Jane Henry – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Jane Henry – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:20:44 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Jane Henry – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Wicked Altar (The McCarthy Family Legacy #1) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/wicked-altar-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-1-read-online-jane-henry Thu, 26 Feb 2026 08:20:44 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wicked-altar-the-mccarthy-family-legacy-1-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Jane Henry Series: The McCarthy Family Legacy Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)

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I've hated Cavin McCarthy since the day he made me cry in a school closet.

He was my tormentor. My nightmare. The cruel boy who turned my name into a punchline and my life into hell.

Now? He's my fiancé.

An arranged marriage neither of us wanted, brokered by families who deal in blood and power. I'd refuse if I could. But my sister is dying, and the McCarthy's hold the key to saving her life.

So I'll walk down the aisle. I'll say the vows. I'll become Mrs. Cavin McCarthy.

But I'll never forgive him.

Except... the monster I remember isn't the man standing before me now. The boy who destroyed me has become someone who fights for me. Protects me. Touches me like I'm something precious instead of broken.

And when his hands are on my throat, his voice rough in my ear, I'm not thinking about revenge anymore.

I'm only thinking about surrender

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One

Cavin

I stand with my hands folded in front of me, the bitter cold of a Ballyhock winter seeping through my wool coat as I stare down at what’s left of Malachy.

“No one can know about this, lad.” Malachy’s last words. The envelope in my pocket weighs more than the coffin we carried. After the prayers, I’ll deliver it. One last secret for a man buried in them.

In my peripheral vision, my brother Seamus, the eldest, stands beside our father and mother. Da looks distinguished and broken. Malachy was a second father to him.

Mam looks poised as always, her expression gentle despite the frown creasing her brow. Her hands rest on Da's forearm, folded and still—but I know better. She's always alert. My sisters stand on either side of her, dressed in formal charcoal gray—Kyla on guard and frowning, Bronwyn, the baby of the family, quietly sniffing and wiping at her eyes with a balled-up tissue.

My cousin Declan whispers something in Bronwyn's ear that makes her smile and elbow him. Garrett, a family friend, his trademark red hair stark against the cold blue sky, snorts. I shoot them all a sharp look—this isn't the fucking time—and they straighten up quick enough.

It’s a huge turnout. I swear half of Ballyhock’s come to pay their respects, which makes sense when I think about the man Malachy was, and the way our father always made sure the McCarthy men stayed within the good graces of the residents of Ballyhock. Even the best of them will overlook our… transgressions… when we toss half a million quid in the Holy Family coffers.

“Ashes to ashes,” Father Gregory says in a monotone, his hand steady as he makes the sign of the cross over the coffin. My mother makes the sign of the cross and whispers what must be a prayer under her breath.

I rub my hand across my eyes. Haven’t slept more than a few hours straight since prison, and it’s showing.

“Mad, isn’t it? Only death or marriage gets us all in the same place anymore,” my cousin Daire mutters to me. He’s not wrong.

I stare at the coffin. It was lighter to carry than I expected. Malachy lost weight at the end, before he lost his battle to illness and old age, and I guess the lads and I are stronger than we once were.

Movement catches my eye—someone shifting near the far edge of the graveyard, half hidden behind a weathered angel statue.

A woman—blonde hair whipping in the wind and black coat buttoned to her throat.

She’s not with the main gathering but is separate, alone, kneeling at a grave with white roses clutched in her gloved hands.

And she’s staring right at me.

My breath catches. Is that…? It can’t be.

Erin fucking Kavanagh. Perfect little Erin.

What the bloody hell is she doing here?

She’s fifty yards away, maybe more, but I’d recognize her anywhere. That sharp little face. Those eyes that always looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. The way she holds herself—stiff, controlled, like she’s afraid she’ll fly apart if she loosens her grip.

Only she’s not the scrawny little bitch from St. Albert’s anymore. She’s filled out—tits, hips, the lot. Even in that shapeless coat, I can see the curve of her. My mouth goes dry. I want to look away, but I can’t.

Christ, I’m a bastard for noticing her arse at a funeral.

She ducks her head when she realizes I’ve clocked her. Pretends to fuss with the flowers, but her hands are shaking now.

Good.

The Kavanaghs sent flowers yesterday, including a card with her father’s signature, not hers. So why the fuck is Padraic Kavanagh’s daughter kneeling at a grave in McCarthy territory during our funeral?

My hand moves to my side, where my gun sits under my coat. Instinct. Even from this distance, I could drop her before she screams.

The thought shouldn’t make my cock twitch… but it does.

My eyes narrow. Is she spying for her da? Or did she just want to watch me squirm? That'd be just like her—Little Miss Perfect, always so fucking eager to see me brought low. Again.

I should look away. Focus on Malachy, on the prayers, on the envelope burning a hole in my pocket.

She looks up. Our eyes lock across fifty yards of dead ground.

Her lips part, just slightly, and I see her breath catch. See the exact moment recognition hits. See fear chase hatred across her face.

My pulse kicks up, and my hands curl into fists.

She doesn't look away fast enough. Her lips part, and her pupils dilate… just for a second—a flash—before the fear slams back into place. But I saw it. That flicker of want. I've spent ten years imagining what fear looks like on Erin Kavanagh's face. I know every expression she's capable of. And that wasn't just fear.

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Snowbound – A Dark Standalone Holiday Romance Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/snowbound-a-dark-standalone-holiday-romance-read-online-jane-henry Wed, 19 Nov 2025 18:28:35 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/snowbound-a-dark-standalone-holiday-romance-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Authors: Jane Henry Advertisement

Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 56624 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)

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An insanely hot, dark & taboo new stalker romance from USA Today bestselling author, Jane Henry, I ran to the woods to disappear.
No food. No sleep. No hope.
Just a broken heart, a bottle of wine, and a marriage in shambles.

Then the gifts started showing up.
Firewood stacked neatly outside the door. Homemade food in the fridge and a note with all-too familiar handwriting.

He never knocked. Never spoke.
Just…watched.

Until the night I ventured too far…and he came to save me.

Now he says I belong to him.
That he’s waited years for me.
That no one—not my cheating ex, not my family, not the rules of the world—will take me from him again.

Because Owen isn’t a stranger.
He’s my stepbrother.
My forbidden first crush.

The boy they warned me about now grown into a man who knows exactly how to break me open... and make me beg for more.

This Christmas, I’m not getting jingle bells or candy canes. I’m getting dragged to bed, kissed breathless, and taken under the tree.

And I’ve never wanted anything more.

