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Turn the page to enter the dark and dangerous world in MERCILESS by Willow Winters. A powerful man with a beautiful woman at his mercy…
Or if you’ve already read that one, skip ahead to the emotional standalone with unexpected love between two strangers who meet on an airplane in TO SEE YOU.
MERCILESS
Willow Winters
I should’ve known she would ruin me the moment I saw her.
Women like her are made to destroy men like me.
I couldn’t resist her though.
Given to me to start a war; I was too eager to accept.
But I didn’t know what she’d do to me. That she would change everything.
She sees through me in a way no one else ever has.
Her innocence and vulnerability make me weak for her and I hate it.
I know better than to give in to temptation.
A ruthless man doesn’t let a soul close to him.
A cold-hearted man doesn’t risk anything for anyone.
A powerful man with a beautiful woman at his mercy … he doesn’t fall for her.
Preface
Carter
“I should have fucked you so much sooner.”
I remember that first day, how she screamed and cried for me to let her go, back when I hated her and she hated me.
Even with my tight grip on her throat, with my touch sending sparks through her body, she forces her head to shake, not taking her eyes off of mine.
“No,” she whispers and my dick hardens even more, begging me to punish her for daring to defy me. But then she adds, “This is how it was supposed to be.”
Her breathing is heavy as she closes her eyes, her body bowed on my lap. She’s completely at my mercy and her pouty lips are there for the taking.
All of her. Every piece of her is mine and she knows it.
Mine.
Chapter One
Carter
War is coming.
It’s something I’ve known for over two years.
Tick-tock. Tick-tock.
A tic in my jaw clenches in time with the rhythm of the clock, while the skin over my knuckles turns white as my fist squeezes tighter. Tension rises in my stiff shoulders and I have to remind myself to breathe in deeply and let the strain of it all go away.
Tick-tock. It’s the only sound echoing off the walls of my office and with each pass of the pendulum, the anger grows.
It’s always like this before I go to a meet. This one, in particular, sends a thrill through my blood, the adrenaline pumping harder with each passing minute.
My gaze drifts from the grandfather clock in my office to the shelves next to it, then beneath them to the box made of mahogany and steel. It’s only three feet deep and three feet tall by six feet long. It blends into the wall of my office, surrounded by old books.
I paid more than I should have simply to put on a display. All any of this is merely a façade. People’s perceptions are their reality. And so I paint the picture they need to see so I can use them as I see fit. The expensive books and artworks, polished furniture carved from rare wood… All of it is bullshit.
Except for the box. The story that came with it will stay with me forever. In all the years, it’s one of the few memories I can pinpoint as a defining moment. The box never leaves me.
The words from the man who gave it to me are still so fresh, as is the image of his pale green eyes, glossed over as he told me his story.
About how it kept him safe when he was a child. He told me how his mother had shoved him in it to protect him.
I swallow thickly, feeling my throat tighten and the cords in my neck strain at the recollection. He set the scene so well.
He told me how he clung to his mother, seeing how panicked she was. But he did as he was told. He stayed quiet in the safe box and could only listen while the men murdered his mother.
He offered to barter for his life with the box. And the story he gave me reminded me of my own mother telling me goodbye before she passed.
Yes, his story was touching, but I put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger regardless.
He tried to steal from me and then pay me with a box as if the money he embezzled was a debt or a loan. William was good at thieving, at telling stories, but the fucker was a dumb prick.
I didn’t get to where I am by playing nicely and being weak. On that day, I took the box that saved him as a reminder of who I was. Who I needed to be.
I made sure that box has been within my sight for every meeting I’ve had in this office. It’s a powerful reminder I can stare at as I make deal after deal with criminal after criminal and collect wealth and power in this godforsaken room.
It cost me a fortune to get this office exactly how I wanted it. But if it were to burn down, I could easily afford to replace everything.
Everything except for that box.
“You really think they’re going through with it?” I hear my brother, Daniel, before I see him. The remembrance fades in an instant.
It takes a second for me to be conscious of my facial expression, to relax my jaw and let go of the anger before I can raise my gaze to his.
“With the war and the deal? You think he’ll go through with it and take her tonight?” he clarifies.
A small huff leaves me, accompanied by a smirk as I answer, “He wants this more than anything else. He said they set her up and it’s already happening. Only hours until they’re done.”
Daniel stalks into the room slowly, the heavy door to my office closing with a soft kick of his heel before he comes to stand across from me.
“And you’re sure you want to be right in the middle of it?”
I lick my lower lip and stand, stretching as I do and turning my gaze to the window in my office. I can hear Daniel walking around the desk as I lean against it and cross my arms.
I tell him, “We won’t be in the middle of it. It’ll be the two of them, and our territory is close, but we can stay back.”
“Bullshit. He wants you to fight with him. He’s going to start this war tonight and you know it.”
I nod slowly, the memory of the smell of Romano’s cigars filling my lungs at the thought of him.
