Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I climbed into his bed and tried to pay him back…
But my father caught my walk of shame.
Now I’m marrying a vicious stranger, all because I made one stupid mistake.
Stefano Bianchi is an enforcer for the Marino Famiglia and he’s way too old for me.
I never should have crawled into his bed after I embarrassed myself at his feet.
The man’s a butcher and a pit fighter, covered in scars and old wounds.
His body might be broken from a thousands battles, but he’s still drop-dead gorgeous in his fitted suits.
I hate everything about him, but we’re getting married in ten days.
Like everything with my family, there’s a if I agree to spy on the Marino crime organization for my powerful grandfather, he will make sure I’m granted a divorce in one year.
It shouldn’t matter if Stefano’s the first man to make me feel alive.
I don’t want to be his wife, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get out of this nightmare.
Right until we’re sharing a bed, playing a game of who-will-break-first, and it looks like I’m winning…
Ruthless Lord is a full length standalone novel with plenty of steam, no cliff-hanger, and a happily-ever-after guaranteed. Enjoy!
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Charlie
Based on the way this guy's staring at me, I'm either about to get stabbed, trafficked, or invited back to his place for a more intimate experience.
Fingers crossed for stabbed.
"You clumsy fucking bitch," he snarls, his scarred upper lip curling.
Cash flutters in the air around us. Tens, twenties, fifties, all slowly scattering around the big man, floating to the floor as eager and greedy onlookers stare at the huge sum of money now lying around for one brave idiot to go after.
"I am so sorry," I say, holding up my hands, mouth hanging open. A chorus of oh shit, oh shit plays through my head. Loud music slams from the nearby speakers, and at least one guy laughs as he raises a drink to his lips. Bet that asshole never spilled a few thousand in cash all over a crowded nightclub floor.
"Sorry don't fucking help me pick up all this fucking money," the man snarls. He looks over his shoulder and snaps his fingers at a couple more musclebound idiots in black t-shirts and baggy jeans. "Don't let anyone touch a single fucking bill."
"Yeah, boss, got it." The two junior thugs begin hurriedly gathering everything in thick stacks as their boss stomps closer to me.
"You got any idea whose money that is?" he snarls, reaching out for my wrist.
"Honestly, probably better than you do." I jerk away before he can snatch me, darting backward, heart racing.
His face turns red with anger. "Clumsy and fucking mouthy too."
"Don't forget smart and beautiful."
"I was thinking more fuckable." He sneers, showing off a single gold tooth. "And very small."
Well, crap. Naturally, my dumb mouth just made this situation worse than it had to be. I hold up my hands sheepishly. "Can't we just agree accidents happen and move on? Would you accept a heartfelt apology?"
His head shakes slowly. He must be too aware of the people watching. Men and women crowd around nearby, some edging toward the two thugs picking up the cash, others staring at the big boss. He's probably embarrassed, and men like him don't do well when their pride gets wounded.
Most of them compensate with violence.
This asshole seems about average in that regard.
"Come here, bitch," he snarls and lunges.
I make a pathetic meeping noise and scurry to the side, barely getting out of his reach. He crashes into a table and sends a few empty bottles shattering on the floor.
"Shit!" I yelp, racing toward the edge of the crowd. "Move! Move!"
They don't move. Instead, I crash into a few onlookers. Someone tries to grab my waist, and I lash out blindly, panic taking over. A guy curses as my fist connects with a throat, and then I'm free again. I pinwheel forward, stumbling through a few more onlookers, and start running hard.
Big Boss is on my ass, though. He's tearing after me like an enraged bull, which isn't all that far from the truth.
This should be the part where I stop and tell him, it's okay, that's technically my money I knocked over back there, but I'm pretty sure we're way past that point.
Instead, I tear through the dark warehouse. The fighting ring to my left is the only bright beacon of light. Inside, enormous, shirtless beasts are tearing into each other, punching and kicking viciously. Blood splatters from a nose, and there's a scream of savage joy from the crowd.
"Get back here, you fucking bitch!" Big Boss roars, much too close for comfort. I careen around a bunch of tables and angle toward the back halls, head spinning, trying to figure out how I'm going to lose him. Won't be in the crowd—someone currying favor with the Bloody Fist will grab me eventually—but maybe through the winding back rooms and the fighter stalls.