comments.
Gianluca joins us. “What are we doing here?”
I nod and lead them to the bar, where we get a round in, double shots,
then another, and then a third.
I need to be buzzed. The rest can fucking wait.
 13

LUKE

I T IS TAKING everything I have not to keep looking at Victoria. She is

practically naked, and after our little dalliance earlier, I’m dying over here.
But I have to keep it together. Cian’s eyes are on me, I can feel it—I
know it. My loyalty to him is unrelenting. But fuck, this woman is a test I
didn’t expect.
The booze burns down my throat like liquid fire, but right now, I need
it. The base of the music matches the pounding in my head, and for a
moment, everything else fades away. Victoria comes over after our third
round, leaving a panting trail of low-class assholes in her wake. Her skin is
flushed from dancing, and her eyes are wild with that same darkness Cian
harbours. It’s like they were made to churn up chaos together, dangerous
and beautiful.
She laughs at something Gianluca says, leaning in closer than necessary.
My hands clench into fists. She’s doing it on purpose—the little glances she
throws my way are a fucking tease.
We get another round, move through the club, and end up at a booth in
the corner with four not-small men crammed into it.
“Get out,” Cian states.
“Fuck you, mate,” one of the growls, already drawing his weapon, a
wicked-looking blade, but I’ve seen ones ten times more evil. Cian owns
one of them, and so do I. Whatever the fuck we’re doing here, rumbling is
part of it. I get it. Cian has been shoved into a position of power, and, at the
moment, he probably feels like he’s in over his head. But he doesn’t
remember he was born and bred for this. It’s his, and he will kick ass when
he gets his shit together.
The guy with the blade barely has time to register the mistake he’s
made. Cian’s on him like a fucking animal, all fists and fury. There’s a
brutal beauty in the violence, the kind that gets your blood pumping and
your heart racing.
I grab another by the collar and throw him out of the booth with a thud
that echoes over the music. “He said, get out,” I say to the other two, who
move without protest.
Cian slides into the booth first, carefully placing Victoria’s bat down. I
follow, facing the crowd as Victoria smirks and downs her shot before
heading back to be… bait, I think.
“Talk to me about the second box,” Cian demands.
“Not as gross. More elegance this time. Blood-spattered white rose with
a note that read: A gift for Beauty from the Beast.”
He glares at me with a sneer. “Who the fuck does this cunt think he is?”
“Didn’t get to see. He was covered head to toe with a mask in place, but
the way he moves, definitely not some average joe. He can fight.”
“He won’t be moving anything once I’m through with him,” Cian
growls and downs his shot. That’s four, and he’s buzzing.
“What are we doing here?” G asks, his eyes on Victoria. “She looks like
bait.”
“She is,” Cian says, sitting back and watching his woman as these
fuckers crawl all over her.
The edge to Cian’s voice is like a loaded gun, heavy and dangerous. He
is pissed Victoria is a willing lure in this fucked-up game of cat and mouse.
But she knows what she’s doing; it’s part of why he loves the shit out of her
—her fearlessness.
He watches her dance, watches the men who circle her like sharks
drawn to blood. She’s untouchable, though. Not because they can’t reach
her but because she’s fucking lethal. She’s BlackBriar’s Queen through and
through, and even here, in this cesspit of humanity, she rules.
“Need to blow off some steam,” Cian states, turning to me. “My girl’s
idea.” His eyes bore into mine as if he is trying to read my soul.
I remain as casual as I can, giving him a simple nod but not backing
away from those impenetrable eyes.
 The booth makes sense now. It gives us a strategic advantage point,
perfect for what Cian has in mind. He doesn’t want just any kind of
retribution; he wants something that’ll shake up our enemies to their core—
something that screams Gannon and spills as much blood as possible.
“When do we move?” I ask as G turns in his seat to look back at
Victoria.
A man makes the mistake of grabbing Victoria’s ass. I half rise, ready to
rumble, but Cian grips my arms and shakes his head. “Not yet.”
My stare is fixed on Victoria, on the way her jaw clenches. She hated it
when I grabbed her arm, so this is a violation of everything that burns inside
her dark soul. But she doesn’t strike back. She’s drawing them in, giving
Cian the perfect excuse to kick their fucking heads in, and when he does,
it’s going to be a blood bath.
“She fucking loves you,” I murmur, sitting back down. “You’re fucking
lucky to have a woman like her.”
He slowly draws his gaze away from her to me, and I wish I’d kept my
mouth shut. “She is my pitch-Black Beauty.”
I nod, unable to disagree even a little bit. Hot and vicious blood pulses
under my skin. Cian’s words cut through the noise of the club—a promise
as dark as it is sincere. Victoria is a force to be reckoned with, and now I’m
caught in the gravitational pull of their warped universe.
We sit in silence for a moment, watching the scene play out in front of
us. It’s like watching a live wire spark—mesmerising and lethal. The man
who touched her is still close, ignorant of the fact that he’s just signed his
own death warrant.
“He’s inviting trouble,” Gianluca mutters, his eyes darting around the
club, ever watchful.
I smirk. “That’s what we’re here for.”
“Too fucking right,” Cian agrees, finally letting go of my arm. If I didn’t
know better, I’d say he knows what happened earlier. But Victoria wouldn’t
have told him, so he can’t. This is a game for her. It is a power play where
she has all the control, and she knows it. She isn’t about to give that up for
anything.
Then she looks back at us—the briefest flicker and everything falls into
sharper focus. Her eyes flash a silent signal, and I know it’s time.
Cian’s up first, swift as a striking snake. He grabs Bonnie and leaps up
on the table, jumping down, stealthy like a cat, already drawing his blade.
We follow his lead without hesitation. We wade into the sea of flesh and
sweat, zeroing in on the bastards who got too close to what’s ours—fuck…
to what’s his.
There’s no elegance to it; it’s sheer fucking brutality as I shove aside
anyone dumb enough to step into my path. We have our targets, and these
bystanders will only get their ass kicked if they interfere. This is what I was
born to do. Born to raise hell.
 14

CIAN

T HE CROWD PARTS like we’re Moses at the bloody Red Sea, their eager faces
thirsty for violence or fearing being caught in the crossfire. Doesn’t matter
to me which it is. I’m here for one thing tonight, and that’s to fuck some
faces up.
The blade in my hand is an extension of my will, glinting under the
strobe lights as I close in on the first prick who dared touch her. He doesn’t
even see it coming; he’s too busy gawking at Victoria’s curves like she’s a
piece of meat, so I’ll carve him up like one, too.
Throwing Bonnie to Tory, she grins and swings it wildly, hitting the guy
with his hands practically on her tits, away from her with a maniacal laugh
that thrills the devil inside me. I drive my knife into this fucker’s gut,
pulling him closer. He goes down without much fight.
I grab another by the collar and drag him close until our foreheads
almost touch. “You think you can just fucking touch what’s mine?” I ask.
There is no need to add menace when I’ve already got it seeping out of
every pore, my eyes locked onto his wide, terror-filled ones. The smell of
sweat and fear is potent between us.
He tries to stammer out an apology, but I’m not in the mood for his
fucking words. My head snaps forward, and I hear the crunch as my
forehead connects with his nose—a satisfying break—and blood spurts
across my face as he screams.
I toss him aside, already reaching for another dick who thought
touching her was a good idea.
 How wrong they all were.
The bloodlust in the air is contagious, and I can’t get enough of it. Luke
moves through the crowd like a fucking ghost, his moves deadly precise.
He’s at my back, covering me as I plunge deeper into the swarm of bodies.
I catch a glimpse of Victoria—wild, feral, and achingly beautiful as she
fights her demons brought to life by these guys flocked around her. She’s
got fire in her bones and ice in her heart when it comes to protecting what’s
hers. She isn’t just any girl; she’s a queen who knows how to keep her king
in check.
Her eyes flicker to Luke for a mere second, acknowledging his
presence, before she lashes out at another idiot who tried his luck. He
doesn’t stand a chance; with one swift movement, she kicks him hard in the
groin and then drives the heel of her shoe into his chest when he doubles
over.
I’m drawn back into my fight as some bastard lands a punch across my
cheek. It doesn’t faze me; instead, it pumps more adrenaline through my
veins. I retaliate with a gut punch that has him doubling over before I grab
his head and knee him right in the face.
The music is still blaring, but all I can hear is the rush of blood in my
ears and the cries of the wounded. We’re demons unleashed upon sinners
tonight.
Gianluca takes down anyone who tries to get near Victoria. It’s not that
she needs the assistance, but it’s appreciated—by me, anyway.
My fist connects with another face, the satisfying crunch of cartilage
breaking under my knuckles. Blood coats my hand, warm and sticky, and I
feel alive. This is the world we live in, where power is king, and mercy is
for the weak.
I turn just in time to catch someone’s punch mid-air, twisting their arm
back until something snaps. The guy screams, but the sound is lost in the
roar of the crowd.
Looking up, I get to witness the pure arousal of my girl with a feral
smile as she takes a beer bottle from the bar and smashes it over some
prick’s head. The guy crumples without a sound, and she spins to find her
next target.
My senses are stinging with the sight, and I can’t tear my eyes away
from her, not even as someone tries to jump me from behind. But Luke’s
got it. His arm wraps around the fucker’s neck, dragging him back into the
shadows. He’s silent but deadly, a shadow.
Part of me wonders how deep his feelings for her run. Enough to break
his loyalty to me? Time will tell.
I’m back in it then, as a twat grabs me from behind. He didn’t get the
memo that we’re not to be fucked with. I respond by elbowing him hard in
the ribs, hearing them crack beneath the force of my blow. He gasps and
doubles over, leaving himself vulnerable. With little effort, I bring my knee
up into his face before I plunge Clyde into the side of his neck.
Blood is everywhere—splattered on the floor, staining my clothes,
mixing with spilt drinks and broken glass. It’s suffocating but exhilarating
all at once.
Then it’s over almost as quickly as it started. The bouncers finally grow
a pair and start moving in—but they’re late to the party.
“Time to move,” G rasps, not even pausing to catch his breath as he
sweeps towards the back entrance, keeping his eyes peeled for any new
threats that might pop up. He’s right. I’ve done what I needed to do.
I drag my sleeve across my face, smearing the blood more than cleaning
it off. A wildness in my chest hasn’t quite been tamed yet, but it’ll have to
wait. Victoria’s beside me, her face streaked with red, but her smirk is pure
satisfaction.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I snarl, and she nods enthusiastically,
the chaos of tonight igniting something dangerous and hungry in her gaze.
The darkness outside is welcome after the blaze of lights and violence
we just walked out on. It’s like a slap of cold sobering me up just enough to
remember that I’m now head of the Gannon family shitshow. My father’s
death still hammers at my chest, rage and irritation warring for dominance.
We’re all dripping blood and sweat as we catch our breaths. Victoria
leans against the wall, her chest heaving, her hair dishevelled—looking
every bit the warrior queen who has just walked through fire unscathed.
I reach out and run my thumb across her jawline, smearing blood that
isn’t hers. “You were fucking magnificent,” I murmur.
“Demon’s exorcised?” she pants.
“For now,” I mutter and turn from her. She grabs my hand, and we walk
away from the bar and back to the Jeep. G swings his leg over his
motorbike, which catches Victoria’s eye. I watch her reaction as he shoves
his helmet on and bolts off like a bat out of hell. What is she thinking?
 What the fuck are any of us thinking?
“Stay the night?”
She shakes her head.
“That’s twice you’ve sacked me off. Got something better to do?” I
growl.
“Sleep,” she says. “Got a problem with that?”
Grimacing at her, the magic of the fight and the glory of it vanishes and
we’re back to me being a dick and her being a bitch because of it.
One day, we might play a different game, but for now. This is us.
Wrecked. Ravaged. Fucked in the head.
 15

VICTORIA

I SLIDE into the passenger seat of Cian’s beat-up Jeep, still buzzing from the
adrenaline rush. The fight has left me on edge, but in a good way—as if
I’ve purged some lingering ghosts with every punch thrown. I cast a
sidelong glance at Cian. He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard his split
knuckles are white and oozing blood.
The ride back is silent but charged. Every few seconds, I can feel Cian’s
gaze burning holes into my profile, but when I turn to confront it, he looks
away.
When we finally pull up to my townhouse, my body screams for rest
despite my mind racing at a hundred miles an hour. He doesn’t say fuck all
as I climb out of the car, but neither do I.
I leave him in the Jeep that seems to scream as much rebellion as its
owner and head inside. He waits until I close the door, and then I hear him
peal out of the driveway with a screech of tyres. The blood on me is starting
to dry and crack; I probably look like some wild banshee caught mid-
carnage. But right now, I don’t give a fuck.
Once inside my sanctuary, it hits me how alone I am in this madness.
But it’s by choice. I could have company tonight. Cian and I could be
fucking right now if I’d given in, but there’s something clawing at my mind,
and I can’t seem to let it go. I’m riding the wave of power, and now is the
time to send the shower video to Luke. Dropping Bonnie on the side table, I
head upstairs. She’ll need a good scrub tomorrow to get all the blood stains
off. Halfway up, I pause to take off my shoes and then carry on as I bring
up the video, I let it hang there on my bed for a minute while I strip off and
climb in the shower, washing off the blood, sweat and the feel of stranger’s
hands on my skin, imprinted there like marks of shame.
The bile rises in my throat, and I fling the shower door open, stepping
out just in time to purge the content of my stomach into the toilet, memories
of unwanted touches flooding my mind.
Fuck, I hate this part.
When the retching subsides, I lean back against the cool tiles, my pulse
starting to slow. It’s a routine now—the fight, the rush, and then the crash.
I’ve got to keep moving, or the darkness will swallow me.
Clean enough, I shut off the shower and swill my mouth out with water
before I dry off, the towel soft against my skin. In the mirror, I’m a ghost of
the hellraiser from an hour ago. Naked and vulnerable, yet there’s a fire in
my eyes that feels insatiable. I need something more—more control, more
chaos, more... Luke.
Moving into the bedroom, with damp fingers, I pick up the phone and
type:
Watch on silent when you’re with him, but don’t let him see.
I press send on the message. My heart pounds against my ribs like a
caged animal; each beat is permission—consent for Luke to enter this part
of my life.
I don’t get into bed. Instead, I sit cross-legged on top of it, naked and
waiting for his response. The read notification comes up, and the three dots
as he replies.
Okay.
One word that means nothing and everything at the same time. He isn’t
with Cian right now, that much I can tell, but when will he be? Will he even
wait?
It’s a fucking game, all of it. The power, the control—Luke knows it, I
know it, and Cian’s caught in the crossfire of our silent war.
The silence in my room stretches out. Ignoring the chill creeping over
my skin, I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them.
Waiting for something more, waiting for an indication from Luke that he
understands the storm he’s stepping into. But nothing comes.
The clock ticks. Time is a heartbeat, thudding its way toward midnight.
I’m tired—fuck, I’m exhausted—but sleep is a no-go when every cell in
your body hums with anticipation. There’s a burning need to step back into
the fight, to feel alive and powerful—even if it’s dark and twisted.
Cian has always been intoxicating, but Luke... Luke is different. He’s
like the shadow you can’t shake, a constant presence that leaves you
wanting even though you know it’s damned dangerous.
I finally break the stillness by standing up and moving around the room.
I grab an oversized t-shirt from my drawer and slip it over my head. The
soft cotton does little to warm me.
Forcing myself away from thoughts of Luke and Cian, I crawl into bed
and close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. I need to torment Luke more. I
need him to see what he can’t have but craves more than anything. It’s
messed up but I can’t stop reaching for the phone and flinging the covers
back. I prop it up and press record as I open my legs and rub my clit.
This is power—the ability to evoke desire from a distance, to control it,
harness it, and use it as a weapon. My fingers move in rhythmic circles, and
I bite back a moan, knowing full well the effect this will have on Luke.
I’m not gentle. There’s no time for that. It’s about need—raw and
desperate. I work myself faster and harder, feeling the build-up of
something monumental. The t-shirt rides up, exposing the curve of my hips,
the smooth skin that Luke has only ever seen from afar.
The orgasm hits me like a lightning strike, leaving me shaking and
breathless. With a final shudder, I stop recording and drop the phone on the
bed beside me, glaring into the darkness as my demons come out to play.
 16

LUKE

T HE MESSAGE COMES through like a fucking siren call. Part of me knows I

should ignore it, delete it, forget it ever happened. But that part is
overridden by something else entirely—something dark and hungry.
Victoria’s got her hooks in deep, and she plays this game like she’s been
born to it.
I glance around the empty room, lit only by the glow of my multiple
monitors. Cian is still downstairs, drowning himself in a bottle of aged
scotch. I’ve always prided myself on control, on unwavering loyalty. But
staring at that square message, I feel it all dissolve in an instant. Whatever it
is, she has planned this to tease me, torment me, and she wants me to
experience this with Cian in the room.
Silence wraps around me like a cloak as I make a decision that could
wreck everything.
Heading for the stairs, I take them steadily and stride into the living
room, where Cian is slumped in his favourite armchair, bottle in hand.
“Any left?”
“Help yourself,” he slurs and hands it to me, half full.
I gulp back a couple of mouthfuls and hand it back to him, dropping my
ass on the couch adjacent to his chair.
My hands are steady as I pull up the video, ensuring the sound is off.
The footage slithers into view—Victoria in the shower, water sluicing
over her skin like liquid sin—but she is barely seen, hidden by the shower’s
frosted door, with only her curves on display.
 My cock springs into action, desperate to slide into her and I swallow
back the groan.
I watch it once. Twice. Fuck—three times. Each viewing etches it
deeper into my mind until it’s all I can see when I close my eyes. It’s not
just arousal that courses through me; it’s power—the power she’s giving
me, the power to look but not touch.
And isn’t that the sweetest torture of all?
I type out a simple response, because that’s all I can manage without
betraying the storms raging inside me. My fingers slip on the screen, almost
slick with the intensity of my need.
Watching. Always watching you.
I lock the phone and shove it in my pocket, trying to get a grip on my
racing pulse. Cian is oblivious, his eyes glassy from the alcohol and
whatever else he’s been drowning in tonight. The day’s chaos is a distant
memory now, buried under layers of intoxication and despair.
He doesn’t see it—the conflict in me or the silent message vibrating in
my pocket like a goddamn lifeline.
I know what I should do and who I should be loyal to. But Victoria is
fire, and I’m drawn to her blaze like a moth hell-bent on self-destruction.
I stand up abruptly. “I’m gonna turn in.”
Cian just waves me off, and I escape to my room, where I can finally
breathe. But even here, alone in the dark, there’s no peace. Victoria has seen
to that.
She is skewing reality until I don’t know what the fuck I’m playing at
anymore.
I pull the phone out and check the message. It’s another video, but there
are no words this time.
Pressing play, I nearly drop the phone as I see her fingering her pussy,
bringing herself to a cataclysmic orgasm quickly. I turn the sound up, just
enough to be able to hear her moans when I replay it. Unzipping my pants, I
pull my cock out and watch her again jerking off with a low grunt. Tearing
my eyes from her, I grab my iPad and set it up to record me jerking off
while I’m watching her rub one out. Fuck. This is so fucked up but so hot, I
can’t stop.
Tugging roughly, fisting my cock harshly as I watch her fingers teasing
her slippery clit, I cum with a ragged breath, splatting the hot jets over the
bed covers. The tension in my body releases in an explosion of white-hot
pleasure that leaves me rasping for air. My mind is a fucking war zone—
guilt, desire, loyalty, betrayal—they all blend together into an intoxicating
twister that I can’t seem to refuse.
But right now, I shove all of that aside, as there is only the depraved
satisfaction that consumes me entirely as I pick up the iPad and send the
message to Victoria without a second thought. The video should never see
the light of day; it’s ammunition that could be used against me in so many
bloody ways. But now it’s just her and me and this sick game we’re playing
across the digital void.
I lie back, breathing heavily, feeling equal parts spent and wired. The
reality of the situation sinks in. The weight of what I’ve done—and what
I’m risking—presses down on me with no mercy.
Cian’s girl. His fucking life; the one he would literally die for, and here
I am, jerking off to a video of my best friend’s girl masturbating just for me.
If loyalty had a grave, I’d be dancing on it right now.
The phone buzzes again, and for a moment, I consider ignoring it. But
like a junkie, I can’t help myself—I need to see her response. Climbing on
the bed, I gulp and open it.
Nice show, but next time, make sure you scream my name.
Her audacity makes me laugh—a low, humourless sound that echoes
around my empty room. She’s pushing the boundaries further than they’ve
ever been pushed before. And as fucked up as it is, I can’t deny that part of
me loves it.
I text back, the words forming without thought. Next time you’ll be here
to make me.
Tossing the phone aside, sickened by how much control she has over me
now, I turn off the lights and try to sleep, try to forget her moans, her name
—the way she commanded me even without saying a single fucking word.
But it’s impossible. Victoria’s under my skin, in my head, everywhere.
 17