This is a dark, taboo, obsessive, stepbrother romance with intense heat, twisted love, and a very happy, very filthy ending. If you like possessive men and holiday spice, unwrap this one carefully

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Emma

One… eight… four… seven.

Wrong.

The red error code blinks at me, smug as hell. I blow into my cupped hands, but the warmth disappears before it even touches my fingers. My gloves are buried somewhere in my bag. Brilliant move, Em. Brilliant.

Wasn’t supposed to be this cold though… was it? No. Of course not. If I’d known, I would have packed all my sweaters and winter gear instead of my old, threadbare standbys. Maybe I would’ve booked a completely different kind of retreat, like one with cocktails and cabanas.

Why did you think an isolated cabin in the woods was a good idea, Emma? I could be finishing my book on a tropical island, toes buried in sun-warmed sand, sipping mojitos between chapters. They have Wi-Fi there, too, last I checked.

But no, I wanted ambience. I wanted “aesthetic.” A lone cabin with a postcard mountain backdrop, the snow so soft it looked painted on, the horizon stretching away in cinematic beauty.

In my fantasy, I was curled up under a blanket by a roaring fire, tea at my elbow, the words pouring effortlessly from me, the kind of writing that would gut you in the best way. Raw, unflinching, unforgettable. Reality though?

Hollow-eyed. Running on wine and too much coffee, nursing heartbreak and anger in alternating waves. Nerves fried down to a frayed wire. Deadline beating down my door and a rising sense of desperation that’s threatening my sleep. And now—locked out.

I try again, willing the keypad to just cooperate.

One… eight… five… seven.

Wrong again.

For some reason, I cling to it like it’s a sign. 1847—the year Wuthering Heights, my father’s favorite book, was published. My almost namesake making literary history. Surely that means something.

It doesn’t. The box blinks its mechanical no at me.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” I mutter, digging out my phone. My hair whips across my face, caught in a gust sharp enough to slice through my coat. I scroll to the email, still open on my phone, my eyes squinting against the wind.

One… eight… five… six.

I just stare at it for a second, the realization dripping slow and humiliating. Maybe I do need reading glasses. Or maybe this is what happens when you’ve been hunched over a laptop for weeks on end. Or maybe I’m just plain exhausted. Sleep—what a concept.

I punch in the correct code. This time, there’s a green flash and a satisfying click, followed by blessed entry. The wind practically shoves me over the threshold, and I stumble inside, my heart giving a small, startled lurch.

It’s… beautiful.

Not just “nice” beautiful but breathtaking, in that quiet, unexpected way. Wide-plank wooden floors, honey-golden walls, and a fireplace that looks big enough to swallow me whole. It smells like Christmas in here, and I quickly realize why—a small pine is nestled in the corner in a tree stand, decorated with only a few strings of lights and a red ribbon, reminding me that Christmas is only a week away. A rustic basket of cinnamon-scented pine cones sits on the mantle, large boughs of greenery the only decorations.

I take a deep breath in. It’s lovely.

“Oh my gosh.” I exhale, letting my backpack slide from my shoulder. I wince at the dull thunk of my laptop hitting the floor. Still, I can’t stop looking around. My chest feels strange—like something heavy has shifted, just slightly.

I haven’t felt happy in months.

Not since I found those pink lace panties in the laundry that were definitely not mine.

Not since I drained a bottle of vodka waiting for my husband to come home, and then threw it at his head when he finally did.

Not since he stood there, calm and collected, and said he hadn’t loved me in years. That he’d been having an affair for the entirety of our marriage.

I press my lips together, hard, to keep the tears from spilling over. My throat burns. I force myself to look at the cabin instead.

This is for new Emma, I tell myself, the Emma who is going to figure herself out again.

Except… the cabin screams couples retreat. The enormous king bed piled high with pillows. The romantic throw blankets. The large stone fireplace with a rug in front that looks suspiciously perfect for, well, lying on… among other things. And to top it all off, tree-shaped chocolates wrapped in red and green foil on the pillows.

Fabulous.

Still, credit where it’s due—someone hauled themselves all the way out here just to leave chocolates. I drop onto the bed, toe off my boots, and eat both in one bite, barely chewing. I can’t even remember the last real meal I had.

The chocolate melts, silky and sweet. I’ve always been a chocolate girl.

Chocolate doesn’t lie. Chocolate doesn’t fuck a stranger in your own bed and leave someone’s slutty panties for you to find. Chocolate is loyal.

I stare at the empty wrappers and sigh. Should’ve saved one.

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Unrequited (Bratva Kings #6) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/unrequited-bratva-kings-6-read-online-jane-henry Thu, 25 Sep 2025 16:04:17 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/unrequited-bratva-kings-6-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Contemporary, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Jane Henry Series: Bratva Kings Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >93

A forbidden, age-gap romance of secrets, loyalty, and obsession from USA Today Best-Selling Author Jane Henry.

He was never supposed to touch me.
I was never supposed to love him.
But some lines don’t stay drawn.

I live in a world of rules and expectations, where obedience is survival and love is a liability. I was the innocent one. The youngest sister. Sheltered by my brothers and kept far away from the family’s darker affairs.

Until him.

He’s dangerous. Nameless. Obsessive.

Mine for one stolen hour a week, and every time he leaves me, he takes a piece of me with him.

But when I find out his true identity, my world implodes.

They call him the Undertaker.
The man who buries problems no one else can solve.

Loving him means betraying my family.
Choosing him means choosing war.
But he’s already chosen...me

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

Present day

ZOYA

It all feels like a dream.

A strange, hot, fevered dream I can’t wake up from.

“I’m ready.”

Any second now, I’ll open my eyes and realize none of this happened. That my brother never offered me up in marriage. That I’m not marrying someone who despises me.

No.

Any second now, I’ll wake up and just be little Zoya. Homemaker. The girl who makes meals for her family, who takes care of her nieces and nephews, who lives month to month, year to year, without even questioning her own needs. Zoya. Just… little Zoya.

But now, it’s time.

My brothers’ wives are all here. Every one of them is so beautiful. So poised. So infuriatingly supportive. So kind.

Ember wears emerald green, and her eyes glint like gems under the overhead lighting. Hard, fierce… alive. Anya offers me a soft, solemn smile, a touch of sorrow just behind it. And Polina, Rafail’s wife, the only one who dares to touch me, squeezes my hand gently.

“Come, Zoya,” she says with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’re ready for you downstairs.”

I’d asked for no procession. No standard fanfare.

I wanted it quiet. Small. Nothing traditional or ceremonial.

Because this isn’t a marriage I ever dreamed of. It isn’t a love story but a sentence. So why dress it up?

