by S. Massery
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by S. Massery
All rights reserved.
Editing by Studio ENP
Cover Design by Opulent Swag & Designs
Cover Photo by Wander Aguiar
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Blurb
Aiden DeSantis is savage, cruel, and wild. The untamed new heir of the DeSantis Mafia.
He hunts my father and brother, but he finds me instead.
The girl he fixated on for years.
The one person he could never have.
And now that he’s captured me, he wants to keep me.
He might be savage, but I’m reckless.
And in a battle of hearts and sacrifices, only one of us can win.
Contents
Playlist
Introduction & Warning
1. Gemma
2. Gemma
3. Aiden
4. Gemma
5. Gemma
6. Aiden
7. Gemma
8. Gemma
9. Gemma
10. Gemma
11. Aiden
12. Gemma
13. Aiden
14. Gemma
15. Gemma
16. Aiden
17. Gemma
18. Gemma
19. Aiden
20. Gemma
21. Aiden
22. Gemma
23. Gemma
24. Aiden
25. Gemma
26. Gemma
Sneak peek at Wicked Dreams
Acknowledgments
Also by S. Massery
About the Author
For Dad
Thank you doesn’t seem quite adequate enough for all you do for me.
Playlist
Chlorine - Twenty One Pilots
Euphoria - bülow
Ribcage - Plested
MonyOnMyMind - UPSAHL
Bloody valentine - Machine Gun Kelly
Way With Words - The Wrecks
Lies - Ivy Adara
Save Yourself - KALEO
Introduction & Warning
Hello dear reader!
PLEASE NOTE: this book ends on a cliffhanger. It’s book one of a duet. Also, our hero and heroine behave questionably at times, so reader discretion is advised.
I recommend reading Ruthless Saint prior to Savage Prince, although it’s not necessary to enjoy Gemma and Aiden’s story!
There are spoilers for Ruthless Saint in this book.
xoxo,
Sara
1
Gemma
He comes to me in the dead of night.
I haven’t slept in two days, and my hands tremble slightly when I hold them out in front of me. There’s a single lamp on the floor of this room. Otherwise, the place is deserted.
I’ve been hiding out in my Aunt Mary’s house. She uses Rose Hill as a sort of safe escape from the city. We had parties here growing up, and I slept in this very room more times than I can count. After my mom died, my aunt stepped in as my designated female role model.
I never blamed her for that. She was pushed into it by my well-intentioned father.
She left with the rest of the women a week and a half ago.
My brother followed her route less than forty-eight hours ago… and thus began my sleepless patrol.
I left a cookie sheet leaning against all the doors, and the loud clanging alerts me to his presence. I stand and move to the bathroom. My phone has been plugged in, waiting. I shoot off a quick text, then seal it in its plastic bag and drop it into the back of the toilet. Carefully, I replace the ceramic lid and move away.
I imagine he’ll do a sweep of the downstairs, then venture up—and I’ll get another warning.
Snap-snap-snap.
Mouse traps. A layer of them on the first four steps of the staircase. I thought it might be overkill, but only three go off. Still, I’ve got to give him props: he isn’t swearing. He’s not making any noise at all. They may not have caused any damage. Like the cookie sheets, they were there to sound an alarm of sorts.
I close my eyes and try to remember what Dad told me before he left.
He pinched life into my cheeks, then kissed my forehead. A way of saying goodbye, I think. Even though this was mostly my idea, my nerves were shot.
“You’re saving us, Gemma,” he said.
The need to be important had puffed my chest, but now I wonder why I must be the one to save them.
Wilder DeSantis was murdered eight weeks ago. My family watched from the sidelines as they hunted for the truth… but the truth led them to us.
The Wests and the DeSantises have never seen eye to eye—not in business, territory, socially, and certainly not morally. The feud goes back generations. And the stories my father used to tell Colin and I before bed were enough to turn my stomach. I didn’t want the violence to live under my skin. Colin, though… he ingested the loathing without question.
We didn’t speak about what happened to Wilder, but if I had to guess? It was someone in my immediate family.
Aiden DeSantis, Wilder’s brother, seemed to land on the same conclusion. Rumors spread through the boroughs that he was looking for my brother.
Dad forbade me from asking Colin about it. How do you accuse your own brother of murder, anyway? The papers wrote a short article about Wilder’s death, painting him as a good Samaritan and businessman, but there’s been hardly any mention. No police visits, no investigative reporting. It’s like the world forgot about him.
“Gemma.”
My gaze snaps to the door.