VICTORIA

I’ M LYING awake way before I’d like to be up. Classes aren’t until mid-
morning, and I’d hoped I would be exhausted, sated enough to have a lie-in.
No such fucking luck.
The sheets are twisted around my legs, my heart racing as I can’t get my
mind to switch off from Luke’s video. It’s everything I didn’t know I craved
until I saw it. He’s rough, almost savage, as he strokes himself, the need
etched into every tense muscle of his body. This powerful man who could
navigate the dark recesses of the underground with his eyes closed is now
unravelling because of me. It’s a rush, a fucking heady power trip that sends
another wave of lust crashing over me.
I’m playing with fire, dancing on the edge of a cliff. But it’s not just lust
that holds me captive—it’s the complexity of wanting both him and Cian.
It’s a dangerous game, but I’m all in. I have to wonder what Cian’s response
would really be. He is jealous as fuck, but with Luke and if it was
something I truly wanted, would he get on board?
The thought lingers like the echo of a gunshot in an empty alley. It’s
both exhilarating and terrifying. Cian has always been possessive, but his
bond with Luke... that’s something forged in steel and blood. Could he
share? Would he even consider it?
I grab my phone and dial.
He answers on the second ring, groggy as fuck. “Yeah.”
“I fucking love you, too.”
“Then come over here and sit on my dick, bitch.”
 “That’s nice.”
“You left me to get pissed all on my own and now I feel like shite.” His
Irish accent is thicker with his hangover daze and it’s sexy as fuck.
“You want me, come and get me.”
“Scared of coming here?”
“No. Why?”
“Just asking.”
“Just come.”
There’s a pause. “What’s wrong?” he asks, suddenly more awake.
“Nothing,” I lie. “Demons got riled, and now I… I don’t know… miss
you.”
“Tell me about these demons, killer. Can I kick their arse?”
“They get better when your dick is in my cunt.”
“I know how that goes.”
“We need to talk.”
“We are.”
“About the boxes.”
“Creeped out?”
“No,” I say again defiantly, but he knows me too well. “Maybe a bit. It’s
too personal. If it were the usual shit, I wouldn’t care, you know.”
“I know. Give me ten minutes.”
“Make it five.”
We hang up, and I lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling like the worst
betrayer in the history of humankind. This is worse than Judas. I groan and
press the pillow over my head but then fling it to the side and get up to
brush my teeth before Cian arrives. The doorbell chimes, and I spit and
rinse before heading down in just the oversized tee I wore to bed.
I open the door to him leaning one hand on the doorframe, looking like
he just rolled out of hell, all dark hair and bloodshot eyes that are still sharp
enough to see right through me.
“Five minutes,” he says with a slight smirk as he steps inside, closing
the door behind him. His arms wrap around me in a rough embrace, and for
a second, I can pretend everything is fine. But then his hand trails down my
back, brushing over my ass, and his voice drops to a whisper. “Missed you
in my bed last night.”
I let out a shaky breath, leaning into him despite the guilt gnawing at
me. “Missed you too.”
 He pulls back, studying my face like he’s trying to read the secrets I’m
desperate to keep hidden. “You’re tense,” he murmurs, “something’s not
right.”
“There’s just a lot on my mind.” I try to sound casual, but it’s like the
words are stones in my throat.
Cian doesn’t push, just nods as if he understands, but his eyes don’t
leave mine. It’s like he’s waiting for me to spill the darkness that I’ve
invited in.
“We should talk about what happened yesterday.”
His eyes go hard, and he shuts down, stepping back from me. “What is
there to say?”
“A lot, Cian. This is huge, and not just for you but for everyone. You’re
head of this Gannon family faction. How do you even feel about that?”
Cian’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “How do I feel?” His
voice is low, almost a growl. “Like everything’s about to go tits up. Like I
have more enemies than friends.”
I watch him, trying to gauge his next move. He’s a fucking enigma—
always has been. But now there’s a new edge to him, something raw and
dangerous that wasn’t there before.
“You need to assert your strength,” I say, stepping closer.
He nods slowly. “What do you think last night was about?”
“You need to do more.”
“I trust you,” he says softly. “You know that, right?”
It takes me by surprise. “Why would I think otherwise?”
Then his mouth crashes against mine—a fierce, possessive kiss full of
need and fire that scorches any remaining thoughts from my brain. His
hands grip me hard enough to bruise, as if he can imprint his touch into my
skin, claiming me more with each heartbeat. There’s a desperate edge to it
that tells me something big is coming.
We break apart, panting. “Fuck, Victoria,” Cian murmurs, his forehead
resting against mine. “Whatever you’re holding back... I need you to trust
me with it.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t lie to me, Tory. We’ve been together for a year; have known
each other for far longer. I know you whether you like it or not, and I know
this darkness that you need to sate isn’t just being your father’s daughter.
Who hurt you?”
 It hits me in the heart like a bullet. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”
He grips my upper arms tightly. “I said don’t lie to me. Tell me so I can
fix it.”
“I don’t need fixing.”
He stands up straight and stares down at me. “I wasn’t talking about
you, killer.”
Every instinct screams at me to run. This isn’t anything he needs to
know. It’s my business. My life. My darkness. But then I have to wonder if
sharing that darkness will ease the burden. But it doesn’t last. I close down
and step away from him, turning to head into the kitchen for coffee.
“Don’t walk away from me, Victoria. I want to protect you.”
“I don’t need it,” I call back over my shoulder.
After a beat, he follows me, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. I
feel his eyes burning into my back as I fuss with the coffee machine, my
hands shaking slightly. I don’t need to look at him to know he’s still trying
to figure me out, piece together the puzzle that is my current state.
When I turn around, leaning back against the counter, Cian is standing
with his arms crossed over his chest, his hands tucked under his armpits.
“You think you’re so tough, don’t you?” His tone is mocking, but
there’s a thread of worry there that I can’t ignore.
“I am tough,” I retort, meeting his gaze head-on. “I’ve had to be.”
A moment of silence stretches between us, charged and electric. Then
he comes towards me until he’s invading my space.
“Let me be tough for you this time,” he says quietly, reaching out to cup
my face. His touch is gentle yet commanding. “Let me in.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to refuse him, to push him away and keep
guarding my secrets like a dragon hoarding gold. But then his lips are on
mine again, soft and coaxing, and my resolve begins to crumble.
I part my lips and let him deepen the kiss. It feels like falling into a
warm abyss—dangerous but irresistible. As we kiss, his hands roam over
me, over every curve and every edge they can find beneath the fabric of my
tee.
I’m losing myself in him, in this moment where nothing else matters but
his touch, his taste. But then I push back, my hands on his chest, needing
air, needing to maintain some semblance of control. “Cian, stop.”
 He does immediately, pulling back to look at me with intense eyes. “Tell
me what’s wrong, Victoria? Let me use this power that’s been shat on my
head to help you.”
“Lovely mental image,” I murmur with an inappropriate giggle.
He clenches his jaw. “Don’t change the subject.”
Shoving my hands into my hair, I let out a huff. “I can’t do this, Cian.
Not now.”
“When?”
“How about never?”
“Not acceptable. Let me in, dammit, Victoria!” he hisses, getting pissed
off by my run around.
“Cian, stop—”
“No, fuck it, Tory. We’re doing this. Tell me who the fuck hurt you!”
His face is contorted with rage, but it’s not directed at me. I know that, but
I’m frozen on the spot. “Please, open up to me, Tory. I need more. I need
this to be more. Fuck!” He spins, hands in his hair as he kicks out at the
kitchen island. “Fuck!” His fist flies at the fridge door, smashing into it and
denting it.
“Your hand,” I mutter.
“Fuck that. They’re fucked anyway. Talk to me.”
“You need this to be more? More than what?” His words have turned
me to ice.
“Sex,” he growls. “Fire, passion, danger, darkness. I need you one
hundred per cent all in.”
“I am, I love you, Cian.”
His eyes snap up to meet mine, a flash of relief mingled with a thirst
just as strong as the desperation clawing at his features. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” I repeat, and it feels like a confession—a surrender in the
most vulnerable sense.
He closes the distance between us in two strides, his hands capturing my
face again before he kisses me with a passion that borders on reverence. It’s
like he’s trying to absorb the words through his lips to convince himself
they’re real.
“Then let me love all of you,” he implores against my lips. “Even the
parts you’re scared to show.”
“Back at you,” I say, gripping his hand and turning my face to kiss his
palm.
 “This isn’t about me.”
“I can’t tell you, Cian. You will lose it, and I just can’t face that.” The
fear of this revelation makes my insides turn to liquid.
“Say it.”
I stare into his blue eyes and nearly drown as the memories flood me.
Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them away, but they escape anyway. He
wipes them away with this thumbs, more shocked than I am that I’m
fucking crying.
“Tory,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, we don’t have to—”
“I was sexually abused when I was an early teen,” I blurt out and see the
shock register on his face before it goes so fucking dark, I gulp and push
myself back against the counter, trapped between it and the building rage in
the man I love.
Cian’s face is taut with the restraint he’s holding back. I can see his jaw
working, the muscles clenching as he processes my words. He takes a step
back, giving me space, and leans against the opposite counter. His eyes are
closed, and his breathing is measured.
He opens his eyes, revealing a storm of emotions bubbling beneath the
surface. Emotions that surge and crash, ready to consume everything in
their wake.
“Who?” His voice is barely a whisper, but it resonates with a danger
that sends a shiver down my spine.
“I can’t,” I manage to say, my voice a broken whisper.
Cian looks like he’s about to tear the world apart brick by brick.
“Victoria, I need to know who did this to you. I’ll fucking destroy them.”
I shake my head, tears streaming down my face now. “It’s in the past,
Cian. Let it stay there.”
He pushes off from the counter and approaches me. This time, his
movements are slow and deliberate. He cups my face again and forces me
to look at him. “It’s not just in the past if it’s hurting you now.”
I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. “Cian… please.”
“Who?”
I shake my head. The name will never be uttered. It can’t be. He is too
much a part of this life, too powerful, too everything. “Don’t,” I whisper.
“Don’t make me say it.”
His eyes search mine, looking for something—anything—that’ll give
him the name he’s aching to extract. But I steel myself against his silent
pleas, locking the secret within the confines of my own fear.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, the word heavy with defeat. He doesn’t press
further. Instead, he wraps me in his arms—his embrace is a fortress, an
impenetrable shield against the ghosts knocking at my mind’s door.
This is Cian. He is rage and retribution but also protection and profound
care. He won’t let this drop, but for now, I’ve escaped revealing what will
undoubtedly be a death sentence.
 18

GIANLUCA

S TRIDING INTO THE KITCHEN , I catch Luke staring at his phone, absently
stirring what passes for coffee in his world.
“Where’s Cian?”
He nearly jumps out of his skin as he looks up, pocketing his phone
quickly as he glares at me, looking like he’s been caught watching porn by
his mother. “No idea. Not here. Why?”
“Robert is here to see him.”
“Oh, that’ll be fun. Where did you put him?”
“In the dining room.”
Luke snickers, but it’s half-hearted.
“Are you watching porn?” I ask as I grab my brand of coffee that will
sear the enamel off your teeth but fuck, it’s good.
“Fuck off,” he growls.
“Hey, I get it,” I say, holding one hand up. “You are like me. We get our
kicks where we can.”
“Not exactly like you,” he grumbles.
“Prince. Earl. It’s all the same when it comes to gold diggers, no?” I
shrug to show nonchalance, but I’m anything but casual about this subject.
“Maybe. I guess that when you find the one, you know, and you have to
do whatever it takes.” He picks up his coffee and stalks out under a
thundercloud after those ominous words.
I sigh. I’d hoped what I saw in his gaze last night was wrong, but I’m
not wrong. I’m never wrong. He is falling for Victoria Stroud. Hard.
 I watch Luke walk away, his tense posture saying more than words ever
could. This is a problem. The last thing we need is a love triangle that could
jeopardise our operation and Cian’s leadership.
The idea of Luke’s allegiance being swayed by Victoria worries me. I
take a sip of my coffee, the bitter taste matching the uneasy thoughts in my
mind. We’ve been a tight-knit team for so long, and now this?
Cian needs to know if he doesn’t already. He is a notoriously volatile
man who’d burn the world for her if he had to, that includes Luke and me,
if we get caught up in that path. It’s not a place I want to be voluntarily, but
I get Luke’s infatuation. That woman is something else entirely. She is next
level. Seeing her last night practically naked as she writhed on the dance
floor, luring brainless assholes to her with her curves, I was nearly one of
them.
Rubbing my hand over my face, I pull my phone out and text Cian.
Where are you?
When there is no reply, I make my way back to the dining room and
stare at Robert. He is a younger version of their father, although every
Gannon male I have come across looks pretty similar. It’s crazy how strong
those genetics are. “Cian isn’t here, and we can’t trace him.”
“Probably with Victoria,” he mutters.
“Are you going to wait? Luke and I need to leave.”
“If you don’t mind. This is important.”
“Of course,” I say with a nod. “Make yourself at home.”
I take my coffee and head upstairs. My phone rings in my hand, and I
swipe my thumb across it, answering quickly. “Rue?”
“Prince Gianluca of Esteria,” she drawls. “What the fuck do you want?”
I snort into my coffee, sending it shooting up my nose. I stifle my cough
as I shake my head at her sass. “We need to talk about this idiocy,” I croak.
“Yeah, well, take it up with the old man. It’s got nothing to do with me.”
“Our countries cannot continue to be at odds like this,” I murmur,
oozing charm for all it’s worth. “It’s counterproductive and frankly, quite
tedious.”
There’s a pause on the other end. She sighs, loud and theatrical.
“Fine,” she finally says, exasperation bleeding into her tone. “I’ll talk to
him, but I’m not making any fucking promises, Gianluca.”
“That’s all I ask,” I reply, knowing that getting Princess Rue Di’Castello
to bend even a fraction is an accomplishment in itself. “Thank you. I’ll be
in touch.”
“Whatever,” she mutters and hangs up.
While I’m on a roll, I dial Cian’s number, and he picks up after two
rings. “What, for fuck’s sake?”
“Robert is here, asshole. Wherever you are, this is more important. Deal
with it.” My turn to hang up. I can’t be dealing with his bullshit with this
brother when I’ve got my own crap piling up at my door. I’m avoiding
thinking about it and focusing on Luke’s infatuation, but I know I’m in just
as deep. Finishing my coffee, I grab my bag, deciding I should probably
head to campus and maybe take in a class or two. It wouldn’t hurt even
though I have a completely free ride here. My parents, King and Queen of
Esteria, are the top funders of this university and with that comes the
privilege of passing first-class honours whether I deserve it or not. Some
days I want to earn it, other days, I’d rather spend watching Victoria. I head
out into the cold morning and shiver in my black cashmere coat.
My boots crunch on the frost that has settled over the pathways of the
university grounds. I shove my hands into my pockets.
Reaching the History building, I push open the heavy doors and step
into the relative warmth of its corridors. Crossing paths with students
bundled in scarves and heads buried in textbooks, I wonder how many of
them would survive a single day in my shoes. Heir Apparent to a small but
eye-wateringly wealthy European sovereignty which is also neck deep in
the criminal underworld. From drugs to blood diamonds, there is a finger in
every pie. But it’s a delicate balance. One where I’m the dutiful Prince,
politically minded and will one day be King, and the other where I’m
nothing more than a thug who craves the feel of blood on my hands. Some
days, I’d choose thug over Prince every time.
I sink into a seat at the back of one of the lecture rooms. The professor
is new. I frown at him. He is smooth, elegant, and refined, but underneath
all that, I can see the psycho that lurks. He is like me. Living two worlds,
but never knowing which one to choose.
He begins speaking, his posh English accent riveting the entire lecture
hall. Even me. There is something so charismatic about him, I find it
beyond suspicious.
As he enthusiastically regales us with the political dynamics of pre-war
Europe, I let my mind wander. His words blend into a hypnotic rhythm that
I find strangely soothing, yet I remain alert.
 You don’t rise to my level by dropping your defences, not even in a
fucking lecture hall.
An hour ticks by before the professor wraps up his class, and as
everyone shuffles out, I hang back. There’s something about this man that
has grabbed my interest, and I’m not leaving until I satisfy my curiosity.
Besides, it’s a welcome distraction from the chaos waiting for me on the
outside.
He notices me lingering and gives me a nod as he packs away his books.
“Prince Gianluca,” he acknowledges with a small smile.
“Professor,” I reply with a nod, unsurprised that he knows exactly who I
am. “It’s just Gianluca here. Your lecture was enlightening.”
“A pleasure to have royalty gracing my classroom.” His tone is smooth,
but something tells me he couldn’t give two shits about my title, which
means one thing. He has one of his own.
I cut to the chase. “You’re new here,” I state more than ask.
“I am.” He glances around the emptying room and sighs. “It is a revered
position.”
“What happened to Dr Matthews?”
He shrugs, an elegant shift of his shoulders, his eyes like blue ice chips.
“He was made an offer he couldn’t refuse; I believe.”
Interesting. “Where were you before BlackBriar?”
He chuckles lightly, though there’s no humour in it. “I’m just a
wandering academic with a penchant for history’s darker chapters,” he says
cryptically.
Wandering academic, my ass.
Before I can say anything else, he tilts his head. “Your country’s history
fascinates me. Would you care to join me for coffee one day and give me an
inside view?”
Narrowing my eyes, I know he’s after something but it’s not my take on
Esteria’s history. Trouble is, I have no fucking clue what he wants. He is
probably the only creature on earth I cannot read. “Sure,” I say, needing to
know more about him. He has me intrigued. “Tomorrow after class?”
“It’s a date,” he says and dismisses me by sitting down at his desk and
shuffling through stacks of papers.
I leave the room, the questions swirling like a storm in my head. Who
the hell is this guy? And what’s his endgame? Exiting the building, the air
outside bites into my skin, and I relish it – it keeps me sharp, focused.
 I don’t have time to linger on cryptic professors and their thinly veiled
invitations. Not when there are bigger issues to deal with. But he’s worth
keeping an eye on, all the same.
 19

LUKE

I SEE her before she sees me. She is staring at her phone as she crosses
campus on this freezing cold December day. The sun is weak even though
it’s nearing midday, but it still makes her raven hair shine like obsidian. She
is alone, completely alone. No friends. No boyfriend. Just her and her
phone.
Watching her closely, I feel my phone buzz in my coat pocket and pull it
out, glancing at it absently.
The message is from Victoria. She is standing fifty feet away, and she
sent me a message, probably not even aware I’m watching her.
Not wanting to draw my gaze from her, but aching to know what she
sent, I open the message and see it’s another video. With a trembling hand, I
click play.
Then I swallow back the mouthful of saliva that flooded into my mouth
as I watch her and Cian fucking against her front door. A brutal, savage
fuck that has my cock hard as iron. My gaze flicks up to hers, still
engrossed in her own little world, and I shove the phone into my pocket.
Marching up to her, I stop in her personal space, and she looks up at me
with a slow smile, knowing it’s me. She knew I was watching her.
“Enjoy that one?”
I growl, low, menacing and grab her upper arms, a move she hates
because she loses all control. My grip is like a vice as I shake her slightly.
“What are you doing?”
“Playing,” she spits back, her eyes full of fire.
 “What do you want from me?” I ask, hearing the desperation in my
tone. She does, too, and it gives her pause.
She licks her lips and loses a shred of her defiance. “What do you want,
Luke?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” I snarl, keeping my voice low. “I want you,
Victoria.”
“Do you?” she asks quietly, almost sadly. “Is this something you really
want, Luke?”
“Yes.”
She blinks. “I’ll talk to him.”
“No, you can’t do that. He won’t understand. You are his, even though I
want you to be mine. You are his.”
“Why can’t I be both?”
Her words catch me off guard, and I loosen my hold a bit, but she
doesn’t break free. She only stares at me with those cornflower-blue eyes,
expecting an answer.
“That isn’t how this works,” I murmur.
“He wants me to be happy. I can talk to him, make him see this will be a
good thing but I need to know you are all in. I can’t jeopardise everything
with him if this is just a game to you.”
Her seriousness nearly kills me. “I’m all in, Victoria. Can’t you tell?
Don’t you see what you fucking do to me? I’m always in control. Always.
But you unravel me like a fucking loose thread on a cheap jumper.”
My words are like gasoline to her, I can see it in her eyes. They flare
with something dangerous, something promising. She steps in, her breath a
warm whisper against my cold skin. “Then prove it, Luke.”
That’s the one thing I want to do more than anything else. Prove it.
Prove that she’s not just another conquest, that it’s not just the illicit thrill of
wanting what Cian has. But how do I prove something like that? Especially
when every cell in my body is screaming at me to take what I want, my best
friend be damned.
“How?” I croak. “How can I prove to you that I don’t just want you
because you’re his? How do I prove to you that you are it for me, Victoria?
How? Tell me because I can’t seem to come up with any fucking answers
that are even remotely adequate.”
She holds the power now, and she knows it. But who am I kidding? She
always did. Her eyes roam over my face, reading every line of stress, every
shadow of lust. She moves closer, so close that each breath she takes sends
shivers down my spine.
“You be the one to talk to Cian.”
My heart plummets down to my feet and then shoots back up to hit the
top of my head and sinks slowly back into place as her words settle on me.
“Okay. I will. But if I do this, Victoria, I need to know that this isn’t a game
to you. Playing me off against Cian is a deadly move—”
“I’m not playing,” she interrupts.
Her voice is steel, hard and cold, and I believe her. She’s made of the
same darkness that inhabits the corners of our lives, and she’s not afraid to
walk through it. I nod, unable to find my voice for a moment, because
there’s a sense of finality in this. A sense that everything will change.
“I’ll talk to him,” I affirm once the power of speech returns to me. My
words feel heavy, like they’re etching themselves into reality.
She nods back, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t say anything
else; she just turns on her heel and leaves me standing there like an idiot as
the sharp winter air picks up around us. I turn from her, so I don’t follow
her and slam her up against the university admin building and kiss her like a
man possessed.
Movement catches my eyes, and I look up just in time to see a figure
clad all in black, duck behind the topiary hedges in the garden nearby.
“Beast,” I murmur and follow his trajectory into the garden, but it’s
empty. “Who are you?” Bringing up the feed outside Victoria’s townhouse,
I see another box has been left. “Time to fucking find out who you are,
asshole.”
Deciding not to tell anyone about this third box on the third day—which
is a clear pattern now—I hurry across campus and across the road to
Victoria’s house, glancing around as I creep up the path to the front door
where the black shoe box awaits with whatever fresh horror is inside.
 20

CIAN

“N O ,” I say to Robert as I walk into the house before he even has a chance
to say anything. “I’m not doing this now.”
“Tough fucking shit,” he growls, standing up from my armchair. “Dad
died, was executed, yesterday. We are doing this.”
“I’ve got bigger shit to deal with.” Thinking of Victoria’s confessions
rips at my insides. I want so desperately for her to tell me who it is so I can
eviscerate them and burn them from the inside out with acid before I
decimate their corpse and then burn it until there is nothing left but ash.
“What could possibly be bigger than this?” he roars. “Jesus, Cian. Get it
together. You are the head of this fucking family now. If you want to
continue that way, I’d suggest you get your head out of your ass and lead.”
Fury boils up inside me, already too close to the surface. In two strides,
I’m in front of him, and I slam my younger brother against the wall, rattling
his bones. “Is that a fucking threat, you little shit?”
“No,” Robert spits out, defiance etched in every line of his face, even as
my fingers dig tighter into his shirt. “It’s the fucking truth.” He shoves me
back, and I let him. I’m not in the mood to brawl with my brother, not when
Victoria’s shadow looms over every thought.
The room is silent. An unspoken truce hangs in the air. Robert fixes his
shirt, then locks eyes with me. “We need to sort this shit out. Everyone is
left wondering what the fuck is going on. Who are you naming as your
enforcer, your second-in-command, your inner fucking circle? This isn’t
just about me, this is about everyone.”
 I push past the anger, past the emptiness of losing a father who was
more a monster than a man. “Fine,” I concede. “But first, I need to handle
something.” I turn to the door and then stop. “You coming?”
He leaps forward in an instant, not even questioning this mystery
mission.
Outside, we climb into the Jeep, freezing to fucking death with no coat
on because when Victoria told me five minutes, I didn’t have time to grab
one. When I set off, I turn the heater up as Robert hunches further into his
coat. “Where are we going?”
“Wait and see.”
He huffs but doesn’t say anything else as I head out of the university
town and head for the main road.
Ten minutes later, I pull up onto a car park.
Robert looks up from his phone as I cut the engine. He snickers and
gives me a triumphant stare. “I knew it! I knew you fucking kept this
fucking trash heap ride to piss him off.”
Smirking, I climb out and head into the Porsche dealership to make
these cunts an offer they can’t refuse.
The salesman looks up and gives me a shocked stare, standing there in
just my worn black jeans and a black tee that is all crumpled and maybe a
bit ripped. “Erm,” he starts, standing up and walking towards me warily. “I
think you’re in the wrong place.”
“I’m driving off in one of these motherfucking cars in ten minutes one
way or another,” I say, pulling out Clyde with one hand and my black
AMEX with the other, giving the salesman a violent glare that sends most
men into a meltdown. This sod is no different.
His eyes widen, but he catches himself. Smart lad. Doesn’t want to
show he’s shitting his pants. “Right this way,” he stammers, motioning
toward the sleek machines glinting under showroom lights.
Robert chuckles behind me, probably picturing how this is going to play
out. I slide into the driver’s seat of the newest model, feeling like a fish out
of water. I don’t actually give a fuck about my wheels. If it gets me from A
to B, that’s all I care about. But I suppose, this way, I can get there quicker.
“It’ll do. Get the paperwork started.” I hand him the card. He has been
amenable, after all.
As he hurries off, Robert leans against the car, shaking his head in
disbelief. “You’re sitting in three hundred grand worth of machinery,” he
purrs almost reverently. “You’re really doing this?”
“Card has a half a mil limit, so why the fuck not?” However, I flash him
a grin because I know exactly what he means. Dad always hated Porsche—
said they were for wankers and pretenders. He was a Ferrari man, himself.
“It’s not just about getting at him,” I lie smoothly. “It’s fitting for a head
of the family, yeah?”
He snorts and checks his phone again, probably keeping tabs on his
little crew over at Castle University, where the pompous go to play at being
hardcore. But the thing with Robert is that he may be a pain in the ass, but
he knows the game well.
The salesman returns with my card and the paperwork—fast and
accurate—and I sign without reading. Who has time for details? I toss him
the keys to the Jeep as a trade-in bonus and wait for them to unlock the
glass front doors so I can drive this penis-mobile out of here with a satisfied
smirk plastered on my face. Fuck knows what he plans to tell his boss about
why a car left the showroom in under five minutes, but that’s not my
fucking problem.
I start the engine, and that purr is something else. Now, I can admit, it’s
pretty fucking sweet. The thrill of power courses through me as I steer it out
of the dealership. Robert’s still shaking his head, a mix of disbelief and
respect in his eyes.
The drive back is silent, filled with my thoughts churning like the
engine beneath us. Victoria’s situation is like a thorn in my side; every time
I think about it, the wound gets deeper. And then there’s the Luke issue.
He’s been too quiet lately. A man like him doesn’t go silent unless he’s
planning or plotting, and that worries me. If his attraction to Victoria is
more than just a passing lust, we’re going to have a massive fucking
problem on our hands. I’ve been letting it play out, but his showing up at
her house to protect her from that box yesterday was a move in the wrong
direction for him.
As we roll back into uni territory, Robert breaks the silence. “So,
meeting later?”
“Yeah, but here. I’m not fucking about back at Dad’s estate. It’s not
convenient for me, and I need to be here.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, asshole. You say when and where,
and everyone will show.”
 Giving him a wry smile, I pull up back at home. “Guess that will take
some getting used to.”
A heavy silence descends, and I give him the olive branch I know he’s
waiting for. “You know you’re my second, right?”
His gaze locks on mine, and the relief that floods it almost makes me
feel a bit sorry for him. “Thanks, Cian,” he croaks.
I punch him on the arm and then sigh. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
His gaze hardens for a fraction of a second, but then he shakes his head.
“I know shit was bad between you two, but he was still your father, This is
still your loss as well.”
“Nah. Good riddance.”
Climbing out of the low-slung car, I watch Robert get into his parked-up
SUV and drive off. I kick open the front door and step inside, feeling the
weight of responsibility on my shoulders like a fucking boulder. Everything
feels different now, thick with expectation and danger. I’ve got plans to
make and a family business to run without letting it all go to shit.
First things first, though, I head upstairs to change out of these
crumpled clothes into something more befitting the new head of the family.
Glaring at the black suit shoved way off to the side of my wardrobe, I pull it
out and glare at it. Stripping off, I shave, shower and pull on a black shirt
before the suit pants. I look sharp. Too much like Oisin, but fuck it. It’s part
of the game, a uniform, just like everything else. Grabbing my phone, I start
to send out texts, calling the entire family here after dark to discuss the way
forward. Whichever way that is, it includes finding out exactly who hurt
Victoria and making them pay in blood.
 21