When the massive double doors open into our living room, something immediately feels wrong.

I can’t place it. Not at first. It’s in the air. Something about the stillness. A pallor. A hush.

Rafail smiles at me, and even Semyon, cold, removed, practically carved from stone, seems alert, aware, and alive.

Rodion comes straight to me and presses a kiss to my cheek. “If he ever treats you bad, sister,” he murmurs low, “you know who to call.”

And I know he means it, every word, but it seems like too little, too late. Shouldn’t his protection come before we made it this far?

And where are the Morozovs? Weren’t they supposed to bring witnesses? I’m marrying into their family, and they’re not here.

It’s strange. Wrong.

“Where are they?” I ask Rafail, my voice small, trembling in the space between us.

“He’s here,” Rafail says, frowning. “I saw him ten minutes ago. He’s all we need.”

I nod. “Okay.”

Music plays. It echoes off the walls and into the hollow of my chest.

Even now, a part of me still expects Seamus to come and rescue me.

From what? From this? He’s not the knight in shining armor. He’s The Undertaker.

And now I understand why.

The one who’s done unspeakable things. The one even my brothers fear.

Untouchable.

Unquestioned.

The one they all obey.

And he’s not coming to rescue me.

I sigh and stifle the need to cry.

My life isn’t a fairy tale. It never was. It never will be.

I turn my face away when the music begins to play.

It’s time.

Chapter 1

One year prior

ZOYA

I stare at the narrow space in the hedges, hardly able to believe my luck.

Is this really happening?

I’ve been lonely. Restless. Half-wild from being overprotected by my family. I know I’m the baby, but how long does that title last? Will I still be the baby when I’m twenty-five? Thirty? Forty?

I’m tired of being told what to do. Tired of being the good girl.

I don’t want to be the good girl anymore.

I’ve watched my brothers get married, one after the other. All three of them. And my older sister has been married for years now.

It's like everyone’s next season of life has started… except mine.

So tonight, it’s time. Something has to change.

If nothing else, I need to prove to myself that I can carve out a private pocket of freedom, one that nobody else knows about.

I wait until everyone is distracted. I made a beautiful dinner tonight and served it with a smile, like I always do.

They call me Little Zoya. The caretaker. The one who likes to cook and clean, and take care of everyone.

And I do love taking care of all of them.

My oldest brother, Rafail, and his wife, Polina. My nieces and nephews. Rodion and his fierce, brilliant wife, Ember. And now Semyon, who’s clearly falling hard for Anya. They’re not married yet, but it won’t be long.

A sliver of moonlight catches the path ahead of me. It’s early summer just outside Moscow, and the crickets chirp a quiet chorus.

It’s beautiful. Desolate. And the rising heat adds to the thrill of doing something I shouldn’t.

No one will find me tonight.

I’ve planned this too well. In my bedroom, there’s a fluffy tan teddy bear, age-worn and well-loved, propped on my bed. And hidden inside is the small monitor my brothers use to track me. I’ve tested my little decoy three times now.

Once during a quick trip into the city.

The second time, I stayed inside but crept around the house to see if they’d notice.

The third? I snuck out for ice cream at a local street fair.

No one ever noticed.

We have guards at every exit and entrance, of course. My brothers monitor everything. They’re not just overbearing but militant.

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Unbroken (Bratva Kings #5) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/unbroken-bratva-kings-5-read-online-jane-henry Tue, 05 Aug 2025 19:55:57 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/unbroken-bratva-kings-5-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Jane Henry Series: Bratva Kings Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)

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A dark single dad, forbidden, Bratva romance from USA Today Bestselling author Jane Henry

Vadka Dragunov—Bratva executioner, cold-blooded strategist… and my dead sister’s husband.

The man who built his empire in blood and protected it with silence. The man with a stare that holds me hostage—and a voice that cuts straight through me. I've avoided him, and the way he makes me feel, as I've wallowed in my own grief following my sister's death.

But now there's no escape. I’m living in his world. I've been targeted. The Irish want war. And the only safe place left is under his watch… or under him.

He’s a single father now—haunted, vengeful, and dangerous. A man who reads bedtime stories with the same blood thirsty eyes that promise death and retribution. The man who would raze the world to keep his son safe.

He thinks I’m reckless, chaotic, unpredictable. I was only a child when we first met. But he doesn't see me as one anymore.

I see what he hides beneath all that control—the obsession simmering just below the surface. The way he watches me like he wants to equally destroy and devour me.

And now the same loss that tore us apart is now pulling us together.

I wasn’t supposed to end up in his bed.

But the Bratva is splintering. The Irish want blood.
And I’m spiraling - holding a secret that could end it all while falling for the man I can’t have.

Is there a future for Vadka and me, or will the secrets between us cause another tragedy?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1

VADKA

An empty bottle rolls across the floor, glinting in sunlight—sunlight?

Shit, it’s daybreak. Have I been up all night?

The bottle stops against the toe of my boot.

I don’t move.

My knuckles ache, bruised and split beneath crusted blood that isn’t all mine. I stare down at it. Hell, I think most of it isn’t mine.

Jesus. My head is killing me.

I don’t remember how many men I killed.

The air reeks of body odor and whiskey. In the corner of the room, a woman’s scuffed shoe lies, broken and crooked, shadowed by the doorway. My eyes catch on it, and for a moment, something lethal twists inside.

Memory grips me. A carefree night on the town. Mariah’s hand on my arm to stop herself from keeling over. Her tinkling laugh and squeal when her heel broke, and she almost fell headfirst into the street. My wife, in my arms, her eyes twinkling at me. A little tipsy. Carefree.

So full of life.

I shove the memory down, out of sight, buried beneath too many feelings to name.

The Irish took my wife from me. And every last motherfucker will pay.

“Vadim.”

Rafail’s voice is low and rough. He hardly ever calls me my christened name. Everyone calls me Vadka, even him, when he’s not pissed or serious, which is most of the time.

I don’t look at him. I stare straight ahead… at nothing. Just me, here with my ghosts and demons.

“You have to stop this.” Rafail’s shadowy form steps in front of me, careful not to slip on the fucking gore that surrounds us. Dressed in a suit at the ass crack of dawn, he’s either catching an international flight or hasn’t gone to bed yet. “You have to fucking stop this,” he repeats.

He crouches in front of me, serious eyes meeting mine. The eldest of his family, Rafail Kopolov, only celebrated his thirtieth birthday a few years back. The youngest reigning pakhan in Europe but one of the most feared. He’s my pakhan. And my best friend.