Aiden is little more than a silhouette in the dark, a version of Peter Pan’s trickster shadow. I would recognize him anywhere—and that’s where the danger lies. In the way he says my name, and how he holds his shoulders. And my recognition.
I turn away from him, smoothing the front of my dress.
“You’re the only one here,” he says. “Why?”
I laugh. I can’t help it.
Three years ago, he gave me the best day of my life. It seems so distant now, the way he smiled. The carefree feeling that lit me up like a sparkler. I was sixteen and miserable, and he knew how to make it better.
If I’d only asked his last name before I’d climbed in his car…
Part of me knows, deep down, that betrayal is one of the reasons why I’m here.
He’s waiting for an answer, but I don’t have one.
I lift the bag at my feet, slinging it over my shoulder. “What will you do with me?”
“They left you here.” He crosses his arms, unfazed by my packed bag.
He didn’t answer my question.
I have toiletries and a change of clothes. A card preloaded with money hides under the sole of my left boot, just in case this gets away from my control. It’s laughable, really—I have no control. I lost it the moment Aiden stepped foot inside the house.
If I move too quickly, my ankle feels the wrath of the knife strapped there. It’s in a sheath, and the whole thing is barely hidden under the top of my boot, but that means nothing.
To have a fighting chance, I’ve got to keep my shoes.
My mind threatens to run away from me with that sort of logic, so I h
ead toward Aiden. It’s a bit like approaching a lion.
“They didn’t leave me here,” I counter. “I stayed.”
Now that I’m closer, I meet his burning eyes.
“Quite a distinction,” he says lightly. “Where’s Kai?”
I swallow. My Aunt Mary’s son used to go by Kaiden, but it was apparently too close to Aiden’s name for his liking. He started helping my father more and became Kai. Is that who Aiden expected to find tonight, sitting in the dark? Kai and Colin are close.
Where one goes, the other follows.
Ironically, Kai became more like Aiden as he got older. He had darkness inside him that scared me as a child. I outgrew it—came to appreciate it, actually. He taught Colin how to protect himself from everyone, including himself.
But I’m not scared now. Determination fills me.
Aiden shakes his head. “Come now, princess. If you’re going to be the bait, at least make it worth my while.”
I grip the strap of my bag and keep my expression bland. On the inside, though, my heart has grown hummingbird wings. It takes everything I have not to give in to the frantic feeling.
“Do you want me to dance?”
“Maybe.” His eyes darken.
I lift my chin.
The truth is, Father and I hadn’t planned for more than this moment. I knew I would get caught, whether it be by Aiden or his brother, Luca. But now that we’re here, I don’t know what to expect next. I didn’t think I would have to convince him to take me.
Deep down, I’ve been preparing for him to beat me, drag me out of here by my hair. The violence of it soothed me for the past two nights.
Whatever befalls me won’t reach Colin.
“Okay,” he says, quietly coming to some sort of decision in his head. “Let’s go.”
“Go?”
He smiles how a wolf might smile at its prey. “You’re packed. It implies you know what I mean when I say go.”
I flash back to sixteen years old. Aiden sitting beside me on the curb. He nudged my arm and offered me a tissue, then gave me his hands and helped me to my feet. And away we went. I didn’t question it. I was so ready to leave school behind, and so we left.
“Where?”
“You’re in no position to ask questions.” He strides across the room and stops just within reach.
The lamp at his back casts his face in shadow. I don’t think I’d be able to read his mind even if I could see his eyes, though.
He offers his hand.
This is wrong.
But he’s right: I’m not in a position to ask questions.
I slip past him, out of the room and down the hall. I avoid the last trap he didn’t spring: a metal bucket of water precariously perched on a side table, and the string about an inch off the floor that would’ve brought it down.
His chuckle follows me. “This is like Home Alone.”
How many times did I pace this hallway in the dark, wondering if he was going to slip past my defenses? It’s part of the reason I haven’t slept in so long. Exhaustion tugged at me constantly, but the ebb and flow of adrenaline wouldn’t let me do more than doze.
I’m wide awake right now. I’ll crash eventually. When I’m safe, or when my body gives out.
“You’re not as talkative as you once were, Gemma West.”
I flinch. “I was taught to not talk to our enemies.”
He’s right behind me on the stairs, and he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. He pushes me against the wall. “Is that what I am?”
“You and your mind games,” I huff. “Yes, you are. You’re a DeSantis. You’re hunting my family down like a wild dog. Did you expect a warm reception, Aiden? Or did you think a fight might be more suitable for our environment?”
He grins. “You really do put on a strong act.”