LUKE

E YEING this fucking box like it might blow up at any moment unleashing an
explosion of maggots all over me, I gingerly carry it back to the house.
There is a fancy, brand-new Porsche, which doesn’t even have proper plates
on it, parked in the driveway, making me wonder who the fuck this is.
Opening the front door, all is quiet, so I slip into the kitchen, only to be
greeted with Cian dressed to kill, possibly literally, in a black suit. “Funeral
today?” I ask.
He snorts into his coffee. “No. You’re looking at the new me.”
I raise an eyebrow and gesture outside. “That’s yours then?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice.”
His eyes drop to the box and go cold. “Another one?”
“Yeah. Three in three days.”
“And you were there because…?”
“Just checking the feed,” I murmur. “This is becoming a pattern.
Whoever is stalking Victoria is making sure to be consistent.”
“Does Victoria know?”
“Not yet.”
“Keep it that way.”
I nod. It’s his call, not mine. I place it on the counter and stare at it.
“What’s in it?” he asks.
“Haven’t opened it yet.”
“Scared there might be more maggots?”
 “Maybe,” I concede with a rough laugh.
“Want me to do the honours?”
“Sure.” I step back, giving him room as he moves forward, but keep
close as he lifts the lid slowly.
The sight that greets us is a mess of chopped-up, blood-soaked white
roses, their thorns sharp and glistening. A single, pristine white envelope is
in the centre, nestled amongst the crimson-stained petals. It’s almost artistic
in a fucked-up sort of way, like this psycho has time on their hands for
dramatic flair. Cian reaches in with a nonchalance that pisses me off
because inside, I’m raging. This is an escalation of yesterday’s more poetic
box.
He flips open the envelope without hesitation, pulling out a card with
one word scrawled across it in jagged, violent letters. In blood: MINE
There is no signature, no other clues, just this possessive proclamation.
Whoever is behind these deliveries doesn’t just want to scare Victoria; they
want to claim her, and that sets something dark and dangerous alight inside
me.
Cian’s jaw tightens as he stares at it. “Fucking find out who this fucker
is so I can kill him.” He shoves the card at me, and I take it, dropping it
back in the box.
“This is escalating quickly,” I tell him my earlier thought.
I watch as Cian’s eyes narrow, a sure sign he’s already plotting
someone’s demise. He’s a man of action, and someone threatening his girl
is like a red flag to a bull. This shit is complicated enough without some
psychopath throwing curveballs into the mix.
“No shit,” he murmurs, locking his gaze onto mine. “Do whatever it
takes to find this prick.”
“I will.” I pull my phone out, take a few snaps of the box, and place it
on the counter. Somehow, through an act of fate or extreme bad luck, my
fingers glide over the screen, drawing up the video that Victoria sent to me
earlier of her and Cian fucking against her front door.
Cian’s eyes go to it in an instant, not even needing it to play to see what
it is. His entire body goes rigid as he picks up the phone and stares at it,
doing the inevitable and pressing play just in time to hear Victoria coming
all over his cock.
“How the fuck did you get this?” he asks quietly. So quietly, I know I’m
a dead man walking.
 I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure because a show of panic
is not going to do me any favours here. “She sent it to me,” I say as even-
keeled as possible, keeping my gaze locked on Cian’s.
“And why would she do that, hmm?” He asks the question before he
slams his hand to my chest, making me stumble backwards to hit the wall
behind me. “To make you jealous? Are you playing some kind of sick game
with my girl, Luke?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer but does the one
thing I was hoping he wouldn’t. He goes through the rest of the message
thread, seeing my video to her and hers to me.
Fuck.
“Cian, it’s not what it looks like. I haven’t touched her, I swear. This
was a game.”
“A game? You are sending my woman videos of you tossing your cock,
because she’s sending you videos of her fingering herself. What the fuck is
this? How long has this been going on?”
“Since yesterday. It’s fucked up, I know, but I would never touch her—”
“But you want to? Is that it? Are you making a play for her?”
“No.” But then I man up. This wasn’t how I wanted it to go down, but
we are here, and we’re doing this whether I was ready for it or not. “I want
her. Fuck, I want her so badly, it’s making me crazy—”
His fist hits my face before I can finish. Pain explodes through my jaw.
But I stay upright, bracing myself against the wall. Cian’s eyes are black
with fury, his breaths coming hard and fast.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he hisses, his voice a low threat
that has seen men twice my size cower.
I spit blood onto the floor, pushing past the pain, and stand my ground.
“Look, it’s not just me.” My voice is steady despite the throbbing in my
face. “She’s in this too. We’ve talked about it. She wants us both.”
His hand tightens into a fist again, but he doesn’t swing. Not yet. I can
see the war going on behind his dark eyes—not just anger but betrayal,
confusion, and something else.
“She’s not just your girl anymore,” I tell him, because it’s the truth,
however inconvenient it may be. “She’s ours.”
There’s a long moment of silence where I could actually hear a pin drop
in the loaded air between us.
“And you think she wants you?” His words are clipped—a razor edge to
them.
 “Yes,” I say without hesitation.
Cian looks away for a moment, and when he looks back, there’s a new
calculation in his gaze. “And what if I don’t share?”
I don’t falter. “Then we’ve got a problem.”
For a few more heartbeats, we stand there sizing each other up—not just
friends or brothers-in-arms now but rivals in something that’s always been
more fucking dangerous than the business we’re in. Love—or whatever
twisted version of it we’re tangled up in—isn’t for the weak, and I’ll be
damned if I back down now.
His next words cut through the tension. “She really wants this?”
I nod, fierce determination settling inside me. “Yes, she does.”
Cian’s fist uncurls, and he steps back, raking a hand through his hair—a
sign of frustration, of surrender, or maybe a bit of both. “Fuck.” He barely
whispers it, but it echoes loud in my head.
The silence stretches on, but I can see the wheels turning in Cian’s
mind. He’s doing the math and figuring out if he can live with this change
in the dynamic. If he can truly share her with me without it ending in more
bloodshed than our usual operations.
“Ask her,” I murmur.
His gaze pins mine in fury as he throws my phone on the counter. “Oh, I
fucking will, you cunt. And if I find out this has gone further than you’ve
said, I don’t give a fuck who you are to me, you are fucking dead.” He
stalks out, leaving me leaning against the wall, trying to catch my breath
with blood dripping from my split lip. Shit just hit the fan in a way I wasn’t
fully prepared for, but I knew the moment Victoria sent me that first video,
it was a point of no return.
I push off the wall and head to the sink, grabbing a tea towel,
dampening it and pressing it against my face. The fabric soaks up the blood
quickly. It’s not the first time I’ve bled for this life, and it sure as hell won’t
be the last.
I throw the bloody towel in the sink and splash water on my face,
watching as it mixes with crimson swirls going down the drain. This is what
we are - violence mixed with desire, an unpredictable concoction that keeps
us all on edge.
Victoria’s face flashes in my mind - her eyes wild with lust, her lips
swollen with kisses that she shares between Cian and me. Focusing on the
box, I have to push this encounter from my mind. I know Victoria will back
me up. She won’t throw me under the bus, not when she wants this as much
as I do.
Picking up the note, I read it again with a sigh: MINE
“Yeah, well, fucking get in line, mate. Get in line.”
 22

VICTORIA

I F L UKE CAN DO THIS , talk to Cian about us, then I know he is serious. It’s a
test to see if he is all in.
I pace in my living room, fighting the bite of anxiety chewing at my
insides. This feels like a bomb about to wreck everything we’ve built.
The hammering on the door makes me jump.
“Fuck, already?” I mutter as I cross the entrance hall to fling the door
open.
Cian’s towering figure fills the frame, the muscles in his jaw ticking.
My breath hitches.
“Is it true?” he demands, gravel laced with venom in his tone.
“Yes.” No hesitation, no fear—fuck that. I stand my ground.
His eyes search mine, looking for a lie, a fault. He won’t find one. “You
want him? You want...us?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Yes.”
Cian runs a hand down his face; I can see the storm raging in his mind.
He steps closer, a predator circling prey.
Silence stretches between us—a chasm filled with unspoken words and
disorganised emotions.
“Why?” His question is a whisper, but it roars in my ears.
“Because I don’t see why I can’t. You give me everything I need, Cian,
but so can he.” The truth is a blade, sharp and swift.
Cian’s eyes flash dangerously. The conflict etched on his face is painful
to watch. He’s a man caught between lust and possession, trust and betrayal.
 “You think this can work?” He’s searching for reassurance where there
might be none to give.
I step forward, closing the distance between us. “Yes, I do. We’re not
like everyone else. You know that.” It’s a gamble, but one I have to take.
There’s a beat where I can see him on the edge of something reckless—
something that could tear us all apart or fuse us together in ways no one
could’ve imagined.
Cian’s hand comes up to trace the line of my jaw, his touch tentative for
once. “It’ll be entropy,” he says, the promise of something dark and thrilling
in his voice.
“I love entropy,” I shoot back with a smirk.
He laughs, the harsh sound of a man who has lived his life surrounded
by shadows. “I know. You live for havoc.”
Without another word, he pulls me to him fiercely and crashes his lips
onto mine. The kiss is rough, punishing almost, as if claiming me right
there could stave off the inevitable shitstorm we’ve all called down upon
our heads.
We break apart, breathing hard. “Fuck,” Cian swears softly, and when
he looks at me again, there’s something like wonder mingled with the
dread. “I need to think.”
“Think?” I ask, my mouth going dry. If he pulls away from me, I will
have a choice to make, one I’m not ready for.
He nods. “Yeah, think.” He steps back, eyes never leaving mine. “This
—us—it’s a fucking minefield. I need to know if walking through it is
worth the risk.”
My heart races. It’s in these moments that everything feels precariously
balanced on the edge of a blade. “And what if it is?” I challenge, my voice
steadier than I feel.
Cian’s silence is answer enough. The tension in the air could be cut with
a knife.
Finally, with a smirk, he says, “Then maybe we play with fire and see
who gets burned.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me standing in my doorway. The chill
of his absence settles in quickly.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Fuck, Cian!”
He ignores me and keeps walking. It’s only then I see what he’s
wearing. He’s stepped up, and now this has happened. I’ve thrown him in
the deeper end of this fucked up pool, and the guilt of it hits me hard. I
choke back the sob and slam the door, spinning to lean against it before I
slide down it, tears spilling down my cheeks.
I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, anger and
determination replacing the momentary weakness. I’m not one to sit on my
ass and let fate take the wheel. Cian needs to think? Fine. But I won’t be
idle while he does. I stand up, my clarity hardening like steel. Time to make
some fucking moves.
The doorbell goes, and I spin, yanking the door open, hoping to see
Cian, but instead, it’s someone I never expected to see on my doorstep.
“Gianluca,” I murmur, leaning on the door handle. “What are you doing
here?”
His dark gaze rakes over me. “Cian here?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. His Italian accent is just
too gorgeous, much like him.
“Good. We need to talk.” He steps forward, forcing me to step back or
have him press his hot bod against me.
“Well, come the fuck in then,” I mutter as he strides into my home.
Shutting the door, I follow him to my kitchen, where he is searching
through the cupboards. “Do you mind?”
“Do you have any decent coffee?”
“Depends what you classify as decent.”
“Something strong but not tasteless.”
I nod to the pods sitting above the maker near the microwave. “That’s
all I’ve got, Princey. Like it or fuck off.”
He saunters over and has a look over the pods, choosing one and
making himself a cup.
“Why are you here?” I snap, eventually.
He sighs dramatically. “Cian asked me to make sure you were okay.”
“Did he? And why didn’t he stick around to make sure of that himself?”
“He is in a black mood, cara. I expect the two of you would kill each
other if he’d stayed.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“Yes.”
That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Then why did you ask if he was here?”
“Needed to know I wasn’t wasting my time. He is volatile.”
 “Wasting your time. That’s fucking nice. Thanks. I’m fine. You can fuck
off now before I waste any more of your precious time.”
He chuckles, which only infuriates me more. “You don’t tell me what to
do. In certain circumstances, he does. So here I am, making sure you’re
okay.”
“Fine. What did he tell you about this clusterfuck?”
“That you want it to be a clusterfuck.” He gives me a bland smile and
takes a sip of his coffee. “It’s bold. Cian is a jealous asshole.”
“No shit,” I grumble. “What is your take on it?”
Why am I even asking him? What do I care what he thinks?
“My take? That interests you?”
I throw my hands up with a huff. “Why the fuck not?”
Gianluca’s eyes lock onto mine with a glint of something calculating
and far too savvy for a casual conversation. “My take is that you’re playing
a dangerous game. And not just with Cian.”
“And?”
“And,” he continues, “I think you’re underestimating the complications
of your desires. This isn’t just about love or sex. It’s about power. It’s about
control.” He takes a slow sip of his coffee. “You want to fit in between
them, you’ve got to understand the rules.”
I roll my eyes. “I know the fucking rules, Gianluca.”
“Do you?” He sets down his cup with a soft clink. “Because it seems to
me like you’re trying to rewrite them, and that could get someone hurt.”
The air between us is electric with unsaid things – warnings, threats,
maybe even a hint of respect. I cross my arms defensively. “Cian’s not the
only player in this game.”
“No,” Gianluca agrees with a nod, “he’s not. But remember who holds
the cards.” A pause hangs as he steps closer; his cologne is maddeningly
distracting. “If you’re not careful, Victoria, you’ll find yourself playing
alone.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut because I know there’s truth in
them.
“My take is that it’s a dangerous game you’re all playing. I’ve seen Cian
burn for less, but this is a new level of fucked up.”
Starting to wish I’d never asked, I snap, “Yeah, well, at least I’m not
afraid to walk through the fire.”
 He nods slowly, as if weighing my words against some internal scale
only he can see. “Fearlessness is admirable but often foolish. You have to
be prepared to get burned.”
I lean against the counter, my resolve hardening. “I’m the fucking
flame, baby.”
There’s a pause as Gianluca studies me. He steps even closer, and I feel
the heat of his body even before his hand cups my cheek, forcing me to
meet his gaze. “That you are, bella,” he whispers. His thumb brushes my
bottom lip, sending a jolt of heat straight to my core. “You need someone
who isn’t afraid to burn with you.”
“Do you think Cian and Luke are those someones?” My blood is roaring
in my ears. This man is doing things to me, crazy things that are clouding
my judgement and making me think I’ve got this all wrong.
“Not just them,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush his lips over mine
in a not-kiss that is more hedonistic than anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Fuck,” I breathe out as I look into those pitch-black eyes that are filled
with such heat, I want to melt against him and feel his flames consume me.
“Fuck,” I repeat, my voice coming out as more of a demand than an
obscenity. Gianluca’s expression softens for a moment, the tease of
vulnerability in his otherwise impassively gorgeous face.
He pulls back, creating space between us, and I can’t decide if I’m
relieved or desperate to close the gap again. “Yes, fuck is right,” he says
with a sexy half-smile. “This thing with you, Cian, and Luke—it’s a powder
keg waiting to explode.”
My chest tightens at his words, the reality of the situation settling like
concrete in my belly. “Then why are you here?” I ask, my voice barely
above a whisper.
“Because despite better judgement,” he leans forward again, his breath
hot against my ear, “I can’t seem to stay away.” His lips graze the sensitive
skin below my earlobe, sending a skitter of pure, driven lust over me. “Our
loyalty runs deep—deeper than this twisted game you’re starting, but every
part of me wants to be the match to light the fuse.”
His confession is a twist I didn’t see coming, and it throws me off
balance. I’m already walking a tightrope between Cian and Luke, and now
Gianluca wants a piece as well.
I regain my composure, squaring my shoulders. “What exactly do you
want, Gianluca?”
 “I want to help you get what you want.”
“And what makes you think you know what I want?”
He tilts his head slightly with a smirk. “I see the way you look at power
like it’s something you can taste, and, cara, I’ve got an appetite to match
yours.”
There’s a dangerous promise in his words—a challenge. It’s as if he
knows just how much his confidence affects me, how it stirs something
primal in me that compliments the sheer insanity that Cian drags out of me.
“An appetite for destruction or for me?”
Gianluca steps away, breaking the intimate bubble we’ve created.
“Maybe both.”
He walks away, leaving me confused about what he was really doing
here in the first place. Cian’s possessiveness has always been an edge I
could balance on, but Luke’s loyalty to Cian complicates matters.
Gianluca’s involvement is another variable in an already volatile equation.
“Don’t walk away from me,” I say, spinning around and chasing him
into the entrance hall, hating myself for it.
“This isn’t over,” he says, looking at his phone. “Not by a long shot. But
right now, you need to come with me.”
“Why?”
“Luke has a third box in his possession, which he found outside your
house not too long ago. He has checked the feed and found something.
Move your ass, princess.”
My heart slams like a sledgehammer against my ribs. The mention of a
third box has all the alarms in my head blaring. “A third box? Three in three
days.”
I snatch up my coat and follow Gianluca out of the house, feeling a
slight chill that has nothing to do with the winter air. This is escalating fast,
and that is never a good sign.
 23

LUKE

A FTER TEXTING Cian and G to get back here, I stare at the recording again.
The same black outfit, covered from head to toe, and the same mask are in
place, but…
“What is it?” Cian asks, coming into my bedroom, followed closely by
G and Victoria, who I wasn’t expecting to see.
Cian ignores her, the same as she ignores him, but why did Victoria
arrive with Gianluca?
“A third box?” Victoria spits out. “And no one thought to tell me?”
“Well, you know now, apparently,” I mutter, giving G a fierce glare.
Why did he tell her? Was he with her? That makes me suspicious. Has he
been playing an attraction to her close to his chest? Has she? What the fuck
is going on?
Cian glares at her, G and then me. “What did you find?”
“Right,” I murmur, going back to the monitors. “This.” I replay it for a
fifth time, seeing it with even more clarity now.
The three of them lean in closer. I can smell Victoria’s perfume mixed
with G’s expensive aftershave, making my stomach flip-flop with nerves.
“Don’t know what I’m looking at,” Cian says eventually.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Here is the recording from yesterday.” I mentally
bitch slap myself for the cock up. Of course, they aren’t going to notice
anything without the two side by side.
They lean in closer, and I practically mewl with longing at having
Victoria’s hair tickling my cheek.
 “Son of a bitch!” she spits out and jabs my three thousand quid monitor
so hard, it rocks back on the desk, and I grab it with a scathing glare at her,
which she doesn’t even see because she is too busy fuming at the screen,
“What?” Cian asks. “What the fuck is it?”
“It’s a different person!” she exclaims loudly in my ear before
straightening up. “What the fuck? Do I have two stalkers or does this
asshole have a delivery service?”
“That’s what we need to find out,” Cian says, finally turning to her to
grip her hand tightly. They exchange a look that no one else should be privy
to, except me and G are here, witnessing this fucked up thing called
obsession between the two of them.
But it’s not just an obsession. There’s an even more fucked-up kind of
ownership, like they’re both holding the deed to each other’s darkest
desires. For the first time, I see what they have is deeper than most
relationships will ever go, and it twists the knife a little harder in my gut.
“So, what’s our play?” I ask because practicality has to override the acid
burn of jealousy clawing up my throat.
Cian lets go of Victoria’s hand and steps back, his posture all business
now. “We set a trap.”
Victoria crosses her arms, fury in her eyes that can make you feel
stripped bare with just one look. “A trap, how? Lie in wait for one of these
fuckers to show up? Fuck that. They know when I’m out. They’re watching
me.”
Her voice trembles with rage, and I want to reach out and reassure her.
Only I keep my hands to myself because it’s not my place.
Gianluca, who’s been quiet this whole time, steps up, his voice cutting
through the tension like a knife. “We could use decoys. Switch up the
routine.”
Cian nods at Gianluca’s suggestion before his gaze flicks over to me
expectantly. This is where I come in, the techie, the one who can make the
impossible seem effortless.
“I can rig up some surveillance around the house—more than what we
have,” I say, already pulling up schematics and camera angles in my head.
“We’ll catch whoever the fuck is doing this.”
Cian takes her hand again, this time squeezing it fiercely. With that edge
in his voice that means business, he says, “You’ll have someone with you at
all times. I’m moving in.”
 I feel a surge of protectiveness and silently volunteer myself for the role
as well. Not a good idea when personal emotions are supposed to be locked
down tight, but fuck it.
“Oh, fuck that,” she growls. “I don’t need babysitters.”
“Not babysitters,” I murmur. “Big strong mafia guys who will die
before they let anything happen to you.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Cian’s gaze
flicks to mine, his face tight. But he doesn’t shut me down. If anything, he
encourages it with a swift nod.
“Luke is right,” he mutters. “We can’t leave anything to chance. This
has gone from an annoyance to fucked up in three days. I’m not risking
you.”
“What was even in the third box?” she asks.
“Roses soaked in blood and with a note, written in blood that says:
mine.”
“Mine,” she repeats. “Mine? Who the fuck are these dicks?”
“I say one dick,” G pipes up before I can say the same. “These idiots
showing up to deliver the boxes are what you said, delivery men, nothing
more. This player knows what he’s doing and isn’t about to get caught.”
“Agreed,” Cian says, again before I get to open my mouth.
I’m starting to feel like the guy with no opinion. Maybe I am. Maybe I
had delusions of grandeur and my place in this world.
“Luke,” Victoria says, her gaze fixed on me. “You’ve studied this feed.
What do you think?”
I could kiss her feet and call her my goddess for including me, for
making me feel validated and part of the team right when I wondered if I
actually had a place here after all.
I straighten up, narrowing my eyes as I focus on what I know, on what
I’ve observed by monitoring these security feeds, reading patterns and
behaviour like some people read books. “I think it’s all too calculated,” I
say confidently. “The timing of the deliveries, the way they aren’t avoiding
our current surveillance, just covering up—it’s professional, it’s personal,
and it’s fucking creepy.”
Victoria nods slowly, her eyes flashing with respect. “So how do we
flush a bastard like that out?”
“We’ve got to make them think they’re still in control while we pull the
strings,” I state. “Get more aggressive with our own moves—up the ante.”
 “Such as?” Cian prompts. His intrigue is unmistakable; he thrives on
shit like this. We all do.
“The three of us moving into Victoria’s townhouse. More people
coming and going will throw their plans into the air. They will have to
scramble to adjust. That’s when people make mistakes.”
Victoria’s eyes narrow. She’s not one to be cowed, not by anyone or
anything, and the thought of her living space being invaded clearly pisses
her off. “Like hell, you will. That is my space, my sanctuary, not some
mafia commune.”
Cian leans in closer to her, lowering his voice to a persuasive growl.
“We need to cover every fucking angle, Victoria. Do you think I want the
bastard who sent those boxes getting to you because we didn’t close every
possible loophole? No chance.”
Her shoulders tense, but she doesn’t pull away from him. A silent battle
plays out in her eyes before she finally nods, tight-lipped.
I clear my throat, bringing attention back to the matter at hand. “Plus,
I’ll upgrade the security system—top-tier shit. They won’t be able to take a
piss without us knowing about it.”
Gianluca smirks at that. “Guess this means we’re having a sleepover.
I’ll bring my own coffee.”
Victoria rolls her eyes, but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at the corner
of her lips now. “Fine. But I’m not your fucking maid. You clean up after
your fucking selves. And do not take that as an invitation not to tidy up. My
place is spotless, and I intend to keep it that way. You’d better not be a
bunch of pigs.”
“I’m a Prince,” G says huffily. “I am no pig.”
“If that’s what we’re basing it on, I’m an Earl, so no pigginess here
either,” I say with a smirk, knowing I’m the neatest person I know. Mess
irritates me.
Cian’s smile is predatory, filled with a dark promise that sends a shiver
down my spine. “You have our word,” he says.
We all know it’s not just about the physical threat anymore; it’s
psychological warfare—a game of chess with Victoria as the prize and her
stalker as the opponent readying for checkmate.
“Well then,” Victoria says, “Let’s get this shit started. I want this
asshole thinking he’s winning right until the moment we close the trap on
his fingers.”
 Cian is the picture of control, but his eyes are hard as flint when he
stares at her. “Do you have any fucking idea who this fuckface is?”
A silent war rages between them, leaving me and G completely out in
the cold.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Not off the top of my head.”
“Make a list, we’ll check it twice,” I murmur.
She snorts, breaking off the glare with Cian. “Like bad fucking Santa.”
“You know it, rosebud.”
We share a laugh, but then Cian clears his throat. “Let’s move.” He
stalks out, leaving me and Victoria to stare at each other, things left unsaid
that need to be spoken. But now isn’t the time. Moving into her townhouse
will give us all the opportunity we need.
“Eyes inside,” G says, almost absently as he gazes at Victoria. “Non-
negotiable.”
“Like fuck,” she growls.
“I said non-negotiable, princess. Which part of that did you not
understand?”
I stifle my snort as she opens and closes her mouth like a goldfish.
Oh, this is going to be good. It seems that Victoria has met her match
with the three of us, surrounding her. Fun doesn’t even cover what I expect
the next few days to be like. Doesn’t cover it at all.
 24