“There’s still time to call it off,” Daniel says, and it makes my brow pinch and forehead crease. He can’t be that naïve.
It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him since he’s been back. He spent years away. And every fucking day I fought for what we have. He’s gone soft. Or maybe it’s Addison who’s turned him into the man standing here now.
“This war has to happen.” My words are final, and the tone is one not to be questioned. I may have grown this business on fear and anger, each step forward followed by the hollow sound of a body dropping behind me, but that’s not how it started. You can’t build an empire with bloodstained hands and not expect death to follow you.
His dark eyes narrow as he moves closer to the window, his gaze flickering between me and the meticulously maintained garden several stories below us.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” His voice is low, and I barely hear it. He doesn’t look back at me and a chill flows across the back of my neck and down my arms as I take in his solemn expression.
It takes me back to years ago. Back to when we had a choice and chose wrong.
When whether or not we wanted to go through with any of this still meant something.
“There are men to the left of us,” I tell him as I step forward and close the distance between us. “There are men to the right. There is no possible outcome where we don’t pick a side.”
He nods once and slides his thumb across the stubble on his chin before looking back at me. “And the girl?” he asks, his piercing eyes reminding me that both of us fought, both of us survived, and we each had a tragic path that led us to where we are today.
“Aria?” I dare to speak her name and the sound of my smooth voice seems to linger in the space between
us. I don’t wait for him to acknowledge me—or her, rather.
“She has no choice.” My voice tightens as I say the words.
Clearing my throat, I brace my palms against the window, feeling the frigid fall beneath my hands and lean forward to see Addison beneath us. “What do you think they would have done to Addison if they’d succeeded in taking her?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t answer my question. Instead he replies, “We don’t know who tried to take her from me.”
I shrug as if it’s semantics and not at all relevant. “Still. Women aren’t meant to be touched, but they went for Addison first.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” Daniel says with indignation in his tone.
“Isn’t it better she come to us?” My head tilts as I pose the question and this time he takes a moment to respond.
“She’s not one of us. Not like Addison, and you know what Romano expects you to do with her.”
“Yes, the daughter of the enemy…” My heart beats hard in my chest, and the steady rhythm reminds me of the ticking of the clock. “I know exactly what he wants me to do with her.”
Chapter Two
Aria
There are a few things you should know about me.
I like to wake up with a hot cup of coffee every morning. Preferably with enough creamer and sugar to drown out the taste of the bitter caffeine addiction.
I love red wine at night. I can’t have white; it gives me a headache and a hangover that will leave me miserable when I wake up.
Well, those aren’t things that really matter. They’re the superficial details you give people when you don’t want to tell them the truth.
What do you really need to know?
My name is Aria Talvery and I’m the daughter of the most violent crime family in Fallbrook.
The reason I like to have wine at night is because I desperately need it so I can get a few hours of sleep.
My mother was murdered in front of me when I was only eight years old and I’ve never been okay since then, although I’ve learned to be good at pretending I am.
My father’s a crook, but he kept me safe and tolerated me even though every day he reminded me how much it hurt him to look at my face and see nothing but my mother.
It’s because of my eyes. I know it is.
They’re a hazel-green concoction, just like hers were. Like the soft mix of colors you’d see in a deep neck of the woods when looking up at the canopy of leaves in late summer, early fall. That’s how my mother used to describe it. She was poetic that way. And maybe some of that rubbed off on me.
Fact number… whatever we’re on: I love to draw. I hate the life I live and hide away in the sketches and smeared ink. Away from the madness and danger my existence inherently brings.
And that love of art, the one thing I have that still connects me to my mother, is why I ended up at this bar, tracking down the asshole who stole my sketchbook from me. The prick who thinks he’s funny and that I’m some stupid joke or a toy he can play with because I’m a woman living in a man’s world, a dangerous one at that.
But I inherited my temper from my father. And that’s why I ended up at the Iron Heart Brewery on Church Street. Yes, a bar on a street called “church.” What’s more ironic is how much sin has seeped into these walls.
And so I went willingly, after my precious notebook that was stolen and walked right into the enemy’s arms.
It was a setup, but my mother would have called it kismet. You should know I’m smiling now, but it’s a sarcastic smile as a huff of feigned laughter leaves me. Maybe all of this is her fault to begin with. After all, that notebook was irreplaceable to me because the only picture I had of her was tucked into the spine.
The last thing you should know, and the most important of them all, is that I refuse to break. I don’t give in and I don’t back down. Not for anyone, and especially not for Carter Cross. The bastard who took me from my family. Locked me in a room and told me in simple words that my life was over, and I belonged to him.
It won’t be his cutting words from his sharp tongue. Or his broad shoulders and muscular arms that pin me down and trap me. It won’t be his charming smile that utters filthy words that makes me cave. And it won’t be that spark in his eyes, the flames licking and flickering brighter and hotter every time he looks at me.
No, I refuse to give in. Even if that same heat echoes in my chest and travels lower.