I meet his gaze. “You could’ve told me your name when you kidnapped me.”
“Ah.” Aiden’s smile widens. “I did, don’t you remember? I told you my name.”
First names only. For an afternoon, I was just Gemma. I contemplate what that must’ve been like for him—to be just Aiden with me. A moment in time where our families didn’t exist.
But the whole time, he was talking to his dad. There was a photo later, proof that he had me in his car. It was just of my profile as I stared out the window, but when Mom showed it to me, I wondered how I’d missed it.
How did I miss that an afternoon of walking the pier and eating ice cream could’ve been threatening? Did he have a knife in his hand when he guided me along? Or was I that easy to manipulate?
“Did they keep you in the dark, dear Gemma?”
I stiffen.
He touches one of my loose curls. “When did you start to believe in monsters?”
I knock his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”
It happens too quickly: he grips my chin and yanks me forward. My chest hits his arm, and I inhale sharply. He smells good—but that’s not what I need to be focusing on, brain.
“You’re not in charge,” he says in my ear. “You gave that up the moment you decided to remain behind.”
I jerk my head to the side and stare back up the stairs. “You’ll never understand why I stayed back.”
His gaze sears into the side of my face, but I don’t face him. Uncomfortable heat winds under my skin as he examines me.
“Maybe not,” he allows. “But now it’s time to go. I expect whoever you warned of my arrival will be waiting for us downstairs.”
I narrow my eyes.
He takes my arm. He lets me lead the way, but he doesn’t release me. I focus on the intake of breath, on my exhales. The house is silent and still.
No one is coming for me.
What’s the point of a sacrifice if we get blown to bits before it comes to fruition? I see myself as the roadblock. I stop—or at least distract—Aiden from continuing his hunt.
By now, Colin should be well out of town.
Dad is probably back home in Brooklyn.
Neither of them will spare me a second thought.
“No one is out there,” I say suddenly.
We navigate past the mouse traps and into the foyer. This house is old, Victorian style. Many hallways and hideaway spots. He seems to realize the pitfalls because we creep through it slower.
“Quiet,” he orders.
I bite back my retort. We head for the front door, and I spot the fallen cookie sheet a few feet away. It was bold of him to come in the front—but nothing I wouldn’t expect from a DeSantis. This neighborhood wouldn’t be awake at this hour. It’s inching toward three o’clock. There are faint, faint pink streaks in the sky, visible through the window.
“Smart,” he says in my ear. His breath creates goosebumps down my neck. “I wasn’t expecting you to be crafty.”
“Did you think I’d just hide in the closet?”
He pauses.
I hate that I want to know what he thinks I’d do. How accurate of a picture he has of me.
But he doesn’t end up answering me at all. He swings open the door and guides me through ahead of him.
I’m his shield, but the street is utterly silent. Just his car parked in front of the house, only yards away.
“You really think I lured you here as a trap.” I grimace. “I’m not stupid.”
Aiden DeSantis is cunning. It’s part of his allure—and what makes him lethal. People have tried to trap him and failed.
Take, for example, the Eldridge family.
Here one day, obliterated the next.
Aiden wears that on his conscience… if he even has one.
There’s a rumor he’s lacking in that department.
“You’re not,” he agrees. “Which is why, when I put you in the car, you’re not going to move.”
I almost ask for clarification, but I don’t want him to have that satisfaction.
We make it to the car, and he opens the passenger door for me. Everything is a test, it seems. Am I going to get in and be
a willing participant in… whatever scheme he’s about to fulfill? Or will this be by force?
I contemplate him for a moment, then get in the car. He slams my door closed and goes to the trunk. He jogs back to the house with two jugs. I’m still trying to figure it out when an orange glow appears in one of the windows.
No.
I scramble to open the door, falling on my face in my rush to get out. He’s setting Aunt Mary’s house on fire—he can’t. That’s years of West history stored in those walls. Memories with my parents. My mother.
Without thought, I run inside.
Stupid Gemma.
I only take a moment to curse myself before I remember the fire extinguisher on the wall going down to the basement. The shelf was lined with dust-covered things: old paint, folded canvases, tools, and that, the red canister.
I don’t see Aiden on my way to the basement door. Flames crackle up the curtains in the living room. This house is made of old, dry wood. Dark smoke billows up to the ceiling, drifting inches above my head. I cover my mouth with my shirt sleeve and lunge for the extinguisher.
Working it is another issue—and where to start?
I hate the panic clawing at my throat. It’s suffocating.
Focus. I run into the kitchen.
