Sordid Series by Nikki Sloane – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Sordid Series by Nikki Sloane – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com Sat, 21 Oct 2017 13:57:33 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.ilovenovels.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Sordid Series by Nikki Sloane – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.ilovenovels.com 32 32 Destroy Read Online Nikki Sloane (Sordid #2.5) http://www.ilovenovels.com/destroy-read-online-nikki-sloane Sat, 21 Oct 2017 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/destroy-read-online-nikki-sloane Genre: Dark, Erotic, Romance Authors: Nikki Sloane Series: Sordid Series by Nikki Sloane
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 109(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 73(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >24

Read Online Books/Novels:	Destroy: A Sordid Series Novella
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Nikki Sloane
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	B07MRDZDNL
Book Information:
My entire life fell apart once. It took everything I had to pull it back together and drag myself out of the darkness. This stranger who bought my art was supposed to be my hero, but instead he’s the villain. He threatens to destroy all I’ve worked for—my sculpture, my rebuilt reputation, my life. All I have is my art, and I’ll do anything to save it from his predatory hands. Even if it means offering myself instead.
Books in Series:	Sordid Series by Nikki Sloane
Books by Author:	Nikki Sloane Books

-1-

NOW

Swearing seemed appropriate in this moment. Anger swirled hot through my body, tensing my muscles into thick cords, and movement became impossible. All I could do was stand beside my artwork and stare at the shipping manifest, letting the recipient’s name sear into my brain.

Luke Rafferty.

This was the first real work I’d done since the darkest point in my life, and it was stunning. A masterpiece that had taken almost a year to conceive, months to create, and nearly the last dollar I had. Yes, it had been bought and paid for, and I was desperate for the money, but I would not let Rafferty bastardize my sculpture.

Panic, verging on hysteria, seized me as I stood in the back room of Garcia Gallery. Outwardly, I showed very little of it. Any other day, I wouldn’t react at all. I would be calm and composed—not a blonde hair out of place or a smudge of mascara. My husband had often accused me of being a robot, but it wasn’t true. Yes, I didn't cry when he died, but I had feelings.

I just preferred to deposit my emotions in my art.

But this rage was too powerful to contain, and I had nowhere to put it.

No one had accused Rafferty outright in the industry, but we all knew what he was doing. Like a cuckoo bird who lays its eggs in another bird’s nest—brood parasitism, it’s called. My sculpture would not be his nest. Luke Rafferty stood on the shoulders of others, pushing them into the ground so no one could see who was really buried at the base. He stole everything from other artists. Concept. Materials. And worst of all, credit.

I uncurled my balled fists, barely noticing the sting that lingered from how hard I’d driven my nails into my palms. I’d had everything taken from me as I fought against it, clutching fiercely until my hands were bloody, and I’d lost.

It wasn’t going to happen again.

“Is there a problem?” Maritza, the gallery owner, asked when she noticed my rigid state, or perhaps how I was awash in fury.

“There’s a very big problem. You’ll need to cancel this sale immediately.”

Maritza was in her early forties, about ten years older than I was, and a beautiful woman, but her expression turned sour like she was going to be ill. “This is about the buyer?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head, sending shimmering waves down through her dark hair. “It’s too late. Mr. Rafferty requires third-party sales, probably to avoid the purchase from being stopped. I didn’t know it was him until this morning, and the truck is on its way.”

Panic continued to flutter in my veins, bubbling in my system. I’d already packaged the sculpture and closed the crate. Did I have enough time to pry the nails out of the wood? And if so, could I really destroy the most beautiful work I’d ever created . . . just to save it?

“I need a crowbar.” My voice was ice, even though I was sweating. It was hot inside the back room of the gallery, like most of the air conditioning was saved for the customers up front.

“A crowbar? For what?” Maritza’s expression filled with horror when she realized what I intended. “No, Nikita. You can’t.”

My hands were clammy, so when I seized the hammer I nearly dropped it. My grip tightened on the handle while I evaluated the best point of attack. The top left corner wasn’t perfectly flush, so I’d start there. I sank the claw into the seam and jerked. The wood groaned under the force.

