James nodded, absently. Once again, he was miles away in his own personal hell. I simply couldn’t believe the stunt these two had pulled on him.
"Yes, if James tries to take his own life again, I have promised to drop a bomb on London the size of a rather large football stadium. While I don't deal in weapons per se, with my contacts, it's easy enough to get them. If he can live with that on his conscience, then he can kill himself, but he hasn't. Yet. In fact, for the past few years, he's been so damned angelic, I'm not even sure James is in there anymore,” Alain said, with a mean little smile playing around the corners of his lips.
“Fuck you, you bastard. One day you’ll get yours. One day.” James’s words had no effect on Alain. The monster in front of me wasn’t scared of anything or anyone. He existed to torment others and inflict pain. It’s what made him tick. He was nothing short of hideous in every imaginable way, and plenty of others, too. The nauseating vibes that emanated from the man were so bad, I didn’t even want to be in the same room as him. He’s was the kind of bastard that could kill a little child and not bat an eyelid. A serial killer has nothing on the kind of sick Alain had mastered.
"Actually, I'm going to give you a break, James. I'm going to give Lois here a lock pick, and I'm going to lay my gun down in the middle of the room. If she can get herself out of those cuffs and grab the gun before I leave the room, she has two choices. She can kill you or me. Which one do you think she'll take, I wonder?" Placing the small lock pick in my damaged right hand, he then returned his chair to the back of the wall, before turning around to watch me.
I immediately fumbled with the small, steel tool, nearly dropping it. My right hand was in so much pain I could barely grip the thing, but I knew I only had one shot at this if I wanted to take the bastard down. I needed to fight through the pain and focus on my target. I can do this. I can.
Gripping the pick, I began to attack the locking mechanism, all the while keeping my eyes on Alain, who was now placing a gun on the floor, in the centre of the room. I would need to make a run for it to have any chance of killing my target because he was already walking towards the door.
“Lois, kill me. Please. I’ve been in this hell for too many years, now. I know how much you want Alain, but I need this more, and I can’t risk the consequences of trying to take my own life again. If you have any feelings for me, you’ll do this.” James’s voice was pleading, and it twisted my gut, but I had no option except to ignore him. There was no way I could kill him. If I wasn’t half in love with him, it might have been an option, but Alain was a threat to all I held dear, and if I killed him, most of James’s problems would die with him. Besides, I needed all my concentration on the lock in front of me. I would have seconds to reach that gun as it was, and every one would count.
"One more thing, Lois." Alain directed his voice to me, but I was too busy to look at him. Whatever he had to say, he could direct it at the top of my head. "If you fail to kill someone, the next person James fucks will be you, so you have every incentive to put that bastard out of his misery, don't you?" The sentence enraged me, as Alain tried his best to make sure I picked the right target, but he didn't know me very well if he thought I was going to put a bullet in James. He was the instigator of this mess, and I was going to kill him or die trying. That was what I had promised myself. I would eradicate him from the face of the earth, and there would be the biggest smile on my face when I did.
When the lock finally snicked open, I got to my feet and began racing towards the gun. Alain was now opening the door, and his movements were unhurried. Had he underestimated me?
"Lois!" The scream behind me was James, and his voice was full of anguish, but I paid him no attention. I needed to focus. Picking up the gun, I pointed it at Alain's body which had now picked up pace as he rushed behind the door. Taking no more than a second to aim, I fired, and the sound of the shot was deafening in my ears. Even though my injured hand wobbled, the bullet splintered into the doorframe, missing Alain by no more than half an inch as it closed soundlessly behind him. By my estimate, I was point five of a second too late.
Hearing a choked sob behind me, I fell to my knees, checking for more bullets. There were none. I’d used up my only shot. When the gun clattered to the floor in front of me, I knew that this was just the beginning of Alain’s twisted game of revenge, and unfortunately, I was now going to play a major part in it.
Unless I was much mistaken, my death was going to be drawn out over two weeks, and Adie’s game of stick-the-knife-in would look like child’s play in comparison.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered over and over again, but there was no response behind me.
What the fuck had I done?
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FIRE
I am the pawn in a twisted game of revenge. Two men want me, but for entirely different reasons. The one I love must avoid me at all costs. If he doesn't, I'll be slaughtered by his enemy – Alain Dumortier. If James Leveritt touches the same woman twice, she's dead.
Do I fear death? No. Is it something I want drawn out over two weeks as my lover watches me slowly bleed to death? That would be another no.
I need to figure a way out of this mess that won't end in pain, death, and destruction. I want my life back. It's not going to be easy - it might even be impossible – but if I go down, I'm going down fighting.
Please Help A Starving Author By Leaving A Review
Ok, so I lied about the starving part, but books need reviews on Amazon in order to sell. Without them, they wither and die, and so do the authors. Honest.
