Chiromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts #8) Read Online Charmaine Pauls

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Seven Forbidden Arts Series by Charmaine Pauls

Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)


Everything is not always as it seems.

Bono Black isn’t part of Cain Jones’s taskforce. He’s merely their pilot, but the minute he walks into a sex club in Amsterdam, he’s no longer an outsider to the war on their beautiful target, Sky Val.
Bono wants her like he’s never wanted anyone, and he’s a determined man. The only snags are three major obstacles. One, Sky belongs to the most dangerous sex dealer in the Netherlands who’d see her dead before he lets her go. Two, she’s undeniably involved in the murders of a senator and president. Three, Cain has ordered her dead. However, time is on Bono’s side. Before the team leader slits her throat, they need information on her boss. With the interest Sky has shown in Bono, Cain decides Bono is just the man for the job, and that seduction will be his choice of arms.
Life has never been good or kind. From where Sky Val is standing, life looks infinitely bad. Her existence is nothing but physical and emotional torture, but one motivation keeps her going. It’s a secret she can’t give up on. Bought at the age of sixteen for her forbidden art to manipulate time, Sky’s owner constructed the perfect jail to confine her. The invisible chains he put on her are much more effective than a brick-and-mortar prison. She will do anything her owner or his boss demands, even make the handsome, caring Senegalese pilot, Bono Black fall in love with her. Love is, after all, a woman’s best weapon when her mission is to steal a man’s secrets.

Full Book:

Chapter 1

Bono Black flicked up his collar and ducked his head as he followed his boss, Joss, into the Red Light District in Amsterdam. People bustled around them, going about their business. As far as he could tell, they weren’t being followed, but he kept vigilant, watching out for danger from hooded eyes.

Not a breeze ruffled the summer night. It was too much like the quiet before the storm. The red lights shining above doors and through windows turned the canal into a river of blood on which boats lay quietly except for the occasional thud as they rubbed shoulders with the stone wall bordering the pavement.

Joss’s steps fell sharply on the cobblestone street. His own followed like an echo. Far-off laughter pierced the conversations of the strangers they passed. He dragged in a breath and exhaled slowly. The air smelled like doughnuts and caramelized nuts. Behind the eye patch, his empty socket itched, which was always a bad sign. Two more steps, and they stopped in front of a gunmetal door with a black arum lily engraving.

Joss gave him a quick glance from over his shoulder, his mercury eyes reflecting the unease unfurling in Bono’s gut, and rang the bell. A plate on the inside of the door squeaked with protest to reveal a peephole.

“We have an appointment with your fortune-teller,” Joss said.

A bolt being pulled back sounded on the inside, and then the door swung open. A man in a white T-shirt with the same arum lily emblem as the one on the door waved them through.

“Follow me,” he said after he’d patted them down for weapons.

The interior was painted black with red bulbs hanging overhead. They passed several doors, each fitted with a window that exposed the occupants. Some women were waiting. Others were working. The smell of disinfectant softened by air freshener created a sterile feel that was out of tune with what he’d expected from a sex club. The doorman led them past the peep shows and fuck rooms to an office at the back.

The man who sat behind the desk wore a military Steampunk-style vest. Bono recognized Doumar, the owner of the club, from the reconnaissance photos. Behind him stood a tall woman dressed in a matching outfit. She had a delicate bone structure and wheat-colored hair to match a striking, pale-skinned face. What held his attention were her eyes. They were a magnificent blue, clear like a cloudless sky over the Sambaya, and profoundly sad.

“Right on time,” Doumar said with a heavy Dutch accent. “I appreciate a punctual man.”

He motioned at the two chairs facing the desk. When they’d taken their seats, he leaned forward. “What’s your fetish?” He grinned, revealing crooked teeth. “After your future has been predicted, you may crave another form of entertainment. Sometimes knowing what lies ahead makes us realize how short life is. It makes men want to seize the moment, and what better way to seize it than burying your dick in a warm cunt? Fucking makes us feel alive, doesn’t it?”

“The future is all I’m here to seize,” Joss said.

Doumar’s eyes tightened. “This is a legitimate club, gentlemen. You can take your pick from the menu. There won’t be repercussions. No fear, no limits.” His lips stretched wide. “That’s our motto.”