“Stop it!” Maritza clasped my arm and tugged me back. The hammer clattered to the ground as she threw her body between me and the crate, her arms flung out to the sides.

Five and a half feet of Latina would not stop me from what I had to do. I’d be the mother who ate her baby to save it from a worse fate. No other thought was in my mind.

I ducked under her arm and barreled forward. My shoulder slammed into the wall of wood, but I kept going, ignoring the pain radiating through my body. I forced my feet to move, hardly getting any traction between the bare floor and my ballet flats, but the initial impact was enough to pitch the crate backward. One final shove would send it toppling.

“Nikita, no!”

The wood creaked as it tipped, and then the six-foot box landed on its side with a thunderous crash, breaking my heart and hopefully my sculpture inside.

For a moment, reality slowed. Dust motes ceased moving, and Maritza Torres, owner of the only gallery in LA who was willing to showcase my work, stopped breathing. I stared at the pine-colored wood decorated with dark knots and feed marks from the wood planer.

“What have you done?” Her voice snapped us back to real time. Her arms hung at her sides, her shoulders sagging under the enormity of the situation.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >24

Advertisement
Sordid Read online Free Book Nikki Sloane (Sordid #1) http://www.ilovenovels.com/sordid-1-read-online-nikki-sloane Tue, 13 Dec 2016 01:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/sordid-1-read-online-nikki-sloane Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Crime, Dark, Erotic, New Adult, Romance, Suspense Authors: Nikki Sloane Series: Sordid Series by Nikki Sloane
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98075 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >106

Read Online Books/Novels:	Sordid (Sordid #1)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Nikki Sloane
Language:	English
ISBN/ ASIN:	1530627877 (ISBN13: 9781530627875)
Book Information:
It took me years to find the courage to speak to Luka. He seemed exactly like me. Intelligent. Focused. Serious. But he’s not the man I imagined. His reality is cruel and dark. He traps me in his web, his power twisting tighter the more I struggle, until it’s hopeless. I can’t break free. As he drags me unwillingly into his filthy world, I can’t ignore the terrifying idea circling my mind. What if I belong here with him?
Books in Series:	Sordid Series by Nikki Sloane
Books by Author:	Nikki Sloane Books

Chapter

ONE

You look like a slut. This was the thought repeating in my head.

I tugged at the knee-high white stockings and smoothed down my plaid skirt. It was much too short. The blouse of the sexed-up schoolgirl costume didn’t have buttons to close above my bra. The white shirt gapped and showed cleavage. I felt . . . uncomfortable. Yes, I looked like a slut, but it was also the look I was going for.

Avery, my roommate, smeared on blood red lipstick, and although her gaze was on the mirror, I sensed she was watching me out of the sides of her eyes. She was waiting for me to chicken out.

“You’re going out in that?” Her tone did nothing to disguise her disbelief.

“Yeah.”

Perhaps I looked ridiculous, and perhaps my stomach had done a flip-flop when I looked at myself in the mirror, but I wasn’t bluffing. Avery had been forced into inviting me to the party at her boyfriend’s frat, but I was going. I hadn’t been out to a party in ages, and Halloween was the one night I could reinvent myself.

A reinvention was needed.

I’d spent my whole life driving toward a medical degree, and everything else had been neglected, including a social life. It was my senior year at Randhurst University, and I’d never gotten close enough with another girl to find a roommate. Avery and I had been paired together randomly by a student housing computer.

She wasn’t happy with the result. The spoiled sophomore was my opposite—she didn’t study. She didn’t care about her grades, her major, or have to worry about scholarship money. The International Bank of Mom and Dad was funding her pointless attempt at a college education, and it was likely she’d wash out by the end of the year. Perhaps even by the end of the semester. She wasn’t focused, and I couldn’t relate at all.

“You look different,” Avery said. “Nice.”

Her compliment threw me off-kilter. “Thanks. And thanks for letting me tag along.”

“It shocked the hell out of me when you said yes. I thought you were a Mormon.”