VICTORIA

T HREE PIGHEADED , mafia-asshole men are moving in with me. This is going
to be a nightmare. I need my own space, especially when things get bad. I
don’t want to have to explain myself when the darkness descends, and it
sends me straight to the bathroom to purge myself of the shame and
memories.
Fuck.
I’m not sure what’s worse, the thought of Cian, Luke, and Gianluca
being under my roof, the fact that I’m secretly kind of turned on by the idea
or that I’d rather take my chances with the stalker. Is it the man who abused
me? I doubt it. As soon as I grew tits and started my period, he lost interest
in me. I know that’s what Cian is thinking, but this is a new player. Or at
least someone I wouldn’t see coming.
But who?
Christ knows I’ve crossed enough lines, fucked up enough people to
make that Santa list a loooooong-assed list.
“Victoria,” Luke says, snapping his fingers in front of my face.
“Where’d you go?”
I flush, looking away from him. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?” Gianluca asks, his eyes narrowed.
“About how much trouble you’re all going to be,” I lie.
“We’re not here to cause trouble, Victoria,” he says, his voice husky.
“We’re here to protect you.”
“Funny thing about that—”
 “You don’t need it, blah blah, blah,” he cuts me off, mimicking chatting
with his hand. “We know. But that’s not the point now, is it?” His stare is
hot, liquid fire in those black eyes that undoes every tight-knit thread that
my black, battered soul is woven from.
“Then what is?”
“Lighting the fuse,” he murmurs before he turns and walks away.
“Bastard,” I mutter and turn back to Luke. “We need to talk.”
“No shit. You and Cian discussed this?”
“You could say that. He left me to go think about if he still wants to be
with me.”
“You’re joking, right? That man can’t breathe without you.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to him.”
“Don’t be worried,” he says with a frown, standing up and coming to
me.
“I’m not.”
“You’re a good liar, rosebud, but not good enough for the man who has
studied your features for so long.”
“Fuck off,” I growl, turning from him. “I’ve got enough assholes trying
to see into my soul.”
“Don’t push me away, Victoria,” Luke says, his voice low and
dangerous. “I’m not the enemy here.”
“You’re not?” I scoff. “Then who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the man who wants to protect you with my last breath,” he says,
his hand reaching out to touch my arm.
I look up at him, allowing his touch because who the fuck am I kidding.
These three men have carte blanche over my body, and I’m not going to
stop any of them from taking exactly what they want despite the
consequences. My gaze searches his face. He’s looking at me with an
intensity that makes my heart race. I can feel the heat of his gaze on my
skin, and it’s exhilarating and terrifying.
“What do you want, Luke?” I ask, my voice a whisper.
“I want you,” he says, his voice husky. “I want you safe. I want you
happy.”
“Even if that’s with two other men?” I murmur.
“Two…” He narrows his eyes. “You and G?”
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “Who knows what that man wants.”
“Someone he can trust above all others. I think that’s you.”
 I gulp at the intensity of those words. “You really don’t care if you share
me with them?”
“As long as I have you, I would share you with everyone at BlackBriar.”
“Eww. Even Kellerman,” I say with a snort.
He chuckles. “Maybe not him. But this isn’t about sharing, is it?”
Luke’s voice drops an octave, and there’s a dangerous glint in his cold
green eyes. “This is about you wanting to push us all away because you
can’t handle the thought that maybe you’re not as broken as you think.”
I stare at him, my chest tight, refusing to let those words slice through
the fortress I’ve built around myself. “You don’t know shit about what I can
handle.”
He steps closer until we’re mere inches apart. “I know more than you
think.” His hand slides up my arm, leaving trails of fire in its wake. “I know
that when you look at me, there’s a war going on inside you—a war
between what your body wants and the fucked-up idea that you don’t
deserve it.”
His other hand cups my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “But here’s
the deal, Victoria. I’m not just some prick you can brush off. I’m the man
who will fucking tear down those walls and make you see yourself through
my eyes.”
His thumb brushes over my lips, and instinctively, I part them slightly.
“And what do I look like through your eyes?”
Luke’s expression softens for a fraction of a second before it hardens
again. “You look like everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I’ll fight
to keep.” With that declaration hanging between us like a goddamn
guillotine about to drop, his lips crash down on mine. It’s not a gentle kiss
—it’s full of pent-up frustration, longing, and something darker that I can’t
name. It’s the kind of kiss that spells trouble, the kind that blurs lines and
shatters barriers.
I moan into his mouth, my hands gripping his shirt as if it’s the only
thing keeping me grounded. My mind screams at me to push him away, to
maintain some semblance of control in this chaos. But fuck it, I’m tired of
fighting what I want.
His tongue sweeps against mine with an urgency that leaves me
breathless and wanting more.
He pulls back just enough to whisper against my lips, “Tell me to stop,
and I will.”
 But I don’t. Instead, I pull him back for another searing kiss.
We break apart, gasping for air, our foreheads pressed together. “This
goes no further. Not yet. Not until I know Cian is really okay with it.”
He smiles sadly and kisses the tip of my nose. “And that’s just one of a
million reasons why I love you.”
I baulk at the last three words but don’t say anything. Instead, I pull
away and mutter, “You’d better pack up these fancy machines. I’ll see you
later.”
He nods and lets me go. I need to find Cian, and I need him to tell me
what the fuck is going on in that head of his because one thing is for sure:
with Luke living under the same roof as me, the next time he kisses me, I
won’t be able to say no.
 25

CIAN

B ACK IN MY BEDROOM , right next door to Luke’s, I scan the wardrobe for
the big black holdall. Spotting it under a pile of shoes, I drag it out and sling
it on the bed to start packing.
“Hey,” Victoria says quietly.
I barely glance up at her, my mind spinning with too much shit to deal
with.
“Hey,” I reply gruffly, returning my focus to shoving clothes into the
bag.
Victoria hesitates at the door before stepping in, closing it behind her
with a soft click. “We need to talk,” she says. There’s an edge to her voice
that tells me this isn’t going to be a light-hearted chat.
I pause, a black tee gripped in my hand, and finally look at her. “About
what?” But I fucking know. It’s written all over her face – Luke.
She crosses her arms, but it’s not defensive. It’s Tory being nervous, not
that she would ever admit that in a million years. “About Luke. About you
needing time. I love you, Cian. But I want this to work for everyone.”
I toss the tee in the bag with a barely hidden sigh but don’t answer her.
“Are you okay with this?”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “Why does it fucking matter what I’m okay
with?”
Victoria’s eyes flash fire. “Because if you say no, then it’s no. But I
really want you to say yes.”
 I run a hand through my hair. “You’d really walk away from him if I
didn’t want it?”
“Of course,” she says softly. “You are it for me, Cian. We are ride or die
—probably both in the end.”
“Then why do you need more?” My voice cracks, but I can’t help it. It’s
like a raw, open wound, bleeding out all over the place.
She steps forward, her eyes softening. “I don’t need more, Cian. I’m just
open to it. I’m just open to exploring what I have with Luke, with you. I’m
not looking to replace or diminish what’s between us. It’s just... he’s part of
our lives, so deeply ingrained, and the connection—it’s there, undeniable.”
I can see the truth in her eyes, feel the honesty in her voice, and it
fucking guts me because part of me feels the same way about Luke, not
romantically but everything else. We’ve been through hell together, side by
side, and that bonds you in ways difficult to ignore. Victoria doesn’t know
half the shit Luke and I have seen, done, or had to survive before she and I
got together on that day, where she literally smashed my face in with her
fist when I made a pass at her in the Student Union. I’d had my eye on her
since day one when we were freshmen here. So dark, so beautiful, but she
didn’t bite. She never bit. Until that day when she punched me, and I
ravaged her against the bar. It was such a fucking turn-on. She is a turn-on.
Her hand finds mine, bringing me back to the present; her touch is
warm against my cold skin. “Talk to me, Cian. Don’t shut me out.”
It takes everything within me not to pull away from her touch, but I let
her grip my hand. “It’s not about shutting you out,” I start, trying to keep
my voice steady. “It’s about protecting what’s ours.”
“But doesn’t it also make us stronger? Us against the world?” Her
argument is fucking convincing, and a part of me resents her for making so
much sense.
“The world is a dangerous place for people like us,” I remind her.
She nods, understanding glinting in her gaze. “I know that better than
anyone. But with Luke... don’t we become more formidable? A wall that no
one can break through.”
My defences begin to crumble, and it pisses me off how easily she does
that. She can tear down my walls without even trying, while everyone else
has to claw at the stone with bloody fingers just to scratch the surface.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
 She squeezes my hand gently. “I’m not asking you to decide right now,”
Victoria says, her voice softening. “But you’re not pulling away from me
while you do. We are and always will be. So, think about it, Cian. Think
about what we could be, but do it on your own time.”
I nod, impressed as hell that she is demanding, not asking that I stay
with her. That isn’t the question. It never was. I can’t live without her. I will
wither up and die if she ever leaves me. The question is if I can share her
without beheading my best friend.
My mind is a chaotic mess of emotions, jealousy, fear, and an
inexplicable excitement clashing in a battle I never expected to face.
Victoria gives me a slight smile and slips out of the room silently, her
presence lingering like a gentle breeze. I’m left alone with my thoughts, the
noise of confusion so overwhelming it drowns out all other sounds.
Maybe she’s right; maybe bringing Luke into this twisted fold could
make us indestructible. Or maybe it’ll be the chink in our armour that
brings the whole fucking empire crashing down around us—a thought that
terrifies me more than any rival or law enforcement ever could.
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts.
I yank the door open to find Luke standing there, every inch the Earl of
Glenmorrow, even in his casual threads. His expression is unreadable, but
his eyes betray a hint of guilt. Anxiety.
“Can we talk?” He doesn’t wait for an invitation; he just steps into the
room.
“What do you want, Luke?” I’m not in the mood for roundabouts. Not
now.
“I don’t want to fuck this up—for any of us. If you’re not okay with
this...” He trails off, but his eyes stay locked on mine, searching for... what?
Permission? Forgiveness?
I scoff at his concern, feeling a caustic laugh bubble up from my throat.
“Since when do you care about fucking things up? You never have before.”
That hits a nerve; I can tell by the way his jaw clenches. “This is
different,” he says quietly.
“How so?” My voice is hard as stone because if he thinks he gets to
play saint after everything we’ve been through, he’s sorely fucking
mistaken.
Luke steps closer. “Because this involves Victoria, and I care about her.
And you.” His tone is firm, but I can hear the underlying tension. He’s not
just playing a part; he’s living it. “I don’t want to be the reason shit goes
sideways between you two.”
I squint at his face, searching for any trace of deceit behind his
emotionless expression.
But it’s Luke. He’s as readable to me as an open book; he always has
been to me. The tight lines of his mouth tell me he’s speaking the truth.
“You think I haven’t thought of that? You think it doesn’t fuck with my
head knowing you and she...?” My words trail off into a growl, the thought
still raw and jagged. “I have killed men who have touched her.”
“I know.”
“So why should you be any different?”
He nods once in acknowledgement of my question. “I know it’s fucked
up, Cian. But we can’t change how we feel. If it’s too much—“
“Stop,” I cut him off sharply, my patience fraying at the edges. “Don’t
fucking patronise me with this ‘if it’s too much’ shite. Answer the fucking
question. Why shouldn’t I gut you where you stand?”
“It would hurt her.”
“Fuck you!” I spit out, knowing he has checked me on my own board.
“Fuck you, you fucking cunt.”
He holds his ground in the face of my anger. “You know it’s true. So,
what do you want from me?”
What do I want? The question rattles around in my head like a bullet in
a metal box. What the fuck do I want? To hit something until my knuckles
bleed. To grab both of them and disappear to some remote corner of the
earth where no one can touch us, claim us, or come between us? To own
every fucking breath they take so that nothing can ever change between us?
I shake my head, the anger threatening to overshadow every other
feeling. “I don’t know what I want,” I admit through gritted teeth. The
admission tastes like acid on my tongue.
Luke’s eyes soften just a fraction, and he steps forward. “Cian,” he
starts, his voice low, “we’ve been through hell together. You’re more than a
leader here; you’re my brother. If this is going to tear us apart—“
“No. This doesn’t get to break us. None of this shit does.”
He nods, understanding flashing across his usually impassive face. For a
moment, we stand in silence, the two of us lost in our own thoughts.
Then I make a decision—a decision that might damn us or save us.
 “We play by my rules,” I state firmly. “No secrets, no bullshit. And if
either of you ever lies to me or keeps something from me—this
arrangement dies before it fucking starts.”
Luke doesn’t hesitate. “Agreed,” he says simply.
And just like that, we seal our fate with a silent understanding that
speaks louder than words ever could.
Until he metaphorically rips my heart out. “You’d better speak to G. He
is falling hard for her as well.”
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” I snarl, turning from him,
running my hand through my hair. “Fucking hell! This woman is going to
fucking kill me.”
“Isn’t that the best way to go out?” Luke asks and slips out before I can
round on him and panel his face into disorder.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter and continue chucking clothes in the
bag. “It’s like whack-a-fucking-mole with mafia assholes around her.”
That’s exactly what this feels like, only the stakes are higher, and the
moles are my closest allies.
I zip up the holdall with such force that I break the zip. My hands are
shaking from pure, unadulterated fury. How the hell did we get here?
Victoria weaving her way through each of our defences, entangling herself
in our lives until the thought of her with someone else feels like a blade
twisting in my gut.
I should be strategising, figuring out how to deal with G now that
Luke’s dropped this fucking bombshell on me. But no, all I can think about
is Victoria’s laugh, her fiery spirit, and the way she looks at me like I’m the
only man in the world. It’s intoxicating—and fucking dangerous.
If G is falling for her, too, this just got a whole lot more complicated.
We’ve dealt with rival gangs, corrupt police, and backstabbing traitors, but
nothing—nothing—has threatened to unravel us like this siren who walked
into our lives.
I grab the bag and storm out of the room and make my way downstairs
where Victoria is waiting for me alone.
“Ready?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “All my stuff is already there.”
Meeting her gaze, I see her smirk and chuckle. “True. Let’s go. Those
two can catch up.”
 She nods, and I lead her out to the driveway, where I open the Porsche
and throw my bag in.
“This yours?” she asks, barely able to hold onto her laugh.
“Yeah,” I growl.
“Nice,” she purrs and slides in.
With a half-smile, I slam the door closed behind her and get in, firing up
the engine and driving the one minute around the campus to her place.
 26

VICTORIA

T HINGS ARE tentative with Cian and me as we drive around to my place. But
all that changes when he pulls into the driveway, and we both see the new
black box on my doormat at the same time.
“Do not move,” he orders.
“You’re not opening that without me,” I mutter, following him as he
gets out.
“Tory,”
“No. This is a me problem. I’m fully involved in this, or I will take this
off your plate and sort it out myself.”
I can see it takes every drop of inner strength he has to give into my
demand. I’m testing him a lot lately, and that has to stop, but right now, a
Catherine Wheel of shit has been let loose, and we have to keep dodging it
or get hit in the face.
“This isn’t right,” Cian mutters as we stare at it. “He already delivered
one today.”
“So, it’s a rapid escalation,” I murmur, actually now, at this point,
dreading what is going to be in there. The previous ones were a pathetic
attempt to scare me, so I have a feeling my stalker has levelled up. As we
near it, the stench of blood hits our noses, and we exchange a wary glare.
Cian crouches down, and I hover over him, bending to get a closer look.
He pulls out his knife and flips the lid back with the tip.
Bile rises in my throat at the sight.
“Is that a—?”
 “Yep,” Cian mutters and slams the lid back down.
“Fuck. Fuck. Who do you think it belongs to?”
He gives me a scathing glare as he rises and looks over my shoulder.
Another car pulls up, along with a sexy bike, to announce Luke and
Gianluca’s arrival.
“Another one?” Luke demands, striding over to glare down at it.
“Don’t open it,” Cian murmurs, his eyes on me.
“Why? Maggots?”
“Worse, this time.”
“What could be worse than maggots?” he grumbles.
“A cut-out human heart,” I blurt out before Luke’s expression darkens,
and his lips press into a thin line.
“Fuck me,” he breathes out.
Cian’s face tightens, and I can see the muscles in his jaw clench as he
looks from me to the box and back again. “This has gone too fucking far.
Who the fuck is it, Tory? Is it that bastard?”
“No,” I say, knowing he means the man from my past. “No, it wouldn’t
be. It’s been years and let’s just say, I’m no longer his type.”
The shock registering in his eyes freezes me. “Come again?”
“You fucking heard me,” I mutter, staring at the box and not him.
He grabs my arm, shaking me gently. “Give me a fucking name.”
I shake my head. “Forget that. It’s not him.”
Gianluca joins us, his dark eyes surveying the scene before landing on
the box. Without a word, he squats beside it, his blade appearing in his
hand. “Whoever did this,” he says, voice low and dangerous, “is going to
regret it.”
They all look at me, their gazes like weighty chains – protective,
possessive and seething with unspoken fury. I know they’re ready to wage
war for me; I can feel it buzzing in the air like electricity before a storm.
“Listen up,” I tell them, my voice steady even though something cold
and heavy has settled in my stomach. “Whoever is sending these messages
wants to rattle me – make me paranoid and separate me from the guys.
Force me into hiding. We won’t let that happen. Is there a note?”
“I didn’t look,” Cian mutters, looking a bit sickened.
Gianluca mans up to my amusement and opens the box before he
scrunches up his face at the stench. “Whoever this is, I say when we find
them, we repay the fucking favour.”
 “Oh, way ahead of you,” Cian growls. “Note?”
“Here,” Gianluca says, edging the heart over a skosh to reach in.
This time it’s a black envelope.
“Open it,” I murmur.
Gianluca’s fingers tear through the black paper with a certain reverence
for the severity of this situation. His hands are steady despite the grim task.
The note comes out, and it’s a single, blood-soaked card. He unfolds it and
reads aloud, “‘Tick-tock, Bryony. Every heart beats its last.’”
A twisted knot coils tighter in my gut. Fear is clawing its way up my
throat, but I press it down. Can’t show weakness now, not in front of these
men who are ready to spill blood for me.
“Bryony?” Cian snatches the note from Gianluca’s hand and glances
over it, his eyes darkening with each word. He looks like he’d murder the
world right now if it would solve this problem. “Who the fuck is Bryony?”
I raise my hand slightly. “Me. It’s my middle name.”
“What?” Cian looks at me with interest. “You’ve never said.”
“What? You didn’t do a background check on me?” I snort.
He snickers. “Actually, no. Figured I’d be surprised.”
“Back to this,” Luke waves his hand at the box. “Whoever did this
knows you.”
“Or is just a douche canoe trying to rattle me by using my lesser-known
middle name.”
“Whichever way, we’re done playing fucking defence,” Cian snarls,
crumpling the card in his fist.
Luke steps closer, a cold shadow looming over us all. “Let’s bring this
prick to his knees. We need to get our plan in motion,” Luke continues,
pulling out his phone and tapping into it. “This ends.”
Gianluca nods in agreement, standing like a dark avenger ready for
battle. He glances at me, his protective instincts clear as daylight. “Let’s get
inside instead of chatting out here like sitting ducks, no?”
I nod in agreement and hand him the key to open the door. We step over
the box and leave it for Luke to gather up once he is kitted out in protective
gear. I can fight my own battles; I always have. But looking at the faces of
these men—strong, determined, unyielding—I understand this isn’t just
about me anymore. It’s about what we are together: an unorthodox family
forged in darkness and bound by loyalty.
 27