You don’t have to say much and you can stay anonymous – just set your Amazon reviewer name to something like ‘Amazon Reviewer 3982.’ Anyway, here are a few examples of what you could write if you were a truly wonderful person who didn’t mind doing a good deed every now and again:
This book was so awesome I forgot to feed my kids. Thankfully they reminded me, over and over again, so I haven’t managed to kill them yet. Phew.
This book sucked. It was even worse than a certain president’s infamous hairdo, and that is saying something.
James and Alain Dumortier are so hot, I want a threesome with both of them. As long as I’m allowed a safe word – because Alain is a little bit on the seriously freaky crazy side.
I would rather read War and Peace than this ridiculous smutty drivel and nonsense. Seriously – all Mandara talks about is orgasms, sex, and hot blokes. Who wants to read about that?
Ms. Mandara does not write quickly enough. I need her to release a book every month at the very least and she keeps me waiting for months, and worse – ends everything on a horrendous cliff hanger. I have a love/hate relationship with this author. She should probably be spanked.
This is not a good book to read on the train. Especially when the hot guy sitting next to me kept trying to read it over my shoulder.
Don’t ever read this book to your wife. She will demand sex for days on end and will suddenly become insatiable in bed. Seriously, I have been considering divorce…
Any of these will do (I’m more partial to the nice ones…) and it will give you extra karma points that will be returned to you in due course in the form of cookies, money, hugs, and wine. Honest.
THANK YOU!
I just need to say a big thank you to all the readers that stepped up to leave me an Amazon review for ‘Sparks and Smoke’ when I desperately pleaded for some on Facebook. Nearly twenty reviews were left which was so awesome it nearly made me cry. You people know who you are – and you are AMAZING.
Another big thank you to all my wonderful beta readers who always step up to the rather tricky task of reading my books before they’ve had a good edit. Without you my books would probably be unreadable as you manage to figure out that my heroine can’t see things when she’s wearing a blindfold, and that it’s really d
ifficult for her to talk if she’s gagged. You also help me to correct my numerous errors and give me your truthful opinions, which are more valuable than pixie dust. (The stuff that makes you fly without wings). (That is what pixie dust does, right?)
So, for everyone who’s helped me along the way, thank you, thank you, and thank you! I don’t like to name names, given the dark nature of my books, but I am sending virtual hugs instead. They are valid for the next twenty-four hours only, though. So grab ‘em quick ;)
Love ‘n hugs to all xxx
Bio
Christina Mandara was born in the UK, but has spent most of her life travelling the world. She speaks three languages and has been chiefly employed in the fields of finance and travel. Her favourite city is Sydney, and her favourite holiday destination is the south of France.
She loves keeping fit and enjoys running, cycling, and water sports. Think surfing or sailing. She's a big fan of BDSM in all of its glorious forms, and her favourite item in the toy closet (a box simply isn't big enough) is her riding crop.
In her spare time she's usually cuddled up with a good book, exploring the countryside, or baking in the kitchen. In fact, she loves her kitchen so much she's one of few woman who wouldn't mind being tied to it! Her first and foremost love is writing, however, and more often than not you'll find her on a laptop spinning tales of romance, erotica, or dark, paranormal fantasies.
Christina’s Social Media Hangouts:
C.P. Mandara’s Newsletter: http://bit.ly/1MVubkR
C.P. Mandara’s Facebook Street Team: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1021736604577782
FaceBook: https://www.facebook.com/CPMandara
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/c-p-mandara
Twitter: https://twitter.com/cpmandara
Website: http://christinamandara.com
GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7113521.C_P_Mandara
Amazon Author Page: http://author.to/CPMandara
Also By C.P. Mandara:
BDSM Erotica
The Riding School (Pony Tales #1)
Learning The Ropes (Pony Tales #2)
Hot To Trot (Pony Tales #3)
Named and Shamed (Pony Tales #4)
A Rough Ride (Pony Tales #5)
The Ties That Bind (Pony Tales #6)
The Velvet Chair (Pony Tales #7, Velvet Lies #1)
The Velvet Caress (Pony Tales #8, Velvet Lies #2)
Paranormal Erotica and Light BDSM
Desiring Death
Good As Dead
Turn over for some naughty previews!
Named And Shamed
GOOD EVENING
The Mercedes coupé slunk silently through the evening traffic, sneaking in and out of lanes with stealth and speed. Like a bullet made of liquid silver, the six litre engine had eaten up several hundred miles of motorway with sublime ease and was now purring happily in the smog-filled heart of London. Comfortably stretched out in one of its grey, Nappa leather seats, the driver was in a world of his own. His knuckles were tightly clamped around the steering wheel and it was evident that the events of his day had been stressful. The bittersweet strains of Beethoven’s Moonlight
Sonata could be heard throughout the vehicle, but the dulcet tones did not manage to soothe its occupant.