I blinked, confused. “Mormon?”

“Yeah.” She fluffed her long brown hair. “They don’t celebrate holidays and shit.”

My brain played loud static, my defense mechanism against stupidity. “I think you mean Jehovah’s Witness.” Not once had I mentioned church to her. I wasn’t even religious—unless you considered science a religion.

She continued to preen in the mirror and I was ignored, which was Avery’s typical response. It could be worse, I told myself. She’d never outright been a bitch.

Her phone rang, singing an obnoxious song, but it cut off as she answered it. “Hi, are you downstairs?” Her gaze flicked my direction. “Yeah, Addison’s ready, too. You remember she’s coming.” It wasn’t said like it was a question.

I held down the hem of my skirt as I ducked into the back seat of Brent’s car. He was my age, and hadn’t been dating Avery all that long. The two-door Mustang’s back seat was a joke. I had to position my knees to the side so I could sit, but the car was warm and clean, so I knew not to complain.

It was a short drive to the frat house. It’d be a hike back, but I could walk if needed. Although the campus was small, the city was a college town and relatively safe. Yet nerves fluttered in the pit of my stomach as the car parked behind the huge Tudor-style house adorned with the three Greek letters out front.

I’d never been to a frat party.

Would it be as wild as everyone made them out to be? I followed behind Avery and Brent, realizing now that their costumes matched. Batman and Catwoman. I tried not to stumble over the uneven walkway leading around the house and up to the front door.

Music thumped steadily, and loud conversation could be heard through the open door. I shivered in the October air. On Avery’s suggestion, I’d left my coat back at the dorm. There’d be nowhere to put it, and she’d warned the place would get hot with that many bodies packed inside.

On the front porch, a guy stood and checked IDs. I dug mine out, but Brent shook his head. “You’re good.”

“It’s fine, I’m twenty-one—” I started.

“Nah, Addison, you’re with me, that’s all my boy needs to know.”

I jammed the plastic card back in the tiny pocket of my skirt as a shimmer of disappointment flowed through me. I’d only turned twenty-one in August and hadn’t had many opportunities to use my new license. My birthday had been a sad affair. I’d spent the summer interning at the hospital, and a few of the other orderlies took me out. The evening had been over before ten p.m.

The entryway was dark and packed with people trying to hold conversations over the loud music. Most were in costume and gripped a plastic cup. There were large rooms to the left and the right, a staircase ahead, and a hallway leading to the back of the house, lined with picture frames of past pledge classes.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >106

Advertisement
Torrid Read online Nikki Sloane (Sordid #2) http://www.ilovenovels.com/torrid-2-read-online-nikki-sloane Mon, 12 Dec 2016 13:57:33 +0000 http://www.test123.demo2.xyz/torrid-2-read-online-nikki-sloane Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, BDSM, Crime, Dark, Erotic, New Adult, Romance, Suspense Authors: Nikki Sloane Series: Sordid Series by Nikki Sloane
Advertisement

Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 100796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >109

Read Online Books/Novels:	Torrid (Sordid #2)
Author/Writer of Book/Novel:	Nikki Sloane
Language:	English
Book Information:
Vasilije Markovic is the prince of the Serbian mafia and one of the most powerful men in Chicago. His smile may be razor sharp, but he’s crueler than the devil. I’m playing a dangerous game and betting my life I’m going to win. I pretend to be his pawn. I do as he says and move where he tells me, letting him think he’s in control as I position myself for revenge. Every turn brings us closer. His grin doesn’t seem as evil when we’re alone. Behind closed doors, I welcome his unrelenting and vicious personality. He’s confessed all his secrets, but I’m holding one back and it’s a game changer. If I survive the board, this pawn turns into a queen. I become the most powerful player and send all the other pieces running. To get what I want, I must make sacrifices, but am I willing to draw the line at him?
Books in Series:	Sordid Series by Nikki Sloane
Books by Author:	Nikki Sloane Books

Prologue

Three Years Ago

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a special release week edition and includes the first book in the series as a free bonus. If you want to start with that book, please click HERE.

