Blurb
Lilliana would do anything for her dad. But the bond of family can be a knife that cuts deep. Her father owed a lot of money. In the ultimate betrayal, he bartered Lilliana as his payment.
Traded to her brother's best friend. The man who she once loved, her childhood prince.
Malachi Kingston is now the monster who stole her freedom.
Yet as secrets from the past surface, the pair battle against their darkest desires.
Blood will be spilled. Heart will be broken. Bullets will fly and lives will be lost.
From author Raven Amor comes, Owned by Him, a suspenseful dark romance that will leave readers breathless!
Owned by Him
First Edition published in 2020
Text Copyright ©Raven Amor
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Editing by Stephanie Farrant at Farrant Editing
Proofreading By Gemma Woolley at Gem’s Precise Proofreads
Cover Design by Simply Beautiful Cover Designs
Formatter - Formatting Bunnies
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means; electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover, other than that in which it is published, without the prior written permission of the author.
Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Foreword
Owned by Him
By Raven Amor
This book is based in London so is written in
British English, you may find some spelling different to American English
Love Raven.
This isn't your typical love story. It is the kind that breaks your soul into a thousand pieces and glues it back together in time for you to feel every ounce of its wild emotion.
1
Lilliana
Jack only ever calls me for money. Which, as a rule, is to bail him out of some type of trouble. The last few days, his voicemails have been frantic, enough that I’ve just ended a fourteen-hour shift at the hospital, and instead of going home, I’m walking up the staircase to his flat, assaulted by the stench of urine. It’s so pungent, so acidic, that it’s making my eyes water and nose burn. Empty cider bottles and beer cans clutter each tread I take; it’s like trying to dodge a damn minefield with all the discarded trash. The once grey walls are now covered in graffiti, as if I’m following some screwed up yellow brick road that’s leading me home.
I promised myself the last time I came to his rescue that I wouldn’t do it anymore. Swore blind that if the time ever came again when Jack needed bailing out, I’d leave him be, let him fend for himself. No matter how much I say that it’ll be the last time, I can’t leave him when he needs me. Can’t turn my back and cut him off. I wish I had the ability to be as selfish as him. That I could tell him no.
He knows that I love him, no matter how many times he lets me down, and he uses my blind love as a weapon against me. Manipulates me with the right words so that no matter how many times I hang up on him, I still end up going out and searching the roughest alleys and shittiest bars looking for him; emptying my life savings to bail him out of his latest mess.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I hit the top step. I know this feeling; you don’t grow up on Ark Hill estate, the worst estate in London, and not take note when lead fills your stomach and a cold shiver travels down your spine. My eyes dart around, and that’s when I notice the door to his flat is a little ajar. A chill goes through me, causing my whole body to shudder as I push it further open. “Jack?” My voice is a whisper against my lips.
I should turn around. Should run. I’ve seen this play out in the movies and have shouted at the TV screen often enough when it's obvious the killer is in the room. But just as those airheads walk through the door and into harm's way, I step through Jack’s, ignoring all the warnings.
The place hasn’t changed; the walls still yellow-stained from Jack’s chain smoking, cobwebs hanging in the corners, wooden floor chipped and stained, broken in some places. No family portraits cover the walls.
As I move further into the flat, there’s a thud. A low groan fills the air, making my stomach drop at the brutal sound. Not long after the first, a second thud breaks the silence again. This time I recognise the sound as flesh breaking flesh. The sound is so familiar it's like a nursery rhyme. Then there’s the expected groan of pain when someone is hurt, something deep and guttural.
The air fills with bone-crushing sounds, followed by whimpers and howls, like a wounded animal. I move quicker, fear no longer having a space in my mind. I just need to help whoever is at the receiving end of these skin-splitting blows.
Rounding the corner, my eyes widen as Jack’s battered and bloody body comes into sight. I come to a halt and take in his appearance; blood staining his clothes and hair, arm twisted in a way that tells me it’s dislocated or broken. His left eye is almost swollen shut, only a glimpse of the usual deep brown iris showing. Blood is dripping from his mouth to the floor and—oh my god, is that a tooth?
“Who are you?” The deep voice resonates from a shaded corner of the room. With my mind taking in the scene before me, I hadn’t expected the dangerous voice. Each word is pronounced, the voice of a man meant to be heard, respected. I feel like the Bogeyman himself has crawled out of his shadows and spoken to me. The fear I tried to push down starts to swirl, making my legs tense, ready to run as I sway between fight and flight. I take another glance at Jack, and I know, just like every other time, that I could never leave him.
I lift my gaze to the three men standing above him, their knuckles red, Jack’s blood splatters covering their arms and faces. All three are wearing matching sinister smiles. I realise then that it wasn’t one of them who had spoken to me. The air suddenly changes as the temperature drops, goose-bumps covering my skin as a chill fills the room. The unexpected coldness makes it feel like it’s the middle of winter, not the warm, humid heat of August.
Movement in the corner catches my attention. A lone figure is hidden in the shadows. All I can make out is his outline. The darkness conceals his face, and it’s unnerving. Just his presence screams danger, and it has my heart racing. I want to scream, but it’s lodged in my throat as I’m frozen to the spot. My imagination runs rampant as images of him stepping out of his veil of darkness and killing us flash through my mind. I try to work out a way to get out of this. I didn’t survive this place to die here.
My chest rises and falls in rapid succession and I will myself to calm down.
The details I can make out are limited, but I gather that he’s tall; his shoulders wide and framed by a suit, with a black shirt that is open to just below the collar, stretching across a chiselled chest. Gold cufflinks glisten when they catch the slightest bit of light, and a Rolex watch sits snug on his wrist, emphasising a thick forearm. I can make out a trim waist with a belt and gold buckle, and smart trousers that cover thick thighs. Finishing the look are leather shoes that are so clean you could eat your dinner off them. The way the light casts over his body but leaves his face in the shade reminds me of Belle seeing the Beast for the first time. There is something familiar about the way he’s dressed, the way he stands; strong legs parted, back straight. Confident, self-assured.