“You’re going to bring devastation I can’t hold back, Vadka,” Rafail says. His tone barely softens, but the fact that he’s using my nickname means he’s trying.

“They killed her.” My voice is ragged. It never gets easier saying this out loud. Never. My eyes finally lift to Rafail’s, my voice raw. “They killed my wife, Rafail.”

His jaw flexes. “And what happens when you burn down every fucking city from here to Belfast? You think you’ll find Mariah on the other side?”

The pain hits like a knife to my chest, so sharp and visceral I can’t breathe at first.

“I don’t fucking care,” I manage to grind out. My chest heaves. “We’ll find them.”

“They’re already coming,” he snaps. “The Irish want war. Matvei is working on decoding the fucking flash drive we captured. They want blood for blood, brother, but you’ve given them every excuse.” He leans in. “How many more innocents have to die?”

My mouth twists bitterly, and I shake my head. “They want war? Good. And I haven’t killed one innocent, Rafail.” I scratch at my chest to distract myself from the undeniable thirst for a drink. My voice is hoarse. “Not one.”

“Not yet,” he says softly.

Silence stretches between us. Rafail drags a hand through his hair and pushes himself to his feet, pacing. I almost feel bad for putting him in this position. I didn’t want war. I never wanted to shed more blood than I had to.

But that was then. This is now.

They pulled the trigger and sounded the battle cry when they killed my wife.

My wife.

Rafail’s gaze travels to the broken shoe on the floor. He swallows hard. This is when he tells me about the innocent lives at stake, how hard we’ve worked for peace, and reminds me of our limited resources. He might even pull rank.

But this time, he doesn’t say any of those things. No. A flicker of genuine fear seems to run through his words when he says in a hoarse whisper, “Think of Luka.”

The words hit harder than his fist would. My breath stops cold.

Luka. My boy. My miracle, asleep and safe.

Rafail presses harder. “Do you think Mariah died so you could abandon him? Or bring harm to him through your own recklessness?”

“Don’t, Rafail.” I drag a hand across my brow as a well of pain pushes at my chest, making it hard to breathe. “Don’t.”

“I have to. I can’t let you destroy everything we’ve built and everything we hope for because of revenge. I can’t.”

I yank my hand away from my face and stare at him. “As if you wouldn’t raze the fucking earth if someone killed Polina.”

He flinches as if I slapped him. His jaw clenches, and he looks away. We both know the truth. He’d like to tell himself that he’d make decisions that would benefit the rest of his family and our Bratva. He likes to think he wouldn’t cave to the temptation to murder the entire bloodline of any motherfucker who harmed a hair on her head. But we both know the truth.

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Unhinged (Bratva Kings #4) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/unhinged-bratva-kings-4-read-online-jane-henry Mon, 12 May 2025 18:29:03 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/unhinged-bratva-kings-4-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Authors: Jane Henry Series: Bratva Kings Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >91

From USA Today Bestselling Author Jane Henry comes a dark Bratva stalker romance.

Anissa Laurent is a ghost—a master of deception, a woman who has slipped through the cracks of the underworld. Untraceable. Untouchable. Unclaimed. Until me.

I made it my life’s mission to find her, drag her back where she belongs, and punish her for her betrayal.

I traced every false identity until I found her, but I took my time. I studied the way she breathes, the way she moves, what she loves, and what she hates.

She thought she could run. She thought she could hide. She thought she could get away with betraying my family.

But I’m not a man who lets go of what’s mine.

She was meant to be broken, to be owned, meant to carry my mark in the most primal way possible. I won’t just take her body—she’ll have my baby, too.

But I didn’t expect her to be as broken as I am. I didn’t expect her to fight like she has nothing left to lose. And now, I don’t just want to cage her—I want to own her.

She’ll curse me. She’ll hate me. She’ll claw and bite and scream my name in fury and in pleasure. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. Because there is no escape from her past… and definitely not from me

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1

MATVEI

Branding is not the same level of pain as a tat, and I don’t know why I ever let Rodion convince me otherwise.

But this isn’t just my brand. It’s my vow to swear my soul to the Bratva, my promise to give every ounce of my being to my Bratva kin.

I sit on a stool, molars locked, my feet hooked under the rungs so I don’t topple off. Fucking hell.

“How’s that pain, bro?” Rodion, my younger cousin and best friend, stands a few feet away, strategically out of my reach, his arms crossed on his chest.

“Feels like ink,” I mock. I glare at him. “I’m gonna kick your fucking ass.”

It doesn’t feel like ink. It feels like penance.

Rafail, the head of the Kopolov family Bratva and my oldest cousin, shakes his head. “He’s due,” he mutters.

Vadka presses his lips together, a look of concentration on his face. I look away as he presses the brand into my back. I close my eyes and try to mentally transport the fuck out of here, but it doesn’t work. The pain is too raw, too vivid. My throat burns from swallowing a scream, the sickening stench of seared flesh filling the room. Someone makes a retching sound.

“What’d he tell you?” Vadka says, doing a piss-ass job of hiding his amusement.

I exhale through my nose. “Said it felt like a tat.”

Vadka snorts but keeps his hand still. “You should definitely kick his ass for that, but you’re the dumbass who believed him. How is a prickling needle the same as a hot iron scarring your flesh?”

If a tat is a paper cut, a brand is severing a limb.

Jesus.

The pain makes sweat dot my brow. I have to take my mind off this.

So instead… I think of Anissa.

The woman who betrayed my family. The woman who’s mine.

Anissa fucking Laurent.

The runaway. The ghost. The girl who managed to slip the noose off her neck and vanish into thin air like a goddamn myth. But my mind is a vault of every detail I’ve gathered over the years I’ve tracked her.

Sister to Polina Kopolova, my pakhan’s wife. Both of them pawns in a brutal game of life and death, and neither knew of the other’s existence. Anissa still doesn’t.

She’s sometimes blonde, sometimes auburn, sometimes short or dyed black. Her eyes are a striking blue but cold. Always analyzing. Watching. She looks at the world as if it’s a threat to her.

I want to be the one who makes her look that way.

Her mouth—full lips that smirk like she knows every secret you’ve ever kept, smug because she’s clever enough to wipe out full identities. And just above those pouty lips, she has a birthmark I’m obsessed with. I imagine resting my finger there when I finally have her pinned beneath me.

“The next part is the hardest. Breathe,” Vadka reminds me when he lifts the larger brand, so hot I can see steam rising from it in the cool basement air.

“Fuck,” Rodion says, paling. Maybe he’s the one making the sound like he’s about to vomit. I imagine the satisfying feeling of my fist connecting with his jaw.

