**Now Available in Print for the First Time!**
In a family of cold-hearted black sheep, I, Axel Rutherford, am the blackest.
My father has hated me since the day I was born. The feeling was mutual. In the shady underworld that was my legacy, Cleo McCarthy became my light. She was beautiful, passionate, and my whole world. So naturally my father had to destroy us. First he sent me away. Next he claimed Cleo as his own. But now I've returned, and nothing will stop me from taking back everything that is rightfully mine.
He was the love of my life—when my life was still my own.
We were young enough to believe we would last forever, Axel and I. But neither of us realized how cruel life—
and our families—could be. Now I'm trapped in a gilded cage: desired by Axel, who must never know the full truth, and controlled by his father, who would sooner see me dead than free. And I wouldn't even care, except that it's no longer only my life at stake.
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Excerpt
I trust no one. But like I do with Quinn
Blackwood, the Black Widow and I share a special bond. Not one I would swear
life or death on by a long shot. But there’s an…understanding. She’s the only
one who’s been allowed into my special room, the only one who knows the
ingredients of my sweet poison. The only one who’s seen what this room does to
me. The longest I’ve been able to withstand is five hours.
Her concern is warranted.
I see her swallow before she reaches into her
pocket. The small remote is directly linked to the chains. She sets the time
but hesitates before pressing the requisite button.
Boldly she steps up to me, and she slides her
hands through the hair at my nape. I jerk away but cannot escape her touch
because of the cuffs. She stops, staring down at me with narrowed eyes.
I'm on the edge. Hell, who the fuck am I kidding?
I was born on the edge. But tonight I’m a whisper
away from annihilation and we both know it.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Fuck no. Hell yes.”
She opens her mouth.
“No,” I preempt her.
“I don’t have to stay here with you, but I can be
outside.”
“No. Press the button. Don’t make me repeat
myself.”
“Axel…”
I close my eyes and shudder as my fists ball. I
want to hear my name, but I don’t want the voice to be The Black Widow’s.
There’s only one voice I want to hear right now. One face I want to see.
Cleo’s.
“Do it and leave. Now.”
“I will, but at least let me come back and check
on you—”
“Say another word and I’ll fire you.”
Her eyes harden to ice chips. “Fuck you. Have your
six hours if you want. But I’m coming back in three hours to check on you. Fire
me then if you want.”
With a defiant flick of her wrist, she sets the
timer down between my feet, within touching distance.
The moment her back is turned, I kick the remote.
It bounces against the last step and skids sideways halfway across the room.
She hesitates, her back stiff, but she doesn’t turn back around. In silence,
she leaves.
The moment the door shuts, twenty projectors on
the dark gray walls flicker to life. Large, small, and in-between, they take up
every inch of the circular wall. If space allowed I would have had more screens
put in, but I work with what I have.
Each one is set on a half-hour loop at full volume
with a different video. With barely an inch between them, they could be one
jumbled-up picture but I know each screen like I know the length of my cock.
I take a deep breath as the first reel plays on
the middle screen. The chair moves, the wheels beneath the floor spinning it
slowly around.
Fading sunlight dapples over a lake before the
camera swings to the figure in the tiny white bikini fleeing a large wave.
The wave catches her, splashes up to mid-thigh.
She shrieks. “Omigod, you’re such a
liar. The water is collllldd—What are
you doing?”
“What does it look like?”
She approaches. Her hands come up to block the
lens. “Stop filming me. I look fat.”
A different set of hands reaches out to grasp
hers, gently nudging hers aside. “You don’t look fat, Cleo. You’re perfect.”
Feminine hands curl around a masculine one.
Together they slowly lower until long-lashed, deep blue knowing eyes stare into the camera. “You’re only saying that
because you’re in love with me.” Sultry words whispered from between
kiss-swollen lips.
“Yes, I’m saying that because I’m in love with
you.” Gruff, hopelessly young, newly broken voice, thick with seething emotion.
“I’m also saying it because I have fucking eyes in my fucking head.”
A naughty, goes-straight-to-an-eager-cock giggle.
“You’re so bad swearing all the time.
Daddy says he’ll paddle my behind if he catches me swearing.”
A wobble of the camera before it steadies. “If he
lays a fucking hand on you, I’ll tear his fucking head off.” A voice no longer
gruff, hard with rigid purpose. Harsh breathing. “I mean it, Cleo. I see so
much as a scratch on you, someone will fucking die.”
A gasp. “You can’t say things like that!”
“I can. I fucking am. Because you belong to me. I
don’t care who created you. You are mine. No one else is fucking allowed to
touch you. No one is allowed to take you away from me, do you hear me?”
A bite of her lip as her nostrils flutter in a
shaky inhale. “You’re scaring me.”
Deep, harsh breath. “Am I? Really? Tell the truth.
Are you scared, Cleo?” Camera poised with intent, recording every flutter of
her lashes.
A pause. A firming of plump lips. Then a shake of
the head. Thick, vibrant locks frame her stunning face.
“Say it. I want to hear you say how it makes you
feel when I say this to you.”
“It…it excites me.”
“That I claim you as mine?”
A shy nod.
“What else excites you?”
A flick of her gaze between the lens and the face
behind it. “Come on. I can’t say it on camera.” She reaches out.
The camera angles away from her but remains on
her. Focused. Rabid. “Tell me.” The voice that will one day command hell
itself.
“It excites me when you say that you’ll do…all of
that for me.”
“All of what?”
“That you’ll…tear his head off.”
“I fucking will.” A solemn promise. A brief pause.
“You think I’m a sick psycho?”
“I think you’re…you’re…”
“What?”
“I think you’re effing amazing.”
“Effing?”
Pink color stains her cheeks. “Don’t tease me.”
“I won’t if you say the word. The actual word, Cleo.”
“I won’t.”
“Right. Then I’m not as amazing as you want me to
think, am I?”
Blue eyes, opened wide. “You are.”
“Then say it. You’re not going to burn for it.
It’s just a word.”
“I hate you when you’re like this.”
“You don’t hate me, but fine. Don’t say it.”
The camera swings out to the lake, to the setting
sun that’s almost swallowed up by the orange water.
THE DARK DESIRES SERIES
BEAUTIFUL LIAR, #1
BLACK SHEEP, #2
WICKED S.O.B, #2.5
ARROGANT BASTARD, #3
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Zara Cox has been writing for
almost twenty-five years but it wasn't until nine years ago that she decided to
share her love of writing sexy, gritty stories with anyone outside her close
family (the over 18s anyway!).
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