VICTORIA

“G OING TO NEED THAT S ANTA LIST ,” Luke mutters absently as he taps into
his phone. “Got new kit on the way. Doorbell cam to eyes inside. We are
going to find this prick one way or another.”
Cian paces back and forth like a caged animal. “Once we have a name,”
he grits out, “it’s game over for this fucker.”
“Let’s not rush into blind vengeance,” I warn, trying to put reason into
his head. “We need to be smart, not just brutal.”
He glares at me, but I hold his gaze steadily. I’m not going to back
down now, not when stupid moves could get us all killed or, worse,
imprisoned.
Gianluca nods. “She’s right. We can’t afford amateur mistakes.”
“Going back to your old connections might be risky,” Luke warns.
I hear him, but it’s like his words are coming from underwater. The fury
in me is drowning out everything else. “Risky? Maybe. Necessary?
Absolutely,” I snap, feeling the raw edge of my voice cut through the
tension in the room.
Cian stops pacing. He turns to look at me, his eyes drilling into mine
with an intensity that would have most people stepping back. But not me. I
know he wants that name I’m not willing to give, but it’s tough shit. It will
never leave my lips.
Luke’s fingers pause on the phone, and he moves toward us, all business
now, a plan forming behind those cold eyes. “You don’t do anything
different. Us being here will be enough to throw him off, but he needs to
know you are going about your life, same as always.”
“On it,” I say breezily, “and on that note, make yourselves at home. I’m
going to shower.”
“Want some company?” Cian asks with a slow smile.
“If you insist,” I murmur with a seductive smile back and then let him
follow me out of the room.
We head upstairs quickly, stripping off as we go, piling the clothes up in
the middle of my bedroom, forgotten about as Cian takes my hand and leads
me to the shower.
The heat of the water almost feels sacred, a safe haven from the
madness outside. With steam clouding around us, Cian’s hands trail over
me, and it’s like all that tension and fear just melts away under his touch.
He’s rough, possessive, but it’s exactly what I crave in this moment—a
fierce connection to remind us we’re alive. His lips crash against mine, his
cock straining to get to me.
“One day,” he murmurs, “I’m going to get you horizontal.”
Giggling, I reply, “That’s just not us.”
He grasps my waist and lifts me up, pushing me back against the tiles
while one hand drops between us. He thrusts his fingers into my pussy, and
I arch into him, moaning his name. A primal need that takes over, and I’m
clawing at his back, urging him closer. Cian doesn’t hold back; he never
does. His moves are deliberate, calculated to drive me wild.
“Christ, Victoria, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he groans into my ear
as he keeps moving his fingers, hitting all the right spots inside me.
I can feel the orgasm building fast and hard, an unstoppable force that
has my legs trembling. “Cian,” I whimper, grabbing onto his shoulders for
support.
He pulls his fingers out suddenly and replaces them with his cock,
slamming into my cunt without any sort of warning. But I want this, raw
and intense. My fingernails dig into the skin of his back as he fucks me
against the shower wall.
The water pours down on us, mixing with our sweat as he pounds into
me. He hits deep with every thrust, and each one brings me closer to the
edge until I’m teetering.
With a guttural cry ripped out of my throat, I come undone. The climax
tears through me, leaving me breathless and quivering in its wake. Cian’s
grip on my hips is bruising, but it’s a sweet pain, guiding me through the
waves of pleasure crashing over.
“You’re fucking incredible,” he pants against my neck. He thrusts into
me one last time, hard and deep, shuddering as he reaches his climax. I feel
the hot rush inside me, a primal claim that marks me as his.
Neither of us speaks for a moment; no words could match the level of
communication our bodies just shared.
Cian eventually sets me down on my feet but doesn’t let go. His
forehead rests against mine as we catch our breath in the hazy heat of the
shower. Then he leans back to look into my eyes.
“I’ll kill for you,” he says with quiet intensity. “Just say the word.”
I nod, understanding all too well the weight of his promise. “I know.
But let’s focus on living for each other first.”
He grins at that—a wolfish smile that promises debauchery and
protection and he gives me one last searing kiss before turning off the water.
We get out, towel each other down with quick efficiency, and I slip into
bed, suddenly exhausted. The heaviness of our earlier conversation is still
there, but it’s taken a backseat to the here and now.
Cian answers the door as the soft knock pulls me out of my daze.
“Everything okay?” Luke’s tone is casual but there’s no mistaking the
sharpness in his gaze. This man misses nothing.
“We’re good,” I assure him, my voice casual, aiming to keep the mood
light. Cian just nods, a silent confirmation that we’re back and focused.
I can feel Luke’s eyes on us as I close mine again. He’s trying to read
the situation. “I’ve set up alerts for any activity linked to our mystery
stalker. We’ll know if he so much as sneezes in our direction.”
“Good,” Cian whispers. “Let her rest. Keep me posted on every fucking
blip.” He leans down to kiss my head and then they leave me alone to close
my eyes and hope that sleep drags me under and that the nightmares stay at
bay long enough to figure out this list of who might be stalking me.
It’s not a short one, nor is it an easy one. I get three names mentally
noted before my thoughts drift and I’m out.
 28

CIAN

I PACE Victoria’s living room, the weight of leadership like a shadow I can’t
shake. The walls here are too clean, too sterile. They need a history smeared
in blood and secrets, like the ones back home.
“Change of plans,” I spit into the phone, my voice cutting through
silence like a knife’s edge. “Come to Victoria Stroud’s townhouse,” I tell
one, and he will spread the word. The five who sit at the top with me know
better than to ask why. Loyalty isn’t a question; it’s an expectation, as
natural as breathing, as certain as death.
I end the call, shoving the phone in my pocket. The townhouse feels
smaller suddenly, the air tight around me. I’m setting a stage for war, right
here in this posh little cage. My father is dead, and I’ve got no time for
grief, not that I would, only the cold embrace of revenge. It’s not just about
power – it’s about keeping the throne from crumbling beneath us.
I hear the rumble of engines, the low growl of cars pulling up outside,
driving around from my place. These men, they’re the sinew and bone of
the Gannon family. Without them, we’re just a name, a memory.
As each one steps into the room, I assess them silently. Not with the
eyes of a brother, but a king on a bloodied throne. Each face that greets me
is a card in the deck I’m about to shuffle. I don’t need words to command
respect; it’s in the steel of my gaze, the set of my shoulders. We’re all
pieces in a game much bigger than us, and I’m the one moving them across
the board.
 Robert is the first to sit. He’s not a kid anymore; he’s built like a brawler
and twice as fierce. His eyes are ice, his lips a tight line. He gives me a nod,
that’s all. We’re business today, nothing else.
Behind him, Seamus shuffles in, stocky and scarred, a bear of a man
with knuckles like bolts. Always violent, always the one to break the
silence with a grunt or a jab. He’s got loyalty to my dad etched into every
line on his face, but we’ll see where he stands with me now. Finn, the
charmer, the diplomat, slides into a chair. There’s a razor edge to his smile,
a silver tongue that cuts deals and throats with equal finesse. His laughter
fills the room, but it’s hollow. In this game, you laugh, or you die. Brendan,
the old guard, a mountain of a man with a gaze that bores holes through
steel. He’s been through the wars, the upheavals, and seen bosses rise and
fall. His word is law, his faith unshakable. Then there’s the one I’ve got my
eye on. Sinclair. Cold, calculating, fierce. He’s been with Dad since they
learned how to walk. Loyalty above all else for him.
“We’re here because we’re under siege. The throne’s shaken, not
shattered. We hold it together, fortify the ranks. We strike back hard. We
take what’s ours. We show them the Gannons never kneel.”
The air hangs heavy, thick with the promise of blood and vengeance.
This isn’t a gathering of friends. It’s a war council. And I’m the general
calling the shots.
I pace like a caged beast, the scent of betrayal and blood still fresh on
my mind. “His death is not a wound we lick. It’s a call to arms.” I meet
their stares, unflinching. “We burn their world to ashes.”
Brendan nods, a grunt escaping him. Sinclair leans forward, the light
catching the edge in his eye, sharp enough to draw blood. Finn’s hand
moves to his jacket, a subconscious itch for the blade he keeps close.
“BlackBriar stays mine,” I declare. Their gazes harden; they know what
it costs. “I hold the line here. I’m not leaving, and Robert isn’t leaving
Castle. Earlier, he was named my second-in-command, and he will stay that
way.”
“Understood,” Sinclair says, his voice a blade sliding from its sheath.
The others nod, a silent accord sealed in shadow.
“This means I need a Captain,” I say. The title hangs in the air, a crown
for the taking. Eyes lock on mine, hungry. I lean forward, each breath a
deliberate choice. “Skills, loyalty, and control. Someone who has all of this
and can be on the outside, day-to-day. Not a leader, a go-to.”
 Their gazes never waver, each ready to bleed for the cause. But this isn’t
about bleeding; it’s about who makes others bleed for us.
The tension coils, a snake ready to strike. I take my time, let them feel
the weight of my gaze, the gravity of their fates in my hands. My eyes slide
from one to another, decisions forming and falling away.
“Who can wield power without being consumed by it?” I ask. “Who
will stand with me in the dark and still see the way forward?”
Time slows down, the room holds its breath.
“Sinclair.”
The name slices through the charged silence, a blade thrust into the
heart of indecision. I lock eyes with him across the room, cold and steady.
There’s no tremor in my voice, no fucking hesitation. This is the law of the
Gannon empire.
Sinclair’s face hardens, the muscles in his jaw clenching as he nods
once, sharply. His eyes are dark, deep, dangerous. He stands, shoulders set
like he’s shouldering the weight of the world, which in a way, he is.
Around us, breaths release, some tinged with relief, others with thinly
veiled disappointment.
“Thank you, Cian,” Sinclair says, voice rough like gravel. “I won’t let
you down.”
“Letting me down isn’t an option,” I reply, my tone clipped. “You know
what’s at stake.”
His nod is all business, and I can see the shift in him already, stepping
into the role like it’s a second skin. The others watch him, some calculating
whether this new hierarchy might work to their advantage.
“Keep your eyes sharp,” I tell him, my voice low. “Your power is
borrowed. Remember that.”
“Always,” he responds, the edge in his voice promising violence and
loyalty.
“Seamus, you’re the enforcer. You know the job, it’s yours. The rest of
you are the inner circle. High-ranking, that hasn’t changed. Nothing
changes except the face you see at the top. Got it?”
“Got it,” they murmur and that’s really all there is to say.
I dismiss them and they leave, but Robert hangs back.
“Short but sweet. With Dad, we’d still have been here tomorrow.”
I snort. “I don’t like talking.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
 The door falls shut with a finality that echoes through the bones of
Victoria’s townhouse.
“Time to rebuild,” I murmur.
I stalk to the window, gaze piercing through the glass to the street
outside. In the distance, BlackBriar University stands tall, its spires
reaching towards the dark sky. This is where I hold power, waiting for my
opportunity to enforce it.
“This begins,” I throw over my shoulder to Robert, my voice a low
promise to the world itself. “This empire will rise from the ashes, stronger
and more ruthless than ever before. And I will be its king.”
 29

VICTORIA

I WAKE UP , cold air biting at my cheeks. Pushing the covers back, my

nipples peak at the chill as I pick up my phone. It’s only 4:30 AM, but I’m
awake. A body shifts next to me in the bed, and I glance over.
Cian moves slowly, his arm a band of steel around my waist. I move,
and his eyes snap open, dark and intense. “You going down?” he murmurs.
“Need coffee,” I murmur, feeling the weight of his gaze like a physical
touch.
“Cover up.” It’s not a suggestion. Cian watches me, a predator. One
corner of his mouth quirks up as if he knows exactly what effect he has on
me. He always does.
I reach for the black satin robe at the foot of the bed, my fingers
brushing against the fabric. It’s cold in here, colder than a grave. Pulling the
robe over my shoulders, the smooth material glides over my bare skin. It’s
like a whisper, all soft and deceptively comforting. Still, it can’t chase away
the chill that’s settled deep into my bones that this stalker has thrust upon
me.
Padding barefoot across the floor, I leave Cian sprawled in bed, his
chest rising and falling with the steady breath of the still-sleeping. The
house is quiet as a crypt, but something prickles at the back of my neck as I
take the stairs slowly.
The kitchen light is on, and I hear a muffled voice.
Gianluca’s on the phone, his back to me. He speaks Italian, low and
urgent, words flowing like rapid gunfire. There’s an intensity to him, coiled
and ready to strike, even with the murmur of his tone as he holds a mug in
one hand, his phone on speaker on the counter. I know little of his real
world. He’s one of us, yes, but there are shadows in him that we haven’t
even seen.
His gaze finds me, and he pauses, swiping the phone off as he hangs up.
There’s a flash in his eyes—something fierce and unspoken. I wrap the robe
tighter around myself, feeling suddenly exposed under his gaze, though he
says nothing.
“Morning,” I say, my voice a low rasp. It’s all the greeting I’ll give him.
I need that coffee, now more than ever.
Gianluca’s stare pins me to the spot, thick with things unsaid. His eyes
are dark pools, curiosity and want etched into every glance. “Victoria.”
The way he says my name, makes me groan inwardly and turn from him
to the coffee machine.
Grabbing a pod, I place it in and hit the button; a rich, dark aroma
floods the room. It’s a scent that promises sanctuary, a fleeting peace in the
chaos we’ve woven around ourselves. I watch the black liquid drip, steady
and sure.
Gianluca’s gaze is heavy on me.
“Why did you let me touch you yesterday if you don’t like to be
touched?” His tone is full of confusion, a need for understanding—raw and
open.
I freeze, the coffee forgotten. My pulse thuds erratically. My eyes dart to
him, then away. It’s a tightrope walk between yes and no, want and should
not. The kitchen shrinks, the walls inching closer.
“Sometimes...” I start, my voice trailing off. I don’t owe him
explanations, and I don’t owe anyone. My throat tightens around words I
can’t form, won’t form. He watches me, waiting. “Sometimes things
change,” I murmur. That’s it. That’s all. Emotions swarm like bees in my
chest, stinging with every breath.
He steps closer, a silent question hanging between us. I turn back to the
coffee, hands shaking lightly as I lift the mug to my mouth.
“I can’t pretend anymore.”
The weight of his stare pins me to the spot. I swallow, throat dry.
“Yesterday,” he continues, and there’s a tremor, something like fear—or
is it hope?—in his tone. “Yesterday wasn’t nothing for me.”
 The words hang heavy in the air, thick with meaning. His confession
feels like a blade—sharp, unexpected, dangerous. I should look away; I
don’t.
“Say something,” Gianluca pleads, and the desperation in his voice
claws at my insides, shocking me that this cool, confident Prince is begging
me to give him relief from a situation I don’t even understand.
“I can’t.” The words are a whisper, a ghost of a sound. My hands are
steady, but inside, it’s havoc, fierce and relentless.
“Victoria...” His hand reaches out, hovering inches from my arm, a
silent plea for connection.
“Stop,” I cut him off, sharper than I intended. “Just stop.”
His hand drops, and the air between us shifts, charged with words
unsaid. Every choice has its price. Cian, Luke, this thing with Gianluca—
it’s a house of cards, ready to collapse with one wrong move.
“Understand this,” I say, turning to face him fully now, “what you want,
what I want—it doesn’t matter. We play the hand we’re dealt.”
“Even if it’s a losing hand?” The challenge in his eyes is unmistakable.
“Especially then.” I take a sip of the coffee, let the bitterness ground me.
It’s safer this way. For all of us.
“Then we lose together,” he murmurs, and it’s almost a concession.
“Maybe.” The word echoes between us, a maybe that feels like a noose
tightening around our necks.
He steps closer, close enough that I can see the heat in his eyes—the
same heat that’s got us caught up in this mess.
“Complicated doesn’t begin to cover this,” he says, and it’s like he’s
read my mind.
“Understatement,” I shoot back, the corner of my mouth twitching in a
semblance of a smile that feels more like a grimace.
“Tell me to leave then,” he whispers, and there’s a crack in his iron
composure.
I should shove him away, put miles of cold air between us. But instead,
I lean back a fraction, a silent dare. His hand finds my waist, a brand
through the satin robe. Heat blooms where his thumb strokes my skin. It’s
madness, this pull between us.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, closing my eyes against the onslaught of
sensation. This is wrong.
“Go,” I manage, pushing against his chest. The lie of it burns my throat.
 He steps back, and the loss of his heat leaves me hollow. We’re two
magnets repelling, our connection severed by an invisible force.
“Scars,” he says, his voice barely above a growl. “We’ll just end up with
more fucking scars.”
“Better than lies.” My voice is a whip-crack in the stillness.
He nods once, sharp, a soldier acknowledging the battlefield before him.
“War then,” Gianluca states, a grim promise hanging in the air.
“War,” I echo, and every cell in my body knows it’s true.
This isn’t love or lust; it’s a fight for survival. In the end, we’re all
damned. But as I watch him walk away, regret wraps around my heart, tight
enough to choke. I head out of the kitchen and come up short when Cian is
lingering, eyes narrowed.
He saunters closer, and I can smell the danger on him. His eyes flick
toward the kitchen. Cian’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a shift in
energy around him—a gathering storm promising ruin or revelation. “Tell
me again if you’re sure about starting something with Luke.”
“I am.” There is no hesitation. There doesn’t need to be. “If you’re on
board.”
He smiles at my addition. Slow, sexy and in the way where he knows
he’s in control. “Then so be it.”
We stare at each other. “So be it?”
He nods and slips past me to the coffee maker.
“How?”
“However you want, Tory. This is your thing, not mine.”
“What if I want the three of us together.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
“Really?” I don’t trust this.
He faces me with an amused smile. “Really.”
Cian leans in, a whisper of danger and promise. “You want depravity?
I’ll give you fucking depravity.” His hand snakes around my waist, rough
and unyielding. The heat from his body sears through the thin robe,
branding me with his intent. “But remember, Victoria,” he breathes against
my ear, sending shivers down my spine, “once we start this game, there’s no
going back.”
I nod, heart hammering like it’s trying to break free. I feel the edge of
the precipice beneath my feet, the void beckoning with open arms. “I
know.”
 His lips trace a path down my neck as he murmurs, “Let’s see how far
you’re willing to fall then.” He steps back abruptly, leaving me bereft of his
touch. His eyes lock onto mine—dark oceans threatening to drown me.
The challenge hangs heavy in the air. It’s maddening, this dance of
shadows and secrets we’re all entangled in. Luke’s image flickers across my
mind—those piercing green eyes that seem to see right through me, that
calm exterior that somehow riles me up more than it should.
A shiver runs through me as I consider what I’m about to do—what
we’re about to do. Cian watches me with an unreadable expression as I
weigh the cost of this dark tryst we’re proposing.
“Thank you,” I murmur and duck out because I don’t want to give him
an opportunity to backtrack. I head back upstairs to get showered and
changed. I have early classes today, and I want to be out of this house to see
if the stalker makes his next move, even with the guys here.
“Your hand, asshole.”
 30

VICTORIA

T HE SUN IS a weak glow on the horizon as we walk across campus, Cian’s

hand gripping mine, a silent claim against the conversation from the kitchen
that we haven’t mentioned in the last couple of hours while we got ready for
classes.
Bonnie is in my other hand, a necessity to show these fuckers who not
to mess with. Also, if my stalker happens to get a bit more daring, I want to
be able to smash his fucking face in for forcing Gianluca under my fucking
roof.
Fuck!
He is so fucking hot, I want to climb him like a tree and ride him.
“It’s bloody freezing,” Cian murmurs.
“Yeah,” I reply, but something feels off.
“What?” he asks, immediately sensing my shift in mood.
I don’t have to reply. The bedlam does it for me.
Shouts rip through the air, a warning as much as an alarm. We turn as
mayhem erupts at the Student Union, our fucking place. Black masked
assholes swarm the building like a dark wave breaking against rocks. A
rival gang is making a move on what’s ours.
“Looks like they couldn’t wait for it to warm up a bit,” Cian spits out,
stance ready, Clyde already drawn.
I grip Bonnie tighter, the nails catching the sunlight, ready to leave their
mark.
 “Victoria!” Luke’s call cuts through, sharp and urgent. He and Gianluca
barrel towards us. Luke’s cold eyes taking in the scene, never betray a
thing. But today, they’re hard with purpose.
“Nothing like a bit of bloodshed in the morning.” Gianluca grins, rolling
his shoulders like he’s stepping into a prize fight.
The masked gang members don’t pause as we surge forward with no
more words, coming at us from every angle. Fists fly, boots connect, and
the sound of flesh meeting metal echoes off the stone walls.
I swing Bonnie, connecting with some fucker with a sickening crunch.
They thought they’d catch us off guard this early; instead, they find our
fury, our will to hold ground.
Luke throws someone over his shoulder, a swift kick to another sending
an attacker sprawling.
“Watch it!” Cian warns, a split second before I duck a wild punch aimed
for my temple.
“Cheers,” I grunt, swinging again. Pain blossoms where I’m not quick
enough, but it’s nothing compared to the rush, the thrill of the fight.
I can feel the tide turning already, our advantage growing as we press
forward. Each hit I land with Bonnie feels like another step towards
defending what’s ours.
They’ve got numbers, but I’ve got Bonnie and three madmen who won’t
budge an inch. I grip my nail-studded bat tighter, its familiar weight a silent
promise of pain to come.
No time for bullshit. Every second counts. We move as one, a unit tuned
to survival, to victory.
Gianluca moves like a panther, muscles coiling as he pivots to guard our
side.
It’s brutal, efficient. Gianluca is a force, repelling attacks with raw
power. Luke slips in like a shadow, his moves precise, calculated—every hit
disabling, every move creating openings for Cian and me to exploit.
“Left, two o’clock!” It’s Luke alerting us to a new threat. His Scottish
lilt is sharp even in the bedlam. We pivot, adjust, and counter.
“Fuck, yeah!” I shout, feeling that thrill in my blood, the dance of battle
that we know too well as Bonnie smashes into a masked face, nails biting
deep into fabric and flesh. There’s no room for hesitation, no space for
mercy. Not here, not now.
 A fist flies past my cheek, close enough to feel the whoosh of air against
my skin. I duck into a roll, a hair’s breadth from being laid out cold, and
swing Bonnie up in an arc that connects with a sickening crunch. Blood
splatters, hot and metallic. It’s a grim reminder—this is no game.
“Victoria!” Cian shouts as he sees me down, a blur as he tackles a rival
charging at me from the side. His body slams into the attacker, the two of
them hitting the ground with a thud that tells me the other guy won’t be
getting up soon. Especially when Cian drives his knife into the guy’s
Adam’s apple.
I nod, not wasting breath on thanks. We’re beyond that; this is survival,
pure and simple.
Rising, I surge forward again. With every ounce of strength, we keep
going, shedding blood and gore as more people join the fight on our side.
This is our turf, no matter what the rivalries are between factions on
campus; BlackBriar is ours, and cowardly masked creeps aren’t getting
their hooks in it—not today, not ever.
Cian grunts as someone lands a lucky hit, but he’s already spinning,
retaliating with a ferocity that speaks of darkened streets and harsher
lessons learned too young.
This isn’t just a fight—it’s a statement. You come at us; you better not
miss.
“Victoria, duck!” Gianluca’s warning is a sharp knife thrown over the
din, slicing through the chaos. I drop, feeling the whoosh of a bat where my
head was seconds ago. Close. Too close.
“Hey!” I roar, waving Bonnie wildly. “No one takes my moves, you
utter cunt.” I slam my bat into their midsection, and with a grunt that comes
from a female, no doubt, she doubles over. “Yeah, that’s it, Pollyanna. Stay
down.”
“Behind you!” It’s Luke this time, and I pivot, Bonnie rising and falling.
There’s no room for error, not here, not now.
“Cheers,” I acknowledge, breathless from exertion and adrenaline.
“Anytime.” The smirk in his voice doesn’t need to be seen to be felt.
Adrenaline courses through me, a live wire sparking against my veins,
fuelling every strike, every step.
“They’re running,” Cian grunts, close enough that his voice cuts
through the frenzy.
 We watch them go, and I laugh. It’s a maniacal sound that rips through
the air as I wave Bonnie in the air. “That’s right fuckers, run from
BlackBriar, you fucking pussies!”
Cian snorts and grabs my hand, kissing my knuckles with a reverent
gaze I will never get tired of.
The four of us stand there, surrounded by our compatriots, breathing
hard. Our bodies are alight with the rush of battle, and our minds are
already turning to what comes next.
We look around at the bodies surrounding us, a reminder of the fierce
battle we just survived. We struggle to catch our breaths, surrounded by the
fresh morning air that seems out of place in this gruesome scene.
“Run, you bastards,” Cian sneers loudly, and they do, scattering like
leaves in a gale.
“Pathetic,” Luke spits out, scanning the perimeter with eagle-eyed
vigilance.
As the last of the rival gang disappears into the distance, I allow myself
a single moment to savour the win. There’s no glory in this life, just
survival, and today, we’ve secured another day to breathe.
“Good job,” I nod to each of them in turn, their faces grimy, streaked
with the evidence of battle.
We stand there, a circle of beaten and battered warriors in the middle of
the quad. The early sun casts long shadows that mix with the dark stains on
the ground—blood, dirt, defiance. Cian wipes his face, smearing grime
across his cheek. Luke leans on his knees, chest heaving, eyes sharp as
shattered glass. Gianluca’s knuckles are raw, his breathing heavy but
controlled.
“Kellerman,” Gianluca says, spitting out the name like it’s poison.
“You think?” I ask.
“Has to be,” Cian adds. “It’s why they were masked. This is their turf as
well and fighting a civil war is a massive no-go. Little fucker.”
“Little shit’s got guts,” Gianluca agrees.
“Or no brains,” Luke adds, straightening up. His gaze doesn’t waver,
and I know he’s already running scenarios, ways we’ll have to adapt,
defend, attack.
“Or both,” I reply, my mind racing ahead. We’ve won, sure. But
winning’s just surviving. And surviving’s a game that never bloody ends.
 “Let’s clean up this mess. Then we plan.” I turn away from them,
gazing across the campus.
“We hit back twice as hard,” Cian growls.
“Guess we’re not going to class today,” I mutter.
“No, we are,” he says. “Tonight, we hit back. I know just the place.”
The sinister grin tells me all I need to know. Tonight is going to be way
more fun than this.
 31