I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. The problem is, it isn’t just the pain, but the way the smell of burnt flesh brings back the worst memory of my life, the one I try to bury.

I remember the way the walls of The Cottage basement absorbed the sounds of my brother’s screams, the cement floor slick with his blood. I stood, my arms crossed on my chest as cold decision settled in my veins. My brother betrayed us. I had to watch him die. My younger brother, the one I had protected and half raised, the one who I’d give my own life for, committed the unforgivable sin of betrayal. He traded his blood for a pocket full of promises from our enemies.

And now, I’m hunting down the girl who made betrayal look easy.

She ran from my pakhan, made a mockery of our family, and then joined forces with our enemies. Made the whole world think we were weak.

Just like my brother.

Gleb hung in front of us, wrists raw and bleeding from the cuffs—a living warning of what happens when you break the Vorovskoy Mir, the Thieves’ Code.

“Tell us the three laws you took a vow to,” Rafail said. When we were younger, Rafail acted as the big brother for all of us. He was stern and unyielding, our guide and friend. Now he was our pakhan, the acting leader of our Bratva, the one who called for the execution of his cousin. My brother.

And I vowed I would watch every brutal, soul-tearing second.

I’d failed my younger brother. It was on me to teach him to obey the law of the Bratva. I was the one who taught him how to ride a bike, how to smoke a joint, how to fuck a girl well and good and keep her coming back for more. I was the one who bailed him out when he fucked up, but that night—that night, I was the one who burned his tats from his flesh before he faced the ultimate punishment for his sins against us.

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Unveiled (Bratva Kings #3) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/unveiled-bratva-kings-3-read-online-jane-henry Wed, 19 Mar 2025 15:58:28 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/unveiled-bratva-kings-3-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Dark, Mafia, Virgin Authors: Jane Henry Series: Bratva Kings Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >99

A standalone enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, dark Bratva romance from USA Today bestselling author, Jane Henry

Semyon Kopolov.
Gorgeous and formidable.
My childhood crush and brother’s best friend.

They call him the Ice King—cold, ruthless, unforgiving.
He’s the reason my mother’s dead.
Now he’s my husband.

Once he was my protector.
The boy who carried me when I fell and swore to shield me from monsters.
Until he became one.

Forced into marriage, I’m trapped with the man I swear I’ll never forgive.
But the harder I try to escape, the harder I fall.
My body betrays me, and my heart whispers lies.
I tell myself he’s not the boy I once loved,
Yet I’m forced to face my greatest fear:
I’m falling for my enemy

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1

SEMYON

I shake my head and exit the warehouse, the relentless bite of a Moscow winter hitting me. I pull my coat tighter and check my watch.

Behind me, I hear the telltale sounds of Rodion cleaning up the mess I left—the heavy scrape of a body being dragged across the floor, the dull thump of a weapon hitting the ground, and his unmistakable carefree whistling. Like one of the fucking seven dwarfs.

Only my brother would whistle while running the cleanup crew.

But he’s impeccable, reliable, and takes pride in what he does.

I wasn’t planning on delivering an ass-kicking right before the huge benefit I’m supposed to attend, but here we are.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, I flip down the mirror to check myself. My hands are clean, my suit is immaculate, and not a speck of blood mars the fabric. Good.

My phone buzzes, the ringtone unmistakably Rafail’s. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Took longer than I thought.” My jaw tightens as I start the engine. The dickhead had more fight in him than I expected, and I wouldn’t let Rodion intervene. I fight my own battles.

“How’d it go?”

“As good as can be expected. The job’s done.” I blow out a breath and glance at the time. “Got ten minutes to show up fashionably late.”

“Good.” There’s a pause. Too long. I know immediately something’s wrong. He didn’t call to make sure I handled a job. Rafail knows better than that.

“Rafail. What is it?”

My older brother and I are tight and have been since he became our legal guardian after our parents’ deaths. He’s ruled our family with the proverbial iron fist, and as second-oldest, I’m his right-hand man. We don’t waste words or time explaining things to each other.

“I’ve got bad news.”

In the background, I hear Polina, his wife, murmuring in her low, soothing voice. She whispers something in Russian, and Rafail mutters back before speaking to me again.

I grit my teeth. I hate showing up late to anything. I plug the address into the GPS and throw the car into reverse. Rodion will get himself there.

When Rafail doesn’t tell me right away, my patience begins to wane. “You wanna tell me, or do you and Polina need to have a little pillow talk first?”

“Semyon,” Rafail says warningly. He’d take any shit I’d throw at him, but bring his wife into it, and he gets his hackles up. Fair.

I put the car into drive and ease onto the road before gunning the engine. “I just kicked someone’s teeth in while making sure I didn’t get any blood on this fucking white shirt, Rafail. Patience? Fresh out.”

Rafail sighs heavily on the other end of the line. “Elizar Borozov was sighted on a plane heading to Costa Rica twelve hours ago. He fucked you over. We’ve had two shipments ambushed and our backup safe house exposed because of him.”

I grip the wheel tighter, a haze of red clouding my vision. Eli. My fucking friend. The kid I grew up with. The one I trusted. Gone, betraying us in the process.

“Are we positive he left?” My best friend has as many enemies as I do.

“Yes.”

I glance at the GPS. Ten minutes out. My voice drops, cold and venomous. “So I’m boarding a plane to Costa Rica tonight.”

I’m already mentally combing the streets.

“No. I wanted to talk to you first.”

“What’s there to talk about? Eli was supposed to give us the details on the shipment and the harbor security leak in exchange for pardoning his fucking debt. That was literally all he fucking had to do to keep him off our shitlist. And now you’re telling me he’s gone? Vanished, still owing us four mil?”

This one’s personal.

We spent every afternoon by the creek in Zalivka, the city outside of Moscow where we both grew up, throwing rocks and climbing trees, swearing that nothing would ever come between us.

He was the one I cried to when my parents died. As teens, we bought each other condoms and borrowed each other’s weapons. We shot weapons by the creek until Rafail caught us and kicked both our asses. We didn’t stop—we just got more discreet.

But the liquor came too easily. The lies were harder to detect. I should’ve seen it all coming.

I shoot Eli a text, watching the message hang before failing to deliver.

After all these years, after everything we’ve been through, he fucking betrayed me. All of us.

As if his family can fucking afford it.

“The problem’s bigger than that, Semyon.” My pulse beats hard and fast. I blow out a breath as he explains. “Eli’s father couldn’t pay back the Irish, so he put up his daughter as collateral. If the Irish take her and the bakery, they get access to the harbor—dangerous for us.”