My father’s office made me uneasy. Today it was worse, because Ilia walked in as I was cleaning the desk. He was twice my age and married, but it did nothing to stop the way he looked at me. His blue eyes raked over my body and made my skin crawl.

He’d been warned not to touch me again.

The first time it happened, I didn’t know what to do. He was my father’s employee and had a temper. He’d kissed me with slimy lips, and when I pushed him away, he apologized.

The second time, he didn’t. He grabbed me and pressed me against the hallway wall while my father was out, and the tongue shoved in my mouth was invasive. Ilia’s hands pawing at me made me buck and squirm away.

I reminded him about his wife, but all he’d done was laugh and say it was my fault. I was too tempting to keep his hands off.

Somehow, no matter how hard I tried to avoid him, he found a way to get me alone, and his unwanted advances escalated. I stopped wearing skirts after he’d put his hand up one while my father and brother were meeting with the Italians one afternoon. Ilia was my father’s right hand man, but the Italians were old fashioned and would meet with family only.

He threatened me, saying he’d tell my father I was trying to seduce him. Only a few people knew I wasn’t actually a housekeeper, but Sergey Petrov’s illegitimate daughter. My father hated me, and I wasn’t going to let Ilia give him any more ammunition. I gathered my courage, marched into my father’s den, and pleaded for help while my eyelashes were wet with tears.

He didn’t believe me.

And it broke me almost as much as the day my mother died. I felt like there was nothing left of me.

It was a blessing in disguise, though. It focused my fear of Ilia, condensing and polishing it down until it was a sharp point of anger I could wield. I fought back against every unwanted stroke or caress, every time he put his mouth on mine, even as he became more aggressive and I knew my time was running out.

Soon, touching me wasn’t going to be enough for him.

My half-brother Konstantine must have sensed something was wrong the day he’d come into my room, or maybe he’d seen Ilia go in there. I’d been changing and was down to my bra and underwear when the source of my constant torment slipped into my room and shut my door.

“Get out,” I said, grabbing a blanket off my bed and using it to cover up.

Ilia gave me the sly smile he always did when he was going to ignore my protests and do whatever the fuck he wanted. He stalked to me, wrenched the blanket from my grip, and had his hands on me a second later. His disgusting lips flattened over mine, muffling my cry. His rough fingers wormed their way beneath the waistband of my panties.

“Stop,” I said in a shaky voice.

My door burst open, and although Ilia moved fast, he was too late. My brother had seen everything, and his face turned to ice. Konstantine was barely twenty, and although he appeared skinny, he had a swimmer’s build and was deceptively strong. It took him minimal effort to drag Ilia from the room and down to my father’s office.

This time, when my father heard the story from Konstantine, he had no choice but to listen. My brother told my father to handle it, or he would. So Sergey gave Ilia a lecture, capped off with a throwaway threat not to touch me again, and Konstantine felt satisfied. My father’s orders were supposed to be law.

It kept Ilia away . . . for a while.

Then, his desire-filled glances my direction were back. He stood too close whenever we were in a room together, and he lingered. He slid back into his behavior so slowly, I couldn’t say anything about it. There was no specific moment when Ilia defied my father’s order, but I felt it increasing every day.

Building toward something terrible.

I dreamed he died in a horrible, bloody way, and it wasn’t a nightmare. It was a fantasy. I pictured different scenarios of his death in my head, and let them comfort me. Maybe I was naïve, but I believed bad people got what they had coming to them.

It was late morning when Ilia came into the office and I froze, the damp washcloth mid-wipe on the desktop. Alarm spiked and tensed my muscles. My father and Konstantine were out, and my stepmother and half-sister were in the garden in the back yard. It meant no one would hear me. I was alone, and the sly smile on Ilia’s face told me he knew this.

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >109

Read Online Books/Novels:

Destroy: A Sordid Series Novella

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

B07MRDZDNL

Read Online Books/Novels:

Sordid (Sordid #1)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English

1530627877 (ISBN13: 9781530627875)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Torrid (Sordid #2)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

English