CIAN

L ATER THAT EVENING , I stride into Victoria’s living room, eyes locking on
each of them assembled, one by one. The air is thick with anticipation, and I
can feel the weight of their gazes as they wait for my commands.
“Any boxes?” I ask immediately.
“Nope. Guess the plan is working,” Victoria says.
“For now. That won’t last.”
“So what’s the plan for tonight then?” Luke asks, avoiding looking at
Victoria as he stands near the window.
I fix my stare on Victoria instead. “It’s a smash and grab. Quick in,
quick out. I want compensation for their hit on the Union.”
“Nice,” Victoria says. “No bodies?”
“Only if they get in the way.”
“Let’s hope they form a blockade then.”
I smirk at her. She is a warrior.
“Where are we headed?” G asks, his gaze riveted to Victoria as she
purposefully ignores him. What the fuck is this?
“Sink or Swim, the rave club near the Blue Bell. Kellerman’s family
owns it.”
“Ugh, that place where they still do foam parties? Gross.”
“It’s a big earner, and they only take cash.”
“Oh, well, in that case, let’s suit up with body sanitiser.”
Snickering, I nod. “Game plan is easy. Walk in the front door and take
out anyone who wants to get in our way. Hold up the register and walk out.”
 “Love a simple plan,” Luke says.
“Still want eyes on the place,” I say to him. “We need the most direct
path. It’s going to be dark, full of foam and people and most likely
tightened security. I don’t want to be fucking about, trying to find exactly
where the register is at the bar.”
“On it,” he replies and picks up his laptop and starts tapping.
Victoria turns and leans over his shoulder. Her eyes are sharp, tracing
routes, exits, choke points moments later when Luke has the club’s cameras
online. “We hit the main floor. Till’s here.”
Taking in the location, I nod. “Time to move.”
We leave the townhouse, taking with us only what we would for any old
day. This isn’t a declaration of war. Not yet. This is them owing us. They
won’t have the manpower to come at us with anything other than the
presence of a swarm of irritating gnats.
The night bites with a cold only England knows, and we’re ghosts
moving through it, silent and swift as we climb into Luke’s car. He sets off.
The atmosphere is quiet and introspective as we drive to Riversway.
Soon, the club looms ahead, the neon sign harsh in the night sky. The
music is pumping loudly, the perfect backdrop for our in-plain-sight heist.
Leaving the car, we glide forward with no hesitation.
We reach the entrance, and the solo bouncer barely looks up from his
phone as he lets us in—mistake number one.
Inside, music pulses like a living thing. Bodies press and sway, lost in
the beat. We slip through them, unnoticed predators among the drugged-up
prey as a stream of foam is released into the air to shouts from the revellers.
We don’t just walk through the club, we own the fucking ground we
move on.
As we make our approach, covered head to toe in this fucking foam,
with Victoria bitching like crazy at the germs covering her body and hair,
we encounter a couple of Kellerman’s men who recognise us.
Finally.
I was starting to get a bit insulted.
In a blink, Gianluca’s on them. No warning, just a blur of motion. Bones
crack. Grunts echo. Bodies skid in the bubbles and thud to the floor. Silent
but for the beat still pumping through the club, drowning the brief scuffle.
I grunt, stepping over a groaning heap that used to be a threat. We’re at
the bar in seconds. Gazes snap to us. The bartender freezes, and patrons
back away. It’s good. Fear cuts sharper than knives.
Waving Clyde in the direction of the panicked barkeep, I snarl, “Open it
and unload.”
As Luke leaps over the bar and presses his knife to the man’s neck, he
stammers, hands fumbling with the key around his neck that will manually
unlock the register. Money spills out, notes fluttering like caged birds
desperate for escape.
“Bag it,” I say in exasperation as he starts throwing the money at me.
“Right,” he mutters as Luke snickers in his ear. He grabs some money
bags from under the counter and loads up as Victoria and G spin to deal
with the fresh wave of security headed our way. Grunts, collisions, slipping
and sliding on the goddamned foam, we finally have what we came for.
We back away, every step measured, senses strung tight until we’re
clear, swallowed back into the heaving mass of the club. The night’s far
from over, but this? This is just the fucking beginning.
Kellerman will come back at us twice as hard, and we’ll be ready.
“Let’s bounce,” I mutter.
We weave through the crowd towards the exit. The night air hits like a
slap as we burst outside. It’s dark, late, and the city is ours. Our pace
doesn’t falter; we move as one shadow across the pavement.
We slide into the car, and Luke groans. “This bastard foam is a
menace.”
“I’m going to need to scrub from every orifice when we get home,”
Victoria growls. “The haul had better be worth it.”
“How much?” G asks, turning from his place in the passenger seat as
Luke takes off like a bat out of hell.
“Enough,” I growl, setting the bags in the middle of the seat between
me and Tory. Kellerman won’t let this slide. There’ll be hell to pay, but I’m
fucking looking forward to it.
“Next moves?” Victoria’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp as ever.
“Survive,” I reply, “then thrive.”
The streetlights streak past, blurring into a tunnel of dim gold. We’re
phantoms now, slipping into the darkness that breeds us. Tonight, we’ve
drawn a line, crossed it, set it alight. Tomorrow, we brace for the firestorm.
Noticing again that look that Gianluca gives Victoria, I narrow my eyes.
She avoids his stare, but that only tells me she is desperate to look at him.
This needs a confrontation because if this is about to become a thing, I want
it out in the open tonight. No more fucking about with secrets and sex texts.
If I’m already letting part of her go to Luke, does that mean I can give G
part of the action? Fuck knows until they tell me what they really want.
 32

VICTORIA

M Y HAIR IS slick with foam, and my clothes are soaked. Luke pulls back
into the driveway, and we all lean forward to check the doormat.
Nothing.
“Anyone else find this a bit weird?” I murmur.
“Nope, he’s scrambling, just like we’d hoped. Our plan is working,
rosebud, we just have to stay the course.”
I grimace at Luke. Stay the course. Whatever the fuck that means.
Walking inside and locking up behind us, the space is cloaked in
shadows, lit only by the glow of a single lamp.
“I’m going to shower off this germ fest,” I murmur, but then I don’t
move when the three of them just stand there, their stances rigid, ready to
spring or shatter. Breath comes sharp and quick, like cuts from a blade. This
is no sanctuary; it’s a ring where beasts circle, fangs bared.
“What’s going on with you and Gianluca?” Cian’s voice slices through
the hush, every syllable a weapon drawn.
I stand my ground for a moment. My heart hammers, but my voice
doesn’t waver. “Good fucking question.”
From the corner, Luke watches, his support unspoken but present in the
set of his jaw, the slight nod only I seem to catch. He’s always been the cool
head, the planner, but now I see the way his eyes linger on me longer than
necessary.
Cian’s hand twitches, the only sign of his simmering rage. We’re too far
gone for pretence, for soft words that mean nothing.
 Gianluca steps forward, the dim light casting shadows across his face.
He stares at me with longing and determination in his stormy eyes.
“I’ll start,” he says, voice low, every syllable edged with the weight of
unspoken promises. “I’ve got my lines in the sand. If we do this—if you’re
in—then know this: I don’t share easily. But for you, I’ll bend. You’re the
only one who can give me what I need.”
His words hang heavy between us, a challenge laid bare.
A fist flies. Cian’s rage boils over, connects with Gianluca’s jaw with a
crack.
“Enough!” My commanding, fierce voice slashes the air. They freeze,
panting beasts caged by my will alone.
“You are mine,” Cian hisses. “These two fuckers need to know that.”
“Shut up,” I snap. My gaze flicks to Gianluca, then back to Cian. “I said
enough.”
“Fuck this,” Gianluca growls. He grabs my arm, pulling me toward him,
his touch scalding.
“Get your hands off her,” Cian barks, moving to intercept. His
possessiveness—a dark, twisted thing—flares in his eyes. But it’s
protection, not ownership. He knows I don’t like to be manhandled.
“Or what?” Gianluca challenges, a beast in his own right.
I wrench free from Gianluca’s grasp, my pulse racing with an energy
that’s part fury, part raw need.
It’s fucked up, how much I want all of them—even now. My body
betrays me, leaning into their space, craving the heat of their skin against
mine.
“Victoria,” Gianluca’s voice is softer, a contrast to the violence that still
hums through him. He reaches out, fingers brushing against my waist with a
promise of more.
“Back off,” Cian snaps, but his voice has a tremor that wasn’t there
before.
“Make me,” Gianluca taunts, a smirk on his lips. “This is between me
and Victoria.”
They’re at it again in a flash—fists flying, grunts filling the room. This
isn’t just about me; it’s a power play, a clash of alpha egos.
“Stop!” I step in between them, pushing against chests hard as iron.
“This ends, now.”
 They hesitate, the air thick with testosterone and unspoken threats. The
danger excites me and sets my blood on fire.
“Look at me,” I command. They do, eyes dark with lust, with longing.
“I won’t choose. Not now, not ever.”
“Can’t you see?” Luke’s voice is a blade, sharp, cutting. “This is
madness, Cian. She wants all three of us. Lean into it and see how perfect it
could be.”
“Madness?” Gianluca murmurs. “This is the only sanity I know.”
“Shut it, both of you!” Cian’s fist slams against the wall beside my
head, his eyes burning coals.
Nobody moves. We’re statues in some depraved gallery.
“Tell us what you want.” Cian’s jaw clenches, fury and desire warring in
his eyes
“Are we done with the scrapping?” I turn to Luke, locking eyes with
him. He’s the calm one, I think. “What about you, Luke? Are you going to
let your beast out?”
His lips curl into a sly, knowing smile. “Only if you ask nicely.”
I shiver at the thrill his words send over my skin.
“Nobody is leaving this room,” I say firmly. “Not until we sort this shit
out.”
There’s a moment when everything hangs in the balance, and then Cian
nods slowly.
A crooked grin spreads across Gianluca’s face. “Fine by me.”
Luke steps forward, close enough I can feel the heat radiating off him.
His hand finds my neck, thumb caressing me.
“Tell us what you want,” Cian murmurs again.
“Want?” I echo, my voice coming out as a hoarse whisper, every nerve
in my body standing on end. The electric charge in the room could power
the city. My gaze fixes on each of theirs, daring them to understand the
chaos they stir within me.
Luke’s thumb runs over my pounding pulse, a wordless communication
that sends shivers down my spine. His silence speaks volumes; he is always
watching and waiting.
I step back, reclaiming space. My chest heaves. “I want control.”
“And if we give it to you?” Gianluca’s voice is husky, dripping with raw
hunger.
“Then you’ll get what you’ve been craving.”
 Silence returns, oppressive and thick. They stand still, measuring my
words, measuring each other.
Cian steps closer. “You’ll have it if these games end, Tory.”
My gaze flicks to Gianluca. “You are guarded. What is it you want?”
Gianluca’s gaze burns into me, as sharp as a blade. “What do I want?”
His voice is a growl, low and dangerous. “I want the madness to make
sense. I want you without the constant fight for dominance.”
A laugh, humourless and dark, bubbles up from Cian’s throat.
“Dominance is what we do. It’s in our fucking blood.”
Luke remains silent, eyes intent upon my face as if deciphering a code
only he can understand.
My nails dig into my palms, tension riding every line of my body.
“You’ll get dominance,” I say. “But there’s more. What is it?”
He sighs. “Trust. I need to trust that you aren’t going to throw this faith
I have in you back in my face and screw me over for your own ends. I can’t
live that life, Victoria. If we are doing this, I need all of you, but I don’t
want you tricking me or playing me.”
I give him a curious stare. “I wouldn’t do that,” I say softly.
“I know, and that’s why I know you are the one, princess. My Princess.
But the words need to be said for my own peace of mind.”
“I get that,” I murmur, my heart filling with sadness for him. He has
lived a half-life being so scared. But then, so have I. So has Cian. Luke?
He’s the outlier, I think. He is an Earl, but the weight of a country doesn’t
land on his shoulders. I understand this now.
I step forward, bridging the gap between desire and decision. “Then
let’s lay it out raw and simple. No tricks, no power plays. We share this—
whatever it is—a reckless need, a fucked-up sort of love.”
Cian’s face softens just a fraction. “We can try, Tory.”
“We will,” I correct him. “It’s not just about trying; it’s committing to
this twisted circle.”
“Our beautiful disaster,” Gianluca murmurs.
Luke watches us, his gaze sharp as a dagger. “Then it’s settled,” he says,
breaking his silence. His voice is calm, like the eye of a storm. “We commit
to the chaos.”
“Commit to the chaos,” Cian repeats as the room pulses with a new
tension, one filled with promise and peril. My heart races as I look into each
of their eyes—bound by a shared darkness.
 Cian steps forward, his hands reaching for me with a gentleness that is
unusual for him. His lips graze mine, a kiss laced with dominance and an
unspoken oath.
Then he sputters and chokes back a laugh. “Fuck, you taste like foam.”
“Eww!” I cry, grabbing a cushion off the couch and wiping my mouth
with it. “I got that stuff in my mouth?” I am outraged, and probably also
going to get sick. “I’m showering in a scalding torrent of water and none of
you are coming anywhere near me until you do the same!”
I march off upstairs to my en-suite bathroom, slamming the door behind
me with all the force of a woman on a mission. I flick the light on and stifle
the scream as I see the message scrawled across the mirror:
You are mine, petal.
 33

VICTORIA

P ETAL .
No. Shaking my head, I refuse to believe this. It can’t be. It’s not. I
don’t believe it. I won’t believe it.
I exhale sharply, my breath fogging up the glass further, obscuring the
black letters. Heart jackhammering in my chest, I wipe at the message
furiously. It smears but doesn’t dissolve; it’s not some trick of the mind—
it’s real.
Panic scratches at the back of my throat like claws. I don’t let it out.
Can’t let it out. Because that name, that fucking pet name... it’s from a ghost
I buried deep.
My sanctuary has been breached, and with it, the illusion of control
shatters.
The darkness descends, and my stomach lurches. I throw up in the
toilet, a vile mix of coffee and the sandwich I ate at lunchtime.
Straightening up, I flush and stagger to the sink, clutching it in a death
grip as I stare at the words written in blood. This can’t be happening. Not
now, not after everything I’ve survived, after every bloody, brutal step I’ve
taken to ensure my past doesn’t dictate my future.
When my hands stop shaking enough to be useful, I strip down and step
into the shower. The scalding hot water is a baptismal fire, an attempt to
cleanse this new sin from my skin.
By the time I’ve scrubbed every inch of myself raw, my mind is
whirling dervish of thoughts. A mess of sheer terror, rage and something
undefinable.
Wrapping a towel around my body, leaving my hair soaking wet and
dripping down my back, I open the bathroom door and walk steadily,
almost deliberately to the bedroom door. I open it and open my mouth, but
no words come out.
I try again. “Cian,” I rasp, then louder, “Cian!”
The sound of my own voice jolts me back into reality. Cian is at my side
in an instant from the room next door, the other two men just a step behind.
“What’s wrong?” Cian’s voice is rough with urgency, his blue eyes
searching mine for answers I’m not sure I can give.
“There’s a message...” My voice trails off as I realise the futility of
trying to explain with mere words. Instead, I grab Cian’s hand and pull him
towards the bathroom.
Luke and Gianluca follow, knowing I’m rattled. They peer at the mirror,
where the message smears like a scar across its surface.
“Who?” Gianluca asks, no trace of his usual charm in his tone.
“Not sure,” I lie, teeth clamped down on my lower lip so hard I taste
blood. The name it evokes is one I swore never to utter again.
Luke’s got his phone out already, tapping rapidly. “I’ll check the
security feeds,” he says with that steel-edge calm that both reassures and
infuriates me. He doesn’t wait for permission; he’s already moving, leaving
us grappling with the implications of these words.
“We need answers,” Cian declares, sounding every bit the mafia heir
that he is. “Now.”
“They were in here,” Gianluca says. “While we were out, they came in
here. A move so bold, we cannot fight this lying down.”
“But if we don’t know who the fuck it is, what are we supposed to do,”
Cian grits out, glaring at me.
“We find the fuck out. Whatever it takes. This has gone way past
surveillance and into the bait and trap territory.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“Agreed,” Cian says at the same time. He gives me that glare again.
“Agreed with Gianluca. We need to trap this fucker so fast, his head will
spin quicker than the fucking Exorcist.”
“Urgh!” I snap but then shake my head. This is going to end in disaster.
You don’t trap my godfather. He traps you. I need to come clean. I need to
tell them with words exactly who we are dealing with, but something
terrifying stops me. I realise this is ridiculous because they need to know so
they know what we’re up against, but the words just don’t come. The name
won’t come.
There is also the tiny, niggling feeling I get that this isn’t him. Why
now? Why, after all these years, when he lost interest in me before? Why?
Why? Fucking WHY?
“Ahh!” I scream, slamming my hands to my head as the thoughts and
the questions won’t stop.
“Victoria!” Cian’s panicked voice filters through the din in my head, but
I can’t breathe, the walls are closing in…
His arms are around me in seconds, pulling me against his chest, away
from the bathroom door that suddenly feels like a portal to hell. “Breathe,”
he orders, and I can only obey, my lungs expanding with sharp, gasping
breaths.
“Get her some air,” Cian orders, his voice a low growl of concern. He’s
not used to this—not used to seeing me break, not even a crack. This is why
I keep him and everyone else at arm’s length. So no one will see this side,
this fearful side of me that shows weakness and vulnerability.
I shake uncontrollably, my knees weak as if they’ve been pummelled by
a sledgehammer. Cian’s fingers dig into my arms, steadying me.
“The fucker who did this is going to pay,” he swears, his promise slicing
through the chaos in my head like a knife through butter. “Luke?”
“He has a key,” Luke says grimly, looking up from his phone. His face
swims into view as my eyes zero in on him, trying to focus.
“What?” Cian spits out, rage contorting his features.
And then he does something I have never seen him do before. He reins
it in.
“Victoria,” he says calmly. “I know you know who this is. Give me a
name.”
“I don’t know. Not for sure,” I mumble, and not even Cian’s grip on me
can keep my legs from turning to jelly, forcing me to my knees.
He drops with me. “A guess is a good start.”
My mind is screaming at me to run, to hide to go and never look back
but when I force my gaze to meet his, those blue eyes that seduced me,
drew me in soften, my shoulders slump.
He knows. I can see it in the way he studies me, his gaze sharpening,
the cogs turning. He knows I’m holding back the tide, the dam about to
break.
I swallow hard, my throat raw, and as I part my lips, it’s like every
demon I’ve ever danced with is clawing at my insides.
Gianluca crouches beside me, his princely poise forgotten, replaced by
the raw determination of a man willing to wade through hell for answers.
“Cara, we’re blind without it. Tell us so we can fix this,” he urges.
Fix this. You don’t fix this man.
The name finally claws its way up from my throat. “Asher Quinn.”
Silence crashes over us like a tidal wave.
“Asher Quinn,” Cian repeats, venom dripping from each syllable. “That
fucking bastard has no idea what he’s just started.”
“He is my father’s friend. My godfather,” I whisper into Cian’s chest, a
confession laid bare for the first time. Every muscle in my body tenses as I
brace for their reactions, but none comes with judgement. Probably because
they don’t know the full story.
“Was,” Gianluca says firmly, standing up now, his eyes ablaze. “Past
tense. Permanently.”
Cian helps me to my feet, his touch scorched with a protective fury that
sears away some of my dread. “We’ll end him. Painfully. Slowly. Without
mercy.”
Luke nods in agreement from where he stands. There’s no backing
down; they’ve accepted this mission as theirs. Luke holds his phone out to
me to show me a paused feed of a man dressed all in black with a mask,
wider than the other guys we’ve seen, taller. Luke presses play and I watch
as the man stares directly at the cam as he inserts a key into the door and
shoves it open deliberately slowly, for show. Always for show.
But something still doesn’t sit right with me. Does it appear to be
Quinn? On the surface, yes. But I can’t shake this gnawing at my insides
that there is more to this.
I grab the phone from Luke, my hands steady now as steel. The footage
taunts me, a ghost behind a mask. I’ve seen Quinn move, I’ve seen his
arrogance and his cruelty. This man’s stride is all wrong, too cautious, too
calculated.
“That’s not him,” I say flatly. “It’s a fucking decoy.”
Cian snatches the phone from my hand, and he stares at it, replaying the
video with narrowed eyes. “Then we’re back to square one.”
 “No,” Gianluca interjects, the accent thickening with his rising ire.
“We’re not. He’s playing games, and he’ll slip up.”
Luke’s gaze shifts between us; the strategist is already forming plans.
“Whatever, whoever, we need to get the locks changed.”
“And don’t tell your father,” Cian grits out.
My eyes shoot to his. “You think my dad knows about this?” I squeak.
“No,” he says grimly. “But I think your dad has a spare key that he has
copied.”
“Oh,” I say flatly. “Yeah, maybe.”
Cian’s jaw is tight as he draws in a sharp breath. “Is this the man
who—”
“Yes.”
“Fucking cunt!” he hisses. “I’ll chop his fucking dick off and shove it
down his fucking throat to choke on before I remove his head and shove it
up his ass.”
Despite the seriousness of this, I giggle. It’s inappropriate, but the
mental image has me choking back a laugh until I can’t anymore, and it
explodes into full-on hysteria.
Suddenly, Gianluca stands up and backs away, a look on his face that
sobers me instantly. “Did you say Quinn?”
I nod, gulping back the shock, the fear, the tears.
“Wouldn’t happen to be a high-ranking member of the English nobility,
would he?”
His face has me extremely concerned. I stand up, using Cian for
leverage, and lurch towards Gianluca. He reaches out to steady me as I
stumble, but I stare up into his face. “Why? Why are you asking that?”
He lets go of me as Cian takes me from him, wrapping his arm around
my waist. “Does he?”
“Yes,” I murmur. “He’s a Marquess.”
“Does he enjoy Medieval European History?”
I blink.
He blinks.
I blink again. “Why?”
“Answer the fucking question, Victoria.”
His tone rushes over me like arctic seawater. “Yes.”
“Son-of-a-bitch!” he roars and shoves his hand through his hair, turning
from us.
 “What do you know?” Luke asks, the only one of us able to form words
in the face of Gianluca’s sheer rage, by the looks of it.
Gianluca turns to me, his face a blank mask now. “He is here, cara.”
I lick my lips. “Here?”
“He is the new History Professor at BlackBriar.”
My world drops out from under my feet, and everything goes black.
 34