I know Rafail cares about the fucking harbor, but I’m stuck on Anya.

The Irish. Fucking The Irish. Our rivals, always looking for an opening.

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Untamed (Bratva Kings #2) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/untamed-bratva-kings-2-read-online-jane-henry Sun, 02 Feb 2025 19:14:27 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/untamed-bratva-kings-2-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Authors: Jane Henry Series: Bratva Kings Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >94

Be careful what you wish for…

I don’t just dream about possessive anti-heroes, I crave them. The dark, dangerous ones dripping with Bratva energy, the ones who claim you with a single look and make the world kneel just to keep you safe.

“Touch her and I'll unalive you…”?

I live for it.

“My wife…”?

My favorite .

It’s all a harmless fantasy, right?

Until it’s not.

Rodion Kopolev, the lethal masked hero thousands of social media followers fangirl over, doesn’t just embody the dark anti-heroes I love…he is one.

And when his obsessive focus lands on me, I feel like the heroine in one of my books.

His possessive words claim me.

His dominant touch brands me.

And when I try to run, he chases…

But when the threats of my past creep closer and I need protection from a dangerous stalker, Rodion is the devil willing to give it to me… for a price.

Turns out, when the fantasy becomes reality, it’s not so harmless after all…

Please Untamed is a standalone dark romance with a strong, fierce heroine and an unapologetically obsessive, jealous, and possessive alpha anti-hero. No OW drama, no cliffhanger, always a hard-won HEA.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1

RODION

The low thrum of dance music beats steadily, like the heartbeat of California’s underbelly. Neon lights slash across the dance floor, throwing jagged shadows over the dancing forms of women. I lazily watch them. I love women of all shapes and sizes. I don’t care about the color of their skin or their hair, if they’re short or tall, curvy or slender, or if they have glasses or freckles or whatever. Women are god’s gift to men, and fuck, I miss having one in my bed. It’s been way too long.

I’ve tried to be good. Responsible. Mature.

God.

California might glitter, but I miss the familiarity of home. Here, under these neon lights, I feel untouchable and detached—like a tiger prowling, watching the world from behind the bars of a cage.

I want out.

I nurse my glass of the bar’s sorry excuse for vodka—some cheap, local crap that doesn’t hold a candle to what we drink at home for any excuse to cheer a victory—and glance at my hands.

Fuck. For a second, I swear I see flecks of blood from the job I wrapped up earlier. But no, it’s just the lights messing with me. I washed my hands in the penthouse bathroom so many times under steaming water that they’re half-scalded.

Not that it matters. Rafail, my oldest brother and the pakhan of our family, rules with an iron fist and expects every job to be wrapped up neat, tied with a bow. Me? I like the reminders of what I’m capable of.

Maybe it makes me a sociopath. I like to think it keeps me human.

Got one more job to do here.

A burst of laughter gets my attention. I look over to see a table of giggling women. I shift closer to the bar, slinking into the shadows so I can watch unnoticed. Six of them, dressed in low-cut tops and short skirts, sit at a table cluttered with empty glasses. A young brunette with waist-length glossy hair shoves her phone under the nose of another woman. The second one’s wearing something across her shoulders. A sash?

I squint.

Bride to Be, the gold lettering reads. Ah. A bachelorette party.

How cute.

“I’m telling you, it’s the possessive ones! Like, ‘I own you’ energy!” A blonde giggles over her drink. Her friend rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.

My ears perk up. “I own you energy.” What are they talking about?

I’ve got better things to do than eavesdrop, but I’m bored as hell and need to get laid. Rafail would fucking kill me for not sticking to the plan.

I fucked up, big time, and he sent me here to lay low while he manages the fallout. Turned out I could utilize my skills while here for the greater good of my family, so I can’t lose focus now.

I look away from them.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Rafail

Heads up. Semyon got fucked over… instead of wedding bells, looks like he’ll be playing clean-up crew and teaching some lessons.

Shit. It’s been a year since Rafail married his wife, Polina, which meant it was time for one of us to get married. We had to. Taking the position of leadership after my father’s death, Rafail wasted no time in establishing himself as the married eldest because, in the old-fashioned, cutthroat world of the Russian Bratva, a married man had more power. Respect. A man like me—wild and free, untamed by the love of a woman—was unfettered but unpredictable… and wielded less power.

We don’t have time to date casually and don’t have the luxury of playing around. Marriage, children, the stability of vows are a must.

Semyon was ready to marry before the ink was dry on Rafail and Polina’s marriage certificate. He didn’t have the time or patience for anything less.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >94

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Unleashed (Bratva Kings #1) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/unleashed-bratva-kings-1-read-online-jane-henry Thu, 19 Dec 2024 11:51:29 +0000 http://www.ilovenovels.com/unleashed-bratva-kings-1-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Contemporary, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Jane Henry Series: Bratva Kings Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >99

I wake up chained to the bed of a stranger.
He says I’m his wife.

I have nothing—no money. No friends.
No escape.

He’s everything I never imagined: ruthless, calculating, feared. A beautiful monster with a face like a god’s, cold and untouchable.A mafia kingpin whose wealth could buy empires and whose power makes the world tremble.

My captor.
My husband.

He vows to protect me at all cost, and in return demands...everything.
My body. My obedience. My submission.

Every touch, every brutal kiss stirs a dangerous desire neither of us can control. His words may be laced with venom, but his touch is fire, and every time he’s near, I burn.

As days bleed into weeks, the fog of my past refuses to lift. The more I fight it, the harder I’m pulled into his orbit.

But as my memories start to unravel, I wonder—what if the past I can’t remember holds the key to our destruction?
And when the truth finally comes out...will either of us survive?

For readers of the Wicked Vows series, this is a fully standalone book one in a brand new spin-off series: Polina's story.

Please note: Unleashed is a standalone dark romance with a strong, fierce heroine and an unapologetically obsessive, jealous, and possessive alpha anti-hero. No OW drama, no cliffhanger, always a hard-won HEA.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1

RAFAIL

I stare at the cold, empty altar in front of me. I demanded simplicity, fitting for nuptials in a godless church and a loveless union.

A vase of fading white roses, their petals curling at the edges, sits on the marble altar, the cloying scent nearly nauseating. Shadows cling to the high, vaulted ceilings, cast by candles that flicker in iron sconces. Above, darkened stained glass depicts saints and martyrs in muted colors, their hollow eyes staring down through fractured light.

A faint trace of incense lingers from Sunday mass, mixing with the damp smell of old stone and earth. Here, walls seem to absorb sound, muting every breath, every heartbeat.

Every secret.