But there’s this thing about breaking; the more you harden yourself and try to fight it, the easier and sharper the snap is when you inevitably break.
And I know this all too well.
* * *
The day my life changed forever…
There’s a constant ringing in my ears. My fists are clenched so tight that my knuckles have turned white. Every time I have to face these assholes my father works with, this is how it feels.
Like I’m on edge.
My heart thuds, thuds, thuds as I pass the all-glass front door to Iron Heart Brewery and keep walking like I’m not going in. The front exterior is all windows, so they can easily see who’s coming and going; bulletproof, too. Because of the clientele. Word is my father fronted that bill, but that seems overly generous for a man like him.
Cold. Selfish. Greedy. That’s how I’d describe my father, and I hate myself for it.
I should be grateful; I should love him. But I’m loyal at least, and loyalty is all that matters. When you grow up in this life, you learn that little tidbit quickly.
Resting my shoulder against the dark red brick just past the windows, I take a look at the parking lot across the street. They aren’t here yet.
A frustrated breath leaves a trail of fog in the tense fall air as I cross my arms.
This is where my father’s men go on a night off and I know Mika is going to be here.
I hate being here alone, but I can’t wait for someone to save me. I hope Nikolai will come with them too. He’s a childhood friend, although now a soldier of my father’s, and my saving grace. Really, he’s my only friend and he’s put that bastard Mika in his place more than once when my father wasn’t there for me.
Even knowing that to be true, that if Nikolai comes there won’t be any problems in the least, I hate that I have to be here at all. My thumb runs along the tips of my cold fingers, remembering how I held the notebook only moments before Mika came into the room. The photograph was tucked safely inside. Waiting for me to be inspired by it.
A notebook is only a notebook, but that photograph is the only one I have of my mother and me the year she died.
My father didn’t have time for my “meaningless shit,” as he called it, and the vise around my heart tightened at his response.
A shiver runs down my shoulders and I let out another heavy breath. I can feel the chill on my nose and cheeks. My thin jacket isn’t doing a damn thing to help me. I hadn’t realized fall had come with intentions of revenge on the smoldering summer.
Peeking up through my lashes, I read the chalkboard sign above the bar through the windows. They’re all locals, all drafts. I guess I could have one drink while I wait.
The smooth music hits my ears as I walk into the bar, my heart beating faster as I take in a few of the men seated on the stools. It’s funny how a bar being mostly empty sends greater fear through me than one that’s packed. One where I can blend in.
Right here, right now? I don’t belong, and every soul here knows it.
Maybe this is why Mika thought he could get away with it, I think bitterly as I try to ignore the scared little girl inside of me. He thinks he can steal from me because my father won’t stop him and I’m too spineless to even come out of my room unless called upon.
I force myself to straighten my back as I move closer to the bar and set down my clutch. I have a plan and I go over it as I try to swallow, form a smile, and order a drink.
“Vodka and Sprite,” I order easily as I slip onto the barstool and meet the bartender’s eyes. With a no
d he moves seamlessly to the glasses, making them clink and then filling one with ice.
I’ll wait for the guys. Even if they scare me because I know what they’re capable of. I’ll look Mika in the eyes and tell him to give my sketchbook back to me by tomorrow. And then I’ll walk away. No threats. It’s a simple request. He wants to play around and tease me and I won’t give him the time to do so. That’s the only reason he took it.
He gets a thrill from goading me.
The wind batters against the glass windows to my right and it startles me. None of the men lining the room seem to have noticed it.
I’m too busy watching the hanging sign for the brewery banging against the window that I don’t see the bartender come up to me.
The sound of the glass hitting the hard maple bar top sends a spike of fear through me and I jump in surprise.
The sudden stillness and immediate silence that accompanies all of their eyes on me force me to tense. I can barely form a smile as I stare straight ahead and thank the bartender.
First, I feel a rush of embarrassment, followed by fear that they know I’m weak. Then that all-consuming anxiety that everything is going to go wrong washes over me. Very wrong.
It makes me want to throw up, but instead, I lift the cold glass to my lips. One sip of the sweet cocktail does nothing. Two, and my throat still feels dry.
I’m a foolish girl. I lick a bit of soda from my bottom lip and set the glass down on the counter as I stare at all the colorful labels of liquor bottles lining the shelves.
There’s no one who will stand up for me and I can’t even bring myself to think about confrontation without getting jumpy. Trying to swallow proves useless and so I push myself off the stool with both hands clinging to the cold bar.
My palms are clammy, and I nearly tell the bartender I’m just going to the restroom as if he’d care. As if anyone cares.
That feeling of complete insignificance follows me with each step to the left of the bar as I head down a skinny hallway. It’s the only way to go, so the restrooms must be there. I only make it a few steps before I think I hear a shot. My body tenses and my heart goes still. It knows that if it were to beat, I wouldn’t be able to hear a single thing else.
Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance Page 162