GIANLUCA

C IAN CATCHES her before she hits the floor. He picks her up and lays her
down gently on the bed, her raven hair fanned out like a dark halo.
For a split second, the sight of her vulnerable form fractures something
in me, but I push it aside. There’s no room for weakness, not now.
Brushing a loose strand of hair from Victoria’s pale forehead, her chest
rises and falls in shallow breaths. This is more than just her confronting a
ghost from her past; this is about bringing down one of the untouchables.
Cian kicks a nearby chair, his fists clenched tight enough to draw blood.
“This changes everything. We need to be smarter, faster.”
Luke glances at Victoria’s unconscious form before fixing his gaze on
us. “We tighten up. She is now on lockdown.”
Cian nods sharply. “Agreed.”
I look down at Victoria again. She trembles slightly, and I wonder what
nightmares are chasing her behind closed eyelids.
“What do you know about Quinn’s arrival here?” I ask Luke without
taking my eyes off her.
Luke pulls up an email on his phone and reads it aloud. “He was
brought in for his extensive knowledge of Medieval warfare tactics—a
guest lecturer for the next term.”
“What do you know about him?” Cian fires the question at me.
“Not much. We were meant to have a coffee yesterday to talk about
Esteria, but he didn’t show up.”
“Well, that’s not suspicious,” Luke mutters.
 “What time was the break-in?” Cian asks.
“Right after we left for Kellerman’s.”
“So, the asshole was waiting. If we hadn’t been here and she was alone
in the house…” I trail off, trying not to let that thought play out.
“No,” Cian says. “He doesn’t want her to see him yet. He isn’t done
playing with her. If she thinks the man who came here wasn’t Quinn, then
this game has only just started. He’s not about to end it anytime soon.”
“Cat and mouse,” I mutter.
“Precisely.”
Luke’s eyes narrow, the ice in them chilling the room. “Then we
become the fucking cat.”
“We make our move first. We draw him out.” My gaze flickers to
Victoria as she stirs. She pushes herself up to sit with grim determination.
“No,” she rasps, interrupting our conversation and asserting her plan.
“He wants me,” she states plainly, the truth of it slicing through the charged
atmosphere. “So, I’ll give him just that.”
“Not a fucking chance,” Cian spits. “We aren’t using you as bait, not
now, not with this.”
“I’m not,” she says coolly, meeting his heated gaze with an icy resolve
of her own. “I’m the fucking lure.”
I step forward. “She’s right. He won’t expect her to confront him. It
throws him off, messes with his plan.”
“We keep it contained,” Luke says. “Controlled environment, we pull
the strings. Make him think he has the upper hand.”
A small smile plays on Victoria’s lips as dark satisfaction blooms at our
rallying around her plan.
“We need eyes everywhere,” I state firmly.
“And backup,” Cian adds through gritted teeth.
“I want him destroyed,” Victoria utters coldly, every word a vow etched
in acid.
I nod once. “Then that’s what you’ll get.”
Cian’s eyes are twin embers of fury. “I want every inch of BlackBriar
covered. No blind spots.”
“Consider it done,” Luke replies evenly.
Cian turns to me, his suspicions still clawing at him. “Gianluca, you’ll
need to reach out to your contacts. We might need resources beyond the
university.”
 I nod sharply. “They’ll be ready.”
“I’ll deal with Quinn.” Victoria’s voice is steady but low. She is deeply
afraid of this man. There is something she is not telling us. Or rather, they.
Cian knows as well. We should have all the cards on the table, but clearly,
Victoria isn’t ready.
We all look at her, aware that she’s not asking for permission.
“Vic—” Cian starts, but she holds up a hand to stop him.
“No,” she interrupts with an authority that dares him to challenge her,
born of her bloodline and forged in her own fires. “This is personal.”
Cian’s face hardens like set concrete, but there’s resignation in his eyes.
“I know,” he murmurs.
Luke shifts beside me, his body language speaking volumes about his
internal conflict – duty and desire at war.
“We set it up then,” I say firmly. “You confront him on your terms, but
our setup. Best of both worlds.”
“What did you have in mind?” she asks, crossing her arms.
The tension in the room coils tighter, a live wire waiting to snap. A plan
forms in my mind, one that exploits both the element of surprise and our
meticulous control.
“We use one of the lecture halls,” I suggest with an edge to my voice,
knowing that we must mask our true advantage. “Act like it’s just another
day at the university.”
Cian’s jaw clenches, but he inclines his head slightly. “The one with the
back exit. Easy to secure.”
Luke nods, his eyes calculating as he runs through security protocols in
his head. “I’ll have cameras installed. There will be no blind spots.”
Victoria pushes off from the bed, her legs steady beneath her now. She
paces a few steps, working through the layers of our strategy. “He’ll expect
me to be submissive, afraid.” Her laugh is harsh, devoid of any real humour.
“He’s in for a surprise.”
“And when he shows his true colours,” Cian adds darkly, “we strike.”
I glance at Luke and see the silent question in his eyes – how far will
Victoria go? How much of herself will she expose to this man who had
already taken so much from her?
“But first, I want to know who this other fucker is that is messing with
me,” she says, firmly placing a downer on our plans.
“Does it even matter? He is clearly a puppet.”
 “Yes, it matters. I want to know the name of the man whose guts I’ll rip
out with my bare hands.”
“Fair enough,” I murmur. “Luke?”
“On it. Tomorrow, we will all leave together. I’ll circle back and won’t
give any fucker the chance to—”
“Not you. Me,” Cian interrupts.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Victoria needs you on campus.”
“Agreed,” Luke says.
I nod. “The three of us won’t split up. It makes no difference to me
attending classes, but Victoria, you should keep up your routine. We will be
with you every second.”
“Deal,” she says, danger flashing in her eyes.
“Get some rest now,” I murmur. “Luke, can you see if you can get
anything off the mirror and clean it up?”
“I’ll stay with you,” Cian adds, climbing on the bed with her.
“We all will,” I add and climb on the other side with a lewd grin.
“Oh, fun times,” she says.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You need to rest. This has been a
harrowing day.”
She looks like she’s about to argue, so I give her a stern glare, and she
sighs. “Okay.” she slides down the bed to lay her head on the pillow and
closes her eyes. I don’t know how long it takes her to fall asleep, but Cian
and I don’t leave her side as Luke gets to work.
 35

LUKE

G OING BACK to my room for my kit, I slip back into Victoria’s room and
into the en-suite. The message on the mirror is possessive, deadly. You are
mine, petal.
The comma does it for me. This man is meticulous even when scrawling
messages in blood on people’s mirrors. The first thing to check is if it’s
actually blood and then narrow it down to human or animal.
I slip on latex gloves, a precaution against contaminating evidence. The
sample scraper feels cold, clinical in my hands as I collect a bit of the dried
substance. I’ll run tests back in my setup – a makeshift lab of sorts, filled
with the latest tech.
This bastard wants to rattle us, but what he doesn’t realise is that we’re
not the kind to cower or be intimidated.
Once the sample is secure, I take my camera out. Every angle needs
capturing. This is more than evidence; it’s a psychological profile in the
making.
Then, dusting for prints, although I’m fairly certain, like the boxes, it
won’t bring anything up. It doesn’t.
When I’m done, I scrub the mirror clean and take the sample to my
room to be tested. I brought all my lab shit earlier and set it up, ready for
the next attack. We didn’t know it would be inside, but we should’ve
anticipated it better. I’m still waiting for the inside cams to be delivered,
they said tomorrow, so this fucker had good timing on his part. Utterly crap
on ours.
 Sitting in my room, surrounded by beeping equipment, I type furiously
on my keyboard. My mind races with every possible scenario and
contingency plan as I work. I’m not just the tech guy or Cian’s right-hand
man; I’m part of a twisted family that relies on each other for protection,
and Victoria is more than just an obsession or shared desire between us,
she’s become someone we all rely on. As I work, I picture her lying
between us, strong yet vulnerable. Suddenly, an alert pings from my
computer - we have results. It’s human blood, AB negative - rare and the
same type as the heart. Next step is to find if they belong to same poor
asshole. It may be a small victory, but it’s something.
Hours blur until there’s knocking at my door. Cian stands there, face
etched with lines of fatigue and fury. “Anything?”
“We’re dealing with someone who knows how to cover their tracks,” I
admit, frustrated. “But not for long.”
He nods, glancing at my setup with an approving eye. “Keep pushing,
Luke.”
“I will. Just waiting for this DNA testing to see if the heart and this
blood belong to the same person.”
“Fucking hell,” he mutters and sits heavily on my bed as I go back to
my makeshift lab.
Cian’s intense gaze follows my every move, the silence between us
heavy and almost suffocating. His fingers drum anxiously on the mattress, a
sign of his inner turmoil. He may thrive in chaos, but the uncertainty of
Victoria being targeted is eating away at him.
The DNA analyser hums softly, every second counts as we wait for the
results.
The machine beeps, and I check the results. I let out a low whistle. “It’s
a match,” I say.
Cian stands up quickly, his fatigue replaced by a surge of adrenaline.
“We need to find out who they were,” he says with a growl, his voice tight
with restrained anger.
“Yeah, this isn’t random. Whoever this poor bastard was, it means
something.”
“Exactly.”
We stare at each other for a few moments, and he lets me see the
vulnerability in his eyes for those few seconds. Nothing in this world or the
next will make me let him down. “I’ve got this. Go get some sleep. She
needs you with her.”
“Thanks,” he mutters and slopes off, looking like a man defeated.
Turning back to my monitors, I re-focus on the task laid out. This fucker
might be meticulous, but he doesn’t even know the meaning of the word
compared to me. I’m on the hunt, and no stone is going to be left unturned.
The silence of the room envelops me like a cloak, each click of the
keyboard a confirmation of my purpose. I dive into the dark web, tapping
into criminal databases, coroner reports, missing persons, anything that’ll
give me a hint about our mystery victim. But it’s like chasing ghosts –
nothing lines up.
More hours pass, and I’m neck-deep in data with no leads. But
suddenly, the screen blinks, and a hit pops up. A name surfaces from the
digital depths. Christopher Mullen, 48 years old, reported missing six days
ago. Not from around here – he’s from up North, Manchester way.
“Who are you really, and what is your involvement with this?” I mutter
and start to dig.
I’m beat and feeling more than just the lack of sleep in my bones when
Victoria steps into my room without knocking, with dishevelled hair and
wild eyes.
“Luke,” she says softly, her voice heavy with unsaid words.
“Does the name Christopher Mullen mean anything to you?”
Victoria’s gaze flickers, a flash of recognition before she masks it with
indifference. “Should it?” Her tone is biting and defensive.
I study her for a moment, watching how she shifts her weight from one
foot to the other, tension coiling in her frame. It tells me all I need to know.
“It might,” I say, my voice steady as I swivel the screen towards her. “His
heart was left in a box on your doorstep, and his blood was on your mirror.”
She steps closer, eyes scanning the information on the screen. A muscle
twitches in her jaw, and for a fraction of a second, vulnerability bleeds
through her tough exterior. It’s enough to tell me there’s more to this story.
“Talk to me, Victoria,” I press, knowing that between the lines of her
silence lies the key to this puzzle.
“He was part of something bigger,” she starts hesitantly. “A move
against my father that went south.”
The pieces begin to click into place, a dangerous game with even higher
stakes than we imagined. “And now Quinn is using him to send a message.
What’s the connection there?”
“That is a question I can’t answer,” she murmurs.
Sighing inwardly as my work isn’t done yet, I turn back to the screens.
“We’ll find it.”
“Thank you, Luke,” she says and leaves me alone again to work my
magic.
 36

VICTORIA

T HE COFFEE GURGLES into the mug, dark and bitter.

Me too, coffee. Me too.
The steam rises like whispers from the dark liquid as I pick the cup up.
The townhouse is still; even the walls seem to hold their breath, waiting for
the next move.
The doorbell goes, and I jump a mile, spilling coffee on the counter.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter.
My dad, followed closely by Cian with a masked expression, strides in,
his presence like a storm cloud snuffing out the morning light. Cian’s gaze
flickers from me to him, and then he’s gone, leaving us alone in the charged
silence.
Great. Thanks for that, asshole.
“Victoria,” Dad’s voice cuts through the air, sharp as a blade.
“Again?” My voice is flat, a blade laid bare on the cutting board
between us. “You were only here a few days ago.”
He stands near the island, his eyes cold as they flick over my shoulder
to where the guys’ jackets are slung over chairs, their phones and keys
strewn across the counter like discarded poker chips. So much for keeping
tidy. They’re pigging this place up like nobody’s business. This is going to
go south quickly, I’m convinced. His visits are never for pleasantries,
always for power plays. The coffee cup in my hand feels like a grenade
without a pin.
 He doesn’t answer; he just narrows his eyes further, scrutinising every
inch of my space as if searching for cracks he can pry open. It’s like he can
smell the scent of the guys lingering in the air, mixed with the dark roast,
and it pisses him off.
“Interesting company you keep these days,” he finally spits out. “Your
loyalty seems to have shifted.”
I keep my face still. “Family first,” I shoot back. “Always. Cian and I
aren’t new.”
He gestures around the kitchen with a sneer. “Not just Cian.”
“Are you keeping tabs on me?” I ask shrilly, my temper rising with each
word that comes out of his mouth.
His laugh is cold and hollow. “You acted surprised. You are my legacy,
Victoria. You will keep in line. Cavorting with all these men is not a good
look.”
“Men.” My grip on the coffee cup is tight enough to turn my knuckles
white. “I’m not cavorting. These men have my back.”
“Ah, but every move you make says otherwise. You’ve always been too
reckless for your own good.” The way Charles says it, it’s like he’s spitting
out dirt. He isn’t my dad this morning. He’s the Stroud family boss on a
mission to do something. Fuck knows what? But he is pissing me off. The
unfortunate thing about this is that I can’t play him at his own game. I’m
good. I learned from him, but he is still the master, and I’m a puppet on his
string.
So, all I do is glare at him and drop my gaze. I’m too anxious to do this
today. He is going to push me into saying something I will regret. I can feel
it in my bones.
“You’re not untouchable.”
“Neither are you,” I snap back, meeting his glare head-on.
“Remember who you are, Victoria,” he says, but it sounds more like a
threat than a reminder. “Remember your place.”
“Or what?” I ask, staring him down. “You’ll disown me? Cast me out?”
“Hardly, but I need to know your head is still in this game. Our game.
Not that of these men. They may be tight here, but they are each next gen,
just like you. They will lead their own families one day. Hell, one of them
even does already. Do you think he will choose you over a Gannon?
Hmm?” he murmurs, and the darkness in his eyes hits at that bruised spot
the stalker has punched into my soul, and it affects me more than I’d care to
admit.
My hands don’t shake. Coffee sloshes over the rim of my cup as I set it
down, hard, on the kitchen counter. Charles doesn’t even flinch.
“Your little games end now,” he says.
“Games?” My voice cuts through the tension, sharp as broken glass.
“I’m not playing any games. This is my life, and I’m going to live it how I
see fit. I will never lose my loyalty to you or this family, but right now, you
are making it very hard to like you.”
He glowers at me, but his eyes soften. “Ouch. You know how to fire a
shot, don’t you?”
“Learned from you.”
He snickers, and the tension eases a little bit.
“Your lessons taught me well. How to endure. How to survive. How to
fight back. I’m not just some girl with a warped sense of fun. I’m the real
deal because you made me this way.”
“Is that an accusation?” His voice turns colder, more dangerous.
“Call it a fact.” My voice trembles, but not from fear. Anger simmers
beneath my skin, hot and unforgiving. “You shaped me into this. You can’t
take it all back.”
“Ungrateful,” he murmurs, but there is a hint of a smile.
My father’s face darkens, his jaw tightens, and I can sense the internal
battle raging behind his steely gaze. He has always been a man of few
words and emotions, but right now, I can feel the tension radiating from him
like a force of nature.
“I never intended to control you,” he finally says, his voice low and
deliberate.
“Then why did you push me so hard?” I challenge.
“It was for your own good,” he defends himself. “I wanted you to be
strong, to be able to survive in this world.”
“Well, congrats,” I scoff. “I’m more than capable of taking care of
myself.”
“And that’s exactly what worries me,” he snaps back. “You’re reckless,
Victoria. You act before thinking, and that puts not only yourself but our
family at risk.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I retort, feeling my anger building. “I can
handle myself.” He has no idea how calculated every move I make is. To
him, it appears reckless, but that’s the fucking point of it all. Appear
unhinged to them, and they make mistakes. I’ve seen it time and again.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect our family,” I finally say, looking
my father directly in the eye.
His eyes search mine, looking for the lie. Finding none, he nods slowly.
“Good,” he says, and there’s a finality in that one word that chills me to the
bone.
It hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of his expectations and my
fears. It’s a constant battle, this dance we do, trying to find a balance
between protecting the family and staying true to ourselves.
For as long as I can remember, he has instilled in me the importance of
loyalty and family above all else. But sometimes, it feels like those values
are tested when our world is ruled by violence and deception.
I push away those doubts and focus on the present moment. My father is
not one for idle conversation, so I know that whatever he has to say next
must be important.
“Just remember who you are. Act accordingly.”
“Or else?”
“Or else, you will force my hand, and that won’t end well for anyone.”
I swallow the threat, letting it sit heavy in my gut. He’s right, and we
both know it. The Stroud name isn’t one to be taken lightly—it’s a legacy
drenched in blood and ambition.
He seems satisfied with the silent promise of my obedience as I nod
once, sharply for now.
“Victoria, watch your back with those boys. In our world, love is a
liability.”
Love? No, not love. Lust maybe. A dangerous game, for sure. I shake
off my father’s warnings and shove them into a corner of my brain where I
can deal with them later.
For now, I need to prepare to go about my day like an ordinary girl with
nothing to fear, no legacy to uphold, just me and my university classes
ahead.
“By the way, an old friend will be visiting campus soon,” he says.
“Make him welcome, okay?”
My blood runs cold, and I freeze to the spot. Does he mean Asher
Quinn? He is no friend of mine, but did he mean his?
 “Everything okay?” he asks, noticing my sudden change from fierce
mafia princess to a deer in headlights impersonation.
“Always,” I say, forcing a smile.
He nods stiffly and then turns to leave the kitchen, his footsteps echoing
with authority as he leaves me to grapple with the bomb he just dropped.
Danger has a name, and it goes by Asher Quinn. If Dad knows he is
here, then that means it is all above board, and when he inevitably ends up
dead by my hand or Cian’s, whoever gets to him first, the consequences will
be far-reaching.
Maybe it’s time to come clean to my dad. Maybe all these years,
keeping it a secret was a mistake. But the very real horror of not being
believed, which is what stopped me in the first place, lingers, and I’m not
sure I can go through that. So the instinct screaming at me to call my dad
back gets ignored as I pick up my mug and sip my coffee, staring out the
window into the abyss.
 37

CIAN

A LONE IN THE living room of Victoria’s townhouse, my body feels heavy

with rage and betrayal. Memories of violence and death swirl in my mind, a
constant reminder of the brutal reality of this world. Trust is a luxury I can’t
afford, as every alliance is a potential betrayal waiting to happen. Soon,
another ghost will be added to the haunting gallery of my mind - Victoria’s
abuser, still out there breathing free while I plot his downfall for daring to
touch what belongs to me.
I can feel it in my bones, the collision course set from the moment she
told me what happened. I can almost taste the violence that’s coming. It’s
sour, it’s metallic—it’s necessary. There’s no court in this world that will
give her justice like the kind I’ll deliver. A judge with a gavel’s got nothing
on a man with a mission and a knife in his hand.
This is the life I lead. It’s dark alleys and darker deeds. It’s knowing that
some stains don’t wash out, and some debts are paid in blood. When it
comes to Victoria, when it comes to making sure that bastard pays for every
tear she shed, for every night she woke up screaming—there’s no line I
won’t cross.
She thinks I don’t, but I see her sometimes, trying to stitch herself back
together, putting on a brave face. But the mask slips. Each moment she feels
fear is like a knife twisting in my gut, reminding me that justice delayed is
justice denied.
The whiskey waits on the side table in a fancy crystal decanter. The
packaging makes no difference. It all burns as it goes down, but it’s a candle
to the inferno inside me. I lift the cut glass to my lips and drink straight
from it. The darkness of this life, the one I was born into and the one I’ll die
leading, is a shadow that stretches over everything I touch. But you don’t
get to choose the hand you’re dealt, you just play it the best you can.
Footsteps echo past the living room, pulling me back to the present.
Charles, Victoria’s dad, is leaving. I didn’t hear shouting, so I guess
whatever it was went okay. I wanted to stay, to linger and protect her, but I
forget sometimes she doesn’t need it, especially from Charles. That man
would massacre a ten-thousand-strong army to defend her. Deep down,
okay, well, not that deep; I hope she knows I would, too. Me leading the
Gannon family now must be causing her to question my loyalty to her, but
there is nothing I wouldn’t do for her. If it came down to a Gannon versus
her, I would choose her, every single fucking time.
Does that make me a shit mafia boss to my family? Probably. But it sure
as fuck feels right. The only option I find acceptable. I would lose my
family for her. Hands down, no contest. The reason behind that is skewed,
warped. I want to make her part of my family. I want to slide a ring onto her
finger and give her my name, make her mine in ways that she can never
fault.
My fingers twitch, restless on the cold glass of the decanter. The room is
still, too silent, like the calm before a storm. It’s in these quiet moments that
my mind wanders, strays to places it has no right to go.
A kid. The thought flits through my mind, unexpected and free. I
imagine a little being untouched by the muck that stains my own life—joy
and innocence, not the weight of dark legacies.
I can see it now: a child with Victoria’s fiery determination and maybe
my eyes, playing in fields far from this urban grime. The life we could
provide, all the pledges I could make…
But the image warps and darkens as quickly as a smile fades. My face
screws up, revulsion gripping me hard. There’s no escaping this web we’re
caught in. Any child of mine will be born into a world where shadows rule,
where innocence isn’t spared, just devoured.
The truth seeps in like poison, and I can almost taste it—the same
bitterness as the liquor in my hand. How can I dream of wanting these
things when I know the cost? How can I wish for purity when all I touch
turns tainted?
 “Fuck,” I mutter, but it cuts through the silence sharp as a blade. The
sickness in my stomach twists tighter. I’ve seen what this life does to people
and families. It’s a legacy of violence, a birthright of pain.
The future I dream of seems out of reach; it is just a false hope teasing
me. But reality forces me to confront the harsh truth - that things may not
change for the better. No matter how much I want to shield them, any child
of mine’s fate is already sealed, stamped with the same mark that’s burned
into my skin.
Old memories claw their way to the surface, relentless as the tide. A
flash of my dad’s cold eyes, the first time he showed me the family business
—the blood, the fear. I was just a boy, but that’s the point, isn’t it? The
family doesn’t wait for you to grow up. It pulls you in, brands you with its
mark early on, a twisted tale of metal and mayhem, it’s what made me. But
do I have the right to pass this curse on?
“Can’t fucking do it.” It’s a pipe dream, nothing more.
The silence hangs heavy, and the truth is always lurking, waiting for its
moment to pounce. Once you’re in, there’s no escape. There is no exit plan
or retirement package for being born a Gannon. It’s a lifelong commitment,
with only survival as the goal.
The weight of my family name presses down on me. This is me, this is
all I’ll ever be.
Fate. Destiny. Whatever fucked up myth you believe in, this is it for me.
I can whine about it, or I can do what I do best and move forward.
I inhale deeply, the kind of breath that fills the lungs to bursting. It’s a
line drawn, a marker laid down. I’m done with the wavering and the doubt.
My back straightens, shoulders square up against the world. A soldier
readying for war.
This is who I am. Cian Gannon. Not just some boy caught in the
crossfire. I’m the one calling the shots now. Born into darkness, baptised in
blood, I can’t shy away from it. I won’t. There’s no road out, only deeper in.
This life demands everything, and I’ll give it—because there is nothing
else.
“Here’s to the damned,” I mutter, voice stripped of pretence, and I gulp
back the whiskey. The empty room doesn’t echo; it absorbs every syllable,
every drop of truth, as if it understands the cost of this twisted crown I wear.
Replacing the decanter, now a few shots lighter, I go to find my girl.
 Victoria is still in the kitchen when I find her, her body rigid, something
wild and raw in her eyes. She’s not just shaken—she’s a storm about to
break.
“Everything okay?” It’s all I need to say. The rest, the screams, the
blood and the retribution, they hang between us unspoken. I see it there,
reflected back at me in her gaze. This is our world, twisted and dark, where
love and hate bleed into one.
Victoria’s face is white as she grips the mug. “I can’t wait, Cian. I
won’t.”
I take the mug from her and set it down before I grip her hands in mine,
feeling their tremble against my skin. The decision isn’t merely words; it’s
life or death binding us together. “Victoria,” I say, my thumb brushing over
her knuckles, “You’re my endgame. Fuck the world if it thinks it can take
you from me.”
She inhales sharply, stepping closer until her scent surrounds me – a
blend of bravery and something subtly sweet and floral. In this moment, it’s
her courage that gives me strength. The same courage that will guide us
through this shitshow.
“I need your word, Cian,” she whispers against my lips before our
mouths meet, fierce and demanding. This isn’t just a kiss; it’s an oath sealed
in desperation and desire.
My arm snakes around her waist, pulling her even closer as our bodies
press together.
She’s a fierce blend of heat and cold, a storm cloaked in smooth silk. I
won’t let go of her, not without a fight.
“Always,” I mutter. “You don’t ever have to doubt that. You know that,
don’t you?”
I know my words aren’t enough, not when the world we inhabit is so
uncertain and volatile. But I need her to know – she’s the one thing in my
life that I can count on.
A small smile tugs at her lips, a hint of vulnerability in her gaze. “I do,”
she says.
I cup her face in my hand, thumb rubbing gently over her cheekbone.
She’s beautiful, fierce and strong and everything I never knew I needed
until she came crashing into my life with her fist in my face.
“I’ll always be here for you, Victoria,” I say, hoping the sincerity of my
tone conveys everything I feel.
 She nods, understanding passing between us without words. This may
be our reality – a life filled with darkness and danger – but we have each
other, and that’s all that matters.
“I love you,” she whispers before pressing her lips to mine again.
“I love you.” Nothing else needs to be said. She has given me what I
need to keep fighting.
 38