The priest my uncle summoned stands before me, his face pale in the half-light, almost skeletal in the shadows. His fingers tremble around the ancient leather-bound book he holds to his chest; its gilded edges tarnished with age. His eyes dart between me and the altar as though he expects some divine wrath to strike at any moment.

He looks as if he's about to faint. Coward. They should have appointed someone more powerful to be in charge of a place named The Cathedral of the Eternal Martyrs, nestled in the heart of my family’s hometown of Zalivka, a stone’s throw from Moscow. I can almost feel the reproachful looks from their images in stained glass windows of forest green and blood red.

"Relax, Father," I say, my voice resonating in the cavernous church. I look away. "It's not your fault she pulled this stunt. I won’t blame you." He blows out a breath as if I granted him a boon. Hell, maybe I did.

I can't help that my reputation precedes me. Sometimes I wish it didn’t. It would make shit easier.

Eh, maybe not.

I can see the whites of his eyes and don’t miss the way he's cleared his throat seventeen times in the past five minutes while I waited for my bride. She isn't coming. Not now, not ever.

The small crew of loyal friends and family who showed up to witness the ceremony sit still. No one dares to move. It looks like they’re hardly breathing. Makes sense. They don’t know if I’ll burn this church to the fucking ground or call a mob to go after her.

Even I don’t know how to react to being stood up by my future bride.

Mocked. Humiliated.

Disobeyed.

My hands clench into fists. When I find her… when I track down my bride and drag her back to me, I won’t unleash my rage on her. No. I’ll demand penance from her. Absolute surrender, body and soul, until she’s broken and bound to me.

Out of nowhere, the raucous sound of someone pressing down on an organ breaks the silence. I turn abruptly, my gaze fixed on the choir loft, where a red-faced, flustered organist shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Kopolov. I stumbled. I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

I shift away from her, dismissing her with a flick of my wrist. My fingers trace the edge of my cufflinks, an old family heirloom that once belonged to my father, and his father before him, and his father before him. I barely notice Semyon until he’s already there, a quiet shadow moving into my peripheral vision.

Semyon stands just a few feet away, his lean frame blending into the dim lighting near the altar. I see the faint gleam of his glasses as he watches the room, his gaze sharp and calculating, missing nothing. He waits, a small shift of his gaze the only sign that he’s asking permission to approach. Always the strategist, his mind whirs with the next step, cold and watchful. I jerk my chin in his direction, a signal. He ascends the three steps soundlessly, his calmness a stark contrast to the silent storm brewing inside me.

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Savage (Wicked Vows #6) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/savage-wicked-vows-6-read-online-jane-henry Sat, 05 Oct 2024 02:30:52 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/savage-wicked-vows-6-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Jane Henry Series: Wicked Vows Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >88

A steamy, arranged marriage, enemies to-lovers, wallflower romance by USA Today bestselling author Jane Henry

Scarred. Overlooked. Tainted.
Born into the ruthless underworld, I’ve been cast aside. I’m locked in a cage of lies and betrayal, now framed for a crime I didn’t commit.

But then he came for me.
Ollie Romanov, the savage enforcer, believes I’m a traitor.

He’s ruthless, merciless, and prepared to make me pay for my sins.
To him, I’m nothing more than a pawn to punish. A traitor to be broken.

Yet beneath the cold, brutal exterior, I see something more—a darkness that calls to my own.

I shouldn’t crave the twisted connection we share. I swear the man has no conscience…
Except when it comes to me.

Have I married a heartless monster? A psychopath?
Or has this Savage finally found his match in me?

Savage is a standalone dark romance with a strong, fierce heroine and an unapologetically obsessive, possessive , alpha anti-hero. No OW drama, no cliffhanger, always an HEA.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Ollie

There are two types of people in this world: those who lie well and those who are shit at it.

Santiago Morales is the latter.

The goddamn pussy kneels on the rain-soaked ground, a thin trail of blood trickling from a wound in his forehead. His cheeks are hollowed, his dark-brown eyes haunted and gaunt. Isabella Morales’s first cousin is a walking skeleton, haunted with terror of the devil he serves, in the custody of the devil he fears.

Sucks to be him.

But Jesus. Even I would feed the men who worked for me. The guy looks like he’s subsisted on bread, water, and a steady diet of waterboarding. Carlos Carrera was a fucking narcissistic tyrant.

“Please,” Santiago begs in broken English. “I don’t know.”

The shifting storm clouds over the late afternoon sky reveal his terrified eyes. I fucking hate the way he trembles. He knows where Renata is, and he deserves to die.

Blood thrums in my veins.

Renata Carrera is mine, and I’ll burn this fucking world to ash before I let anyone harm a hair on her head. Others might say to let her go, to let her run and hide, but the beast in me wants her chained to me.

I walk in a circle around Santiago as his bloodshot, widened eyes track me. He licks his dry, cracked lips and swallows as if trying to gather up his courage.

“You have to understand,” I tell Santiago in a deceptively calm voice. “The entirety of our operation hinges on finding Renata. If we don’t find her, we’re at an impasse. She has information on us that’s incredibly time sensitive.” I lean over and pat his cheek. He flinches as if I’m wielding a whip. “Doesn’t that make sense to you? Hmm?”

At eight o’clock this morning, back in The Cove, our men holding Renata in custody were found dead with bullets between their eyes.

Just as well, really. I would have had to kill them for letting her go.

Renata’s more than just a pawn in this game. She’s the queen who slipped through my fingers, and every second I don’t have her, the more my need to have her grows.

“I don’t know. I swear to God, I don’t know!” he sobs. I clench my jaw and glare at him. Jesus motherfucking Christ, let me go out of this world with my balls intact, no matter the circumstances.

I narrow my eyes and stand in front of him, my arms crossed. Emotions like this never move me. Some people think I’m the quiet one because “still waters run deep” or some poetic shit like that.

I keep quiet because I don’t give a fuck about playing Mr. Nice Guy. It’s just easier to shut the fuck up. Makes people wonder.

“You can kill me,” the pussy says, looking away. Bluffing his fucking mouth off. “Do whatever you want to me; I swear I don’t care! But you have to believe me, I don’t know.”

I sigh and shake my head.

A dog barks, and an angry woman screams something unintelligible at the market behind us. Worked out well that the marketplace was in full swing today because the muffled sounds of the people behind us mask our job. Even if they did see us, they’d keep walking. No one in this neighborhood gives a fuck about us, and they know better than to go anywhere near business involving the cartel.

I stare at him and shake my head again.