After forty minutes of queuing, the driver finally reached his destination, exited swiftly and tossed his keys to a waiting valet. In the heart of London, the city played its usual vibrant tune and the sounds of honking horns, noisy car stereos and cursing motorists could be heard. Usually, he barely even noticed them, but this evening they appeared to be amplified to unbearable proportions. His usual smile was absent and the state of agitation he found himself in grew with each passing second. Walking purposefully towards the revolving doors of the sheet glass skyscraper that towered in front of him, the only sound that could be heard was the receptionist as she scraped back her chair and rose to greet him.
“Good evening, Sir. I hope you had...”
“Thank you, Lucinda.” He shut the blonde down with those three clipped words and continued walking. Initially her eyes flared with shock, but recovering quickly, she looked carefully at the floor before re-seating herself. She didn’t quite manage to hide her disappointed expression. Although they had been intimate on several occasions, the blonde was not what he needed today. He required a brunette and not just any brunette. He wanted a trained accomplice for the deeds he had in mind. He would find one of those several metres up in the air.
Pressing the button for the elevator he waited until a melodic ping announced its arrival. Immediately stepping inside, the doors closed swiftly behind him and he rode in contemplative silence until they opened their jaws on the twenty first and uppermost floor.
“Good evening, Mr...”
Another chair moved and another blonde shot up to try and greet him. “I want Marianna in my office, now,” he barked.
Unlike the female downstairs, Kerry had the benefit of at least three years of submissive training. His surly demeanour and sharp commands immediately primed her for action.
“And tell her to bring me a cup of coffee and an aspirin.”
He strode purposefully to the dark panelled door to the left of him, which bore his name plate in scripted gold lettering and pulled it open wide. He rifled through the papers on his desk and checked his messages. There was nothing that wouldn’t wait until tomorrow, which was good. This evening, he had plans and lots of them. No sooner had he sat himself down, than Marianna’s high heels could be heard marching efficiently down the corridor. Kerry had obviously relayed the news of his good humour. He almost smiled.
The long-haired brunette entered gracefully, bearing a silver salver with a cup of black coffee, a tall glass of water and a blister pack of tablets. She laid it to rest on his giant, solid mahogany desk and gracefully fell to the floor beside it. On her knees, she kept her eyes downcast and tilted her head forward. Her arms were then neatly folded behind her back.
So, this was the lovely Marianna. He vaguely remembered employing her. Unlike most of the girls in his office, she had been hired chiefly for her computer skills rather than any other purpose. Of
course, the girl was a beauty, but then... they all were. Her long chestnut hair framed her face in delicate waves, she had a pair of sparkling green emerald eyes which could dazzle a lesser man and her lips were full and ripe for the taking, dressed only in a thin coat of clear gloss. They were currently posed in the most deliciously sensuous pout. For a couple of quiet minutes, he allowed himself the pleasure of admiring her tantalising form. The sheer white blouse that she wore accentuated her full breasts and he could see wisps of white lace beneath it. The knee length black skirt did nothing to cool his ardour because he was already imagining what it might be concealing. Most of his submissives knew that he preferred his women clean shaven and without the additional hindrance of underwear, but he would have to wait and see what delights this one would reveal. He suspected she’d toe the line. The penalties of misbehaviour in his office were often detrimental to the health of one’s backside... amongst other things.
He had never used her. It was no secret that he had a preference for blondes and eighty per cent of the woman in his office conformed to this whim. The brunettes were there purely for decoration. They were often used by his colleagues or a visitor, but rarely, if ever, by him.
It was clear that she was nervous by the faint ripple of movement which flowed through her body and so she should be. Women talked and the other ladies in his office had many tales to tell. Tonight, this beautiful creature was going to be used as he had used no-one else in his office before. He punched two chalky white tablets from their plastic coating and let his fingers rest upon the highball glass. There was a slight wobble in his hand as he reached for the water, and it annoyed him. He needed to calm down and he needed release. One would probably follow the other, although the order might need to be reversed. Swallowing the tablets, he began to envision how
his evening would unfold.
“Stand.” The command was soft, but there was no disguising the edge to his voice. She obeyed instantly. “I want my coffee, Marianna.” His voice was a growl and his eyes appeared almost evil in their obvious carnal intent.
To her credit, Marianna didn’t miss a beat. She took hold of the platinum edged cup and proffered the beverage towards him.
Finally, his mouth turned upwards at the corners. “That is not how I want to drink my coffee.” The girl looked at him blankly and stood frozen in an obvious state of panic.
He took pity on her. “Take a sip, but do not swallow. Remember those words. I’ll be using some of them again, later this evening.” Finally, a smile left the contours of his lips. He waited for her to obey.
Raising the cup, she took a tiny sip of the scalding brew and waited. He let her wait. She could cool the damn stuff down, as the girls always made it too hot. He watched as she struggled for a moment with the heat. He could see the slight downturn of her eyelids and the pinched set to her face. The beautiful emerald eyes changed briefly from their transparent crystal sheen to cloudy pools of discomfiture. His need to devour her grew.
Flames (A Special Agent Novel Book 3) Page 28