LUKE

S URROUNDED by all the monitors and lab equipment that takes up most of
my room, I glare at the screens. I haven’t slept, but I feel like I can’t. The
minute I close my eyes, shit will go down and we’ll be fucked up the ass
with a red-hot poker. The BlackBriar campus is quiet right now, but soon, it
will be filled with students and professors going about their days.
Meanwhile, we are on the hunt for a stalking bastard who is threatening our
girl.
“Not on my watch.”
“Hey.”
I turn to see Gianluca loitering in the doorway. “What’s up?”
“Brought you some coffee.”
I wrinkle up my nose. “Is that the knock your block off stuff you
drink?”
He snorts and shakes his head. “No, so be fucking grateful I lowered my
standards just for you.”
Smirking, I take it, grateful for the rocket fuel. I need to be alert and on
point.
“Anything?”
“Apart from this Christopher Mullen lad, nope.”
“Did Victoria tell you anything about him?”
“Not really. Just said it was a deal of her dad’s that went sideways.”
Gianluca gives me a searching stare, his eyes shadowed by something
that might be guilt or worry, or probably both. They always said too many
cooks spoil the broth, but in this case, too many lovers means thin fucking
ice, and we were skating on it together. One crack and we all go down.
“We need to protect her. She’s—”
“Yours,” I snap. “She’s mine as well, but she’s Cian’s first and
foremost.” That fact is like a noose around my neck.
He doesn’t lash out at me, though; he knows better. “She’s all of ours,”
he says, “but that’s not what I was going to say. She’s scared. She won’t
show it, but I can see it.”
The monitors flash as I track any movement related to the townhouse or
Victoria’s usual routes on campus. I have to keep my head in the game; I
can’t afford to let thoughts of her get entangled with the mess we’re dealing
with.
I set down the mug. “We need more intel on Mullen. Whatever his role
in his sordid game is, he has a purpose.”
Gianluca nods. “I’m going to start looking into his financials and
anything that might give us leverage.”
“Good. Play dirty, go deep. No fucking mercy,” I say with venom in my
voice. It’s a game of predators and prey, and I’ll be damned if Victoria ends
up even more hunted than she already is. My brief but thorough deep dive
on Quinn, which seemed more imperative than Mullen, dragged up some
shady shit. Seriously shady. This guy is bad fucking news. He is the guy
you don’t see coming. All genial and noble blood, with his tweed jacket and
easy-going nature.
Then, like a cobra, he strikes, taking down everything in his path,
regardless of any consequences.
It’s no wonder Victoria is afraid of him. But she has us now, and we
won’t stop until this fucker is dead.
“You coming?” Gianluca calls out as he leaves. “Normal day,
remember.”
“Yeah, give me a sec. Need a shower.”
“Five minutes.”
“On it.” I run my hand across my face, trying to scrub away the
exhaustion clawing at my skin. There’s no time for tiredness. I finish the
coffee in one long gulp and force myself to stand and move to the
bathroom.
The water’s hot enough to scald, steam rising in thick clouds. I let it run
over my tired body, scrubbing away the grim determination that sticks to
my skin like a second layer of filth. But I’ve got a role to play – the
watcher, the guard dog. Cian trusts me, and I can’t let personal shit get in
the way. That’s how you lose focus. That’s how you lose everything.
I step out and dress in record time, choosing dark clothes that don’t
stand out—a bastardised uniform for this twisted game we’re caught up in.
When I catch up with Gianluca in the entrance hall, his face is drawn,
tight like a knot before it snaps. “The inside cams are here,” he says. “Do
you need help?”
“Yeah, the quicker, the better. Find strategic locations, yeah?” I gather
up a few boxes and start unpacking as I glance around, spotting the perfect
places to position them. In the shadows, above doorways, anywhere Quinn
or this other fucker could lurk unseen. That’s where we need eyes.
Gianluca nods, and we set to work with a kind of ruthless efficiency that
only comes from shared necessity and barely contained fury. Each camera
clicks into place like a confirmed kill in our minds, another step toward
fortifying our defences. There’s no room for fuckups now; we’re on the
edge of a precipice, and one wrong move could see us all tumbling into the
abyss.
Pulling my laptop out of the bag I brought downstairs, I place it on the
side table and get to work, hooking each one up in turn.
The screens flicker to life, each new camera feeding in a clearer image
of our interior. I scan through each one twice to make sure the Wi-Fi is
stable. This isn’t paranoia; it’s fucking survival.
“Status?” Cian asks, coming into the entrance hall with Victoria from
the kitchen.
“All good.”
Cian’s face is set in a hard line as he studies the screens, his fingers
tapping on the table beside me. “We’ll have to do regular checks,” he says.
“Yeah, apps on my phone, but don’t forget, I’m turning back around
once we leave here. Whoever is watching won’t see me circle back.” I
glance over at Victoria, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and her
pale complexion. She looks like she hasn’t slept properly in days, and I
wouldn’t be surprised if that was true.
Cian’s gaze is still fixed on the screens before him when he says, “We
need to find out who this other player is. I don’t like being blind.”
“We’ll find him,” Gianluca says confidently from his spot by the door.
 “We have to.” Cian turns to face us both, his expression determined.
“This game has gone too far, and we need to take control before Victoria
gets hurt.”
The strain in the room is a beast, ready to pounce. Victoria is silent, the
fear she is trying to hide mingling with determination in her eyes. She’s a
fighter, a warrior queen, but even the strongest have breaking points.
I nod to Cian, feeling that familiar itch of anticipation and dread as we
prepare to leave. “We’ll get this sorted.”
Victoria’s gaze flickers to mine, and for a second there’s a silent
understanding. Then she moves, picking up her bag and heading for the
door. We fall into step, a protective formation around her as we exit the
townhouse, just like any normal day.
The air bites with an early morning chill as we walk down the driveway
and cross over the road to the sprawling campus in front of us.
Cian murmurs something in Victoria’s ear that has her nodding stiffly. I
feel a stab of envy—I want to be the one she trusts implicitly. But it’s not
about me. It’s about protecting her, keeping her safe from whatever fucked-
up game we’ve been dragged into.
We are all on the same page about her. Keep her safe or die trying. It’s a
promise I intend to keep.
 39

VICTORIA

T HE COOL E NGLISH morning nips at my skin as we move across campus,

slowly, steadily, in no rush, not dawdling. Cian is right beside me, his hand
in mine, his presence a silent promise of protection. Gianluca trails just
behind, eyes scanning the street randomly, like he’s expecting trouble to
jump out from behind the neatly trimmed hedges.
Who knows? Maybe it will.
It’s the not knowing that fucks me off and freaks me out. I don’t know
who this second player is, and it’s driving me to distraction. It’s a dangerous
place to be, and I’m trying to focus, but my thoughts keep drifting back to
the man I watched entering my place long after the fact.
“My first class isn’t for another hour,” I murmur, but my mind is
nowhere near the lecture halls awaiting us. It’s on the stalker, this bastard
who thinks they can watch me, threaten me. I tilt my head slightly, catching
Luke’s eye. It’s time for him to make his move soon.
“Right,” Cian says, tight-lipped, a nod of agreement as we hit the quad
and Luke veers off into the crowd with no fanfare.
No one watches him go; we just go about our business. “Union?” I ask
brightly, trying to lighten the sour mood everyone is in from worry and little
to no sleep.
“Sure,” Cian says.
I know he’s already had a skinful this morning, but I don’t give a fuck.
I’ve seen him focus on a dime, half-cut.
 I let out a slow breath, trying to steady the nerves that jangle like alarm
bells in my chest. I could do with some liquid courage myself and even at
this hour, the Student Union, our fucking place, will serve us, no questions
asked.
Cian’s hand grips mine before he lets go, a fleeting touch, but it’s
enough to spark warmth in my cold veins. Gianluca’s gaze shifts, following
the movement. He is always watchful, as if he’s waiting for a sign, even
from the most mundane interactions. But his expression doesn’t change.
He’s a statue carved from the same stone as the gothic buildings that
surround us.
Entering the Union, we are hit with more than a handful of students
deciding to start their day with a drink as well. That’s what I love about this
place. There is no judgment, just plain old mafia kids going about their day,
however they see fit.
“Three shots,” Cian calls out to the guy behind the bar, his voice low.
The bartender, a bloke who’s seen enough not to raise his eyebrows at
anything, nods and gets pouring.
I slide onto a stool, leather creaking beneath me, trying not to think, just
drink.
The shots slide across the bar, clear liquid sloshing in tiny glasses. I
grab one and toss it back without a second thought. The burn is immediate,
a trail of fire down my throat. Cian does the same, his jaw tightening just
for a second before he sets his glass down with a clink.
“Fuck,” Gianluca mutters under his breath and follows suit.
We don’t talk; we drink.
Another round is ordered with a vague gesture from Cian. Silence is our
shared language at the moment; heavy and dense between us as we down
our poison in sync.
After the third round, I feel my head buzz nicely, and my confidence is
restored. I leap off the stool and gesture to the two men to follow me out.
My hand feels empty without Bonnie, and I frown, unable to believe I left
her behind. That doesn’t bode well. My head is only clear with the ironic
haze of alcohol.
Still, I’ve got my stiletto knife at my back, so if things get shady, I’m
armed and fucking dangerous.
Cian’s close on my left, Gianluca a silent shadow to my right as the
campus sprawls out before us, old stone and ivy, a gothic maze hiding more
than just scholars and lecture halls.
We thread through crowds of students, their laughter and chatter a world
away from the tight coil of tension in my gut as we slide into the lecture
hall, a sea of ignorance around us. I pull out a pen, notes, and the trappings
of normalcy. Cian takes the seat beside me, claiming space, a barrier
between me and the rest. Gianluca stays outside to keep lookout, but the
lecture goes off as it normally would. This waiting for the other shoe to
drop is driving me crazy, but then, so is wishing for your world to be
yanked out from under you.
The lecturer drones on. Words float past, fleeting and unimportant. I
scribble lines in my notebook, meaningless loops and swirls that tether me
to this chair, to this moment.
Cian’s hand finds mine under the table, a silent language of solidarity.
Not a word passes between us, none needed. We’re locked in this together,
a silent pact forged in the crucible of shared danger.
The minutes drag, each second a deliberate tick toward an uncertain
future as I wonder how Luke is getting on back at home. There have been
no alerts. Cian is checking his phone almost constantly, so I’m guessing all
is quiet on the Western Front.
When the lecture finally ends, students flood out, a rush of bodies and
noise. We rise, Cian’s hand still clasping mine, a lifeline in the chaos.
Gianluca falls into step with us, a shadow flanking my other side.
“One down,” Cian murmurs.
We make our way through the campus, walking with purpose. Cian’s
eyes scan the surroundings, not missing a thing. Gianluca casually rests his
hand near the hidden weapon under his jacket. I can almost feel its weight,
a cold promise for protection or retribution.
Our footsteps are silent on the concrete as we pass by other students
chatting and laughing. It all seems normal, but in reality, we are anything
but. The threat hangs over us, unseen but always present.
As we enter another building, we try to blend in with the academic
setting. But even as we sit down and the professor starts speaking, we
remain alert and ready for anything. In this world, every moment could lead
to violence, and each breath feels like a countdown to confrontation.
Like a cat on a hot tin roof, when the second lecture eventually ends, I
huff out a breath and glare at Cian. “This is ridiculous,” I hiss. “I hate it.”
“I know,” he says. “Trust me.”
 “Where to?” Gianluca asks.
“Psych, round the back.”
He grimaces. “We take the long way.”
“I’ll be late. The long way is like a fifteen-minute walk. I’ve got five.
These two classes are a bitch.”
“Fine,” Cian mutters as we split from the crowd. Cian, Gianluca, and I
cut through a path, one that circles around the back of the old building.
They’re scanning the shadows, searching for threats as I keep my eyes
in front.
Ping.
Ping.
The soft sound is followed by the two men on either side of me
dropping to the ground.
“No!” I roar, but a hand clamps over my mouth as an arm locks around
my waist. I’m dragged backwards, my heels digging into the dirt, trying to
find purchase. Kicking out, I connect with something solid as I fight. I can’t
see blood, so the men aren’t dead. Just tranq’d and in no position to help me
out of this mess.
“Shhh...” A voice hisses in my ear.
Panic claws at my insides. I twist, struggle to reach my knife, but the
grip is like iron. My mind screams, my body fights, but I’m trapped.
My instincts flare, and survival mode kicks in. I thrash, a wild animal
caught in a trap, desperate for freedom. Boots flail, aiming for shins, for
anything. I’m not going down without a fight.
“Be still,” the voice snarls.
I’m trying to figure out who it belongs to. All I know is who it isn’t. It’s
not Asher Quinn.
“Who are you?” I grit out, my words muffled by the gloved hand over
my mouth.
His grip tightens, but fuck that. I won’t be still. Won’t be silent. I twist,
buck, but his hand is a vice over my mouth and his arm around my waist is
like steel. Each breath is a battle, I bite down hard on his palm through the
glove. He curses, his grip tightening as he drags me, back towards the old
building.
“Stop fighting,” he commands, voice rough like gravel.
He flings a fire door open, and it bounces off the wall with a loud thud.
The hall he drags me into is dark, so there’s no witnesses to this hell.
 I kick out my legs again, connecting with something solid - maybe his
knee. He grunts and falters but doesn’t release me. Instead, he pulls me
further into the hall where I’m hidden from view, and no one can hear my
cries for help. Every muscle in my body strains against him as he forces me
backward.
“Be quiet now, or it will only get worse,” he threatens.
Worse? My mind races with dark possibilities. But I refuse to give in to
fear, I will keep fighting until I can gut this fucker and anyone else who is
working with him.
My pulse throbs in my throat as adrenaline floods my system and reality
bitch slaps me in the face that I’m not getting away from him. Not until he
lets me go. He knows how to grip a person so they can’t escape, especially
seeing as he is at least a foot taller than me and twice as wide. His hand
clamps down harder, glove against lips, silencing me. I thrash, nails scoring
skin, desperate for a gasp of air, for sound. He’s a shadow, shapeless in the
dim corridor, his strength monstrous.
“Easy now, petal,” he mocks, venom lacing the words.
Petal.
That word enrages me beyond anything I could previously fathom, and
that rage burns through the alcohol, burns the tedium of lectures and the
haze of exhaustion. I find clarity in that rage, and I stop.
“Good girl,” he almost purrs as I quit fighting. All I’m doing is losing
the energy I’ll need to fight once we get wherever the fuck he’s taking me.
He spins us and the stage looms, a gaping maw in the gloom.
The doors underneath are open and I’m guessing that is my final
destination. I just hope it’s not my final final destination.
“Game over,” he whispers, a declaration of doom.
Then nothing but silence, the kind that screams.
But I’m not done. Not yet.

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 RUIN ME CHAPTER 1

Shrugging off the weight of my backpack and placing the small shopping
bag onto the kitchen counter as the door clicks shut behind me, I look
around the small studio flat that I will now call home for the next two years.
The walls are bare, the carpet a faded beige that’s seen better days, but it’s
mine, and it’s close to the campus of the prestigious Crestmont University,
where I’m studying for my postgraduate degree in Business. Dropping the
handle of my heavy suitcase-on-wheels that I’ve just lugged up a flight of
stairs, which fits in almost everything I can wear or that I cherish, I huff and
look around, ready to make this space work.
“Home sweet home,” I murmur, rolling up my sleeves. Not one to
procrastinate, I tie up my dark hair into a messy bun and get to work right
away, pulling out my clothes and books, little knick knacks that have
sentimental value and find them new homes on shelves and in drawers.
Every photo I arrange on the nightstand carves out a piece of comfort in this
tiny box of a flat.
When I finish what I can, it feels less like a flat and more like Vogue
Jameson’s corner of the world. Smiling, I flop down on the saggy two-
seater couch and catch my breath, glancing at the double bed I have yet to
tackle. My fresh duvet and pillows are scheduled to arrive anytime now,
which was a splurge that was expensive but necessary, but at least I bought
a set of covers from home to throw on.
 My phone vibrates on the small kitchen counter, slicing through the
silence, and I jump up to get it. ‘Mum’ flashes on the screen, and I smile as
I swipe to answer.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Vogue, darling. How’s the flat?” Her voice is a warm hug through the
speaker.
“Small, but it’s alright. Got everything put away.”
“Good going! Remember, you’ve got strength in you, enough to tackle
anything they throw at you.” Her cryptic comment throws me slightly, but I
roll with it.
“Thanks, Mum. I won’t forget.” Her sacrifices are etched deep into who
I am, and I won’t ever forget that.
“Love you, Vogue. We’ll speak soon.”
“Love you too, Mum.” I hang up and set the phone aside, a renewed
sense of purpose pulsing through me.
Deciding to get a jump on tomorrow while I wait for my bedding to
arrive, I unpack the shopping bag, pulling out a loaf of bread, cheese, a
small carton of milk, two apples, tea, butter, a roll of cheap-ass tin foil and a
six-pack of crisps which is all I could carry and will have to see me through
until I can get back to the shop tomorrow. Methodically, I assemble a
sandwich for tomorrow’s lunch, wrapping it neatly in tin foil and placing it
back in the shopping bag with an apple. Then, I stick two pieces of bread in
the toaster and put the kettle on for a cuppa.
Every movement is precise, from wiping down the counters to sweeping
the floor. There’s a satisfaction in the tidiness, a quiet orderliness that
steadies me. Chaos makes my nerves ache in a way that doesn’t just drive
me crazy; it literally throws me off balance. Everything has to be lined up,
neat and tidy, a process. Everything is a process. This is how I operate—
meticulous planning and clear goals. It’s got me this far; it’ll take me
further still.
Devouring my toast, having worked up an appetite, there is a loud
knock at the door, which hopefully signifies my package, and I open the
door to see the delivery driver balancing my new bedding in front of him.
“Thanks!” I say, taking it from him.
“Yeah,” he grunts and takes a picture of it in my arms before he saunters
off.
 Closing the door, I carefully open and cut the plastic wrapping around
the duvet, give it a shake out, and then work on the pillows. Ten minutes
later, my bed is set, and I kick off my shoes and flop down, ready to call it a
day.
A commotion outside the flat window has me back on my feet and
going to investigate what on earth is going on.
“YOU FUCKER!”
The roar is so loud that I hear it through the closed window, which
hasn’t been double-glazed and is, in fact, an old sash window that you slide
up. However, it reveals a small surprise: a tiny balcony that you can step out
onto with a dead plant for decoration and an old rusty chair. I climb
through, my curiosity getting the better of me, and I grip the railing, the
black paint peeling off in places, to glare down at the fistfight going on
below me.
Well, I wouldn’t call it a fight so much as a beating. Two guys are
holding another one in their tight grip while another pounds his face into a
bloody mess. A fourth stands by, hands behind his back, looking on with a
bored expression on his handsome face, his shock of black hair cut short but
neatly styled.
“Enough,” this guy says and the one doing the beating steps back, not
having even worked up a sweat.
I shrink back slightly as I don’t want them to see me, but that fucking
curiosity needle is pricking me as it does. My thirst for all knowledge, even
to find out why this poor soul is being beaten up, needs to be sated.
“Pay up, Jones, or Quentin here is going to keep going.”
Crouching low, my eyes shoot to ‘Quentin’. He is identical in looks to
the guy who spoke, but his hair is much shorter, almost buzz-cut length, and
he has a tattoo on his neck of something I can’t quite make out from my
hidden perch on the side of this building. The grassy patch where the fight
is taking place is neatly mowed and rubbish-free, but clearly, this area on
the wrong side of campus leaves a lot to be desired.
“I don’t have the fucking money,” Jones spits out. “I can’t give you
what I don’t have.”
“Too fucking bad. That’s not really my problem. You pay for a service,
and that service will be withdrawn if you don’t pay the piper. You know
what that means. So, what’s it going to be?”
 I’m riveted to this scene. It’s like some kind of movie playing out below
me. I look around to see if this is the media club making a film, but all I see
are the five guys locked in this, whatever the fuck it is.
Jones’ face appears terrified as he stammers, “I’ll find it. Okay,
tomorrow. I swear.”
“Tomorrow, then.” The leader of this gang says, and the other two let
Jones go.
Quentin cracks his knuckles, which sends a skitter of eww over my
skin, and I creep backwards in case they want to make me their next target.
“Should’ve known the cheap rent would come with asshole
neighbours,” I mutter as I somehow slide back through the window from
my crouched position but ending up going headfirst with my ass sticking up
in the air while I scramble forward.
From my position on my knees, I reach up to the window and pull the
sash down, locking me away from the violence.
“Not a great start, Vogue. Avoid, avoid, avoid.”
Shaking my head as I get to my feet and brush my jeans off, I strip off
quickly and get my pjs on, ready to settle down in preparation for my big
day tomorrow.

Ruin Me - Crestmont University

ALSO BY EVE NEWTON

https://evenewton.com