I don’t care that he’s covered in blood. I don’t care that I’ll instruct my men to make an example out of him, to bury him in pieces all over the place and spread the news of his death far and wide. All I care is that I’m looking for answers, and I’m going to find her no matter what.

In the distance, a siren wails, momentarily blocking out the chatter of the market.

I let out a belabored sigh. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Santiago.” The two men I brought with me stand stoically behind me. Loyal to the Morales cartel, they’re now loyal to the Romanov Bratva by association since my brother’s marriage to Isabella.

The one to my left has short gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His clothes are pressed, and the ink on his upper right arm indicates his affiliation with Fuerzas Militares de Colombia—the Colombian military.

The guy beside him is younger but larger, his muscles flexing when he clenches his fists. He reminds me of my brother Viktor—bulky, muscular, fearless. Both of these men hate traitors, and I don’t fucking blame them.

One speaks in rapid Spanish to the other, and they both shake their heads. I speak Spanish, but poorly, so I only catch the gist. They said something about this taking too long. They would be happy to help me.

There was a time when the man bleeding out in the rain, begging for his life, considered these two his brothers. They would’ve died for Santiago and his family.

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Shackled (Wicked Vows #5) Read Online Jane Henry http://www.ilovenovels.com/shackled-wicked-vows-5-read-online-jane-henry Sat, 31 Aug 2024 08:13:15 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/shackled-wicked-vows-5-read-online-jane-henry Genre: Alpha Male, Mafia, Suspense Authors: Jane Henry Series: Wicked Vows Series by Jane Henry
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >83

A steamy, forced marriage, enemies-to-lovers, close proximity dark Bratva stand-alone romance by USA Today bestselling author, Jane Henry

In the dark shadows of the Bratva Underworld, where my family reigns, there are no rules — only power.

My life is black and white. Every choice designed to protect my family and crush our enemies.

Trust is a luxury I can't afford.

Then she comes—Isabella Morales, disguised as a boy, burning with defiance and danger.

Forbidden fruit, the daughter of rival cartel, she holds secrets that could unravel everything I've fought for. Letting her live could be my demise.

But now she’s mine.

When she tries to run, I catch her. I vow I’ll punish her for what she’s done and teach her there’s no escape. But Isabella is no ordinary captive. Half crazed, fearless, and seductive, the line between captor and captive quickly blurs.

In a world where loyalty is bought with blood and fear, Isabella is the one weakness I can't afford. But as our enemies close in, we’re forced to navigate the deadly game of power and deceit.

I’ll bind her to me and make her mine in a battle where surrender is the ultimate sin.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER ONE

Isabella

I grin into the chilly autumn night, nearly skipping with glee.

This disguise is so fucking awesome. Literally, no one would ever suspect who I really am.

This was no last-minute disguise. Hell, I’ve been practicing wearing this all day.

First, the fake mustache because even the best disguise won’t fully cover my Latina roots. Colombian men wear their beards like a badge of honor, their “five o’clock shadows” creeping in by noon. I have to blend in seamlessly. With a swift, practiced hand, I applied foundation to rough up my complexion. I’m aiming for rugged and badass. Contour sharpened my jawline and an eyebrow pencil added the perfect amount of stubble.

I refuse to cut my hair, so that was a tiny bit of a challenge. It’s slicked back and wound around my head, tucked under a black cap. Bulky, but no one will be paying attention.

I needed a masculine silhouette, so I had to wear a chest binder to flatten my breasts, thanks to my mama’s generous genes. At least she gave me something. The clothing was kind of fun—a dark hoodie that conceals my figure and baggy pants with multiple pockets to give me some heft and a rugged appearance, paired with combat boots. I needed something masculine and practical for moving silently and blending in.

To mimic male body language, I adopted a slouched posture and broader stance, my walk more deliberate and heavy footed. Even if they saw me, they’d never suspect who I really am. Sadly, I have to mask the sexy hip sway. I have to do this consciously, since it’s part of my whole persona to attract the eye and attention of any man within a fifty-yard radius. A girl must use every gift she’s got.

This is only temporary, though. And fucking necessary.

And when I was ready to go, I took myself into The Cove—the prowling ground of our enemies—just to test it all out.

Not gonna lie, I had a damn good time for myself. I spoke in a deeper voice when I needed to—ordered coffee and asked for directions just to make sure I passed the test.

Not only did no one give me so much as a strange look, I caught a few girls making eyes at me.

“Hola, beautiful,” I said in my guy voice to a slender blonde near Starbucks. She blushed but didn’t respond, then whispered to her friend behind me, who I winked at. Heh.

Truth is, I wouldn’t want to be a man for all the money in the world. I fucking love being a woman. But damn, it was fun to play for a little while.

And now, I’m ready. Now, it’s go time.

I steel myself and clench my jaw. Now I take the next step.

If the Romanovs see me now, I’m still fucked, but at least they won’t suspect who I really am. I’ll get away—I always do—and they’ll be none the wiser.

I intercepted communication between Aleksandr Romanov, one of the high-ranking officials in the Romanov Bratva, and his wife, Harper. They have small children and long, sleepless nights, so I figured eventually they’d get sloppy, and I wasn’t wrong.

I mean, anyone else might’ve totally missed the little tip-off, but when Aleksandr told his wife got another late night, and she responded, please be careful, it’s so dark there, and I don’t trust you’re safe, I knew exactly where they were going.

Who’s going? she asked.

My heart took a giant leap at his response: All of us.

It’s rare that all of the Romanov men are together.

Some of their wives work for them—I have it on good authority that Viktor’s new wife Lydia actually set fire to her ex. Nevertheless, the Romanovs are still in the Dark Ages. They’d deny it. Hell, their wives draw a salary, but I’m not impressed. Show me a Bratva group with a woman in actual fucking power. Authority. Leadership.

Now that would impress me.

The snap of a branch several yards to my left makes me freeze in my tracks. I stand as still as a hunted deer, listening. The Romanovs won’t be here for several hours yet, but it’s essential I’m not seen.

I wait, holding my breath. Listening. Is someone else here, or is it just an animal?

Another beat passes. Another.

Nothing.

I move on. I know exactly where to go: The abandoned warehouse, deeply hidden past a hiking trail in The Cove, is heavily secured with video surveillance. If the Romanovs see me on any security camera, they’ll just see a random dude going for a hike off-trail.

They might wonder how their security footage was destroyed, but by then, I’ll have everything I need.

The darkness and silence amplify every sound, making me hyper-aware of my surroundings. I only have about another mile to hike before I get to the entrance, but the night is young. I couldn’t risk driving anywhere near here for fear of being seen.

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