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Turn the page to read excerpts from Tormentor Mine and Diamonds in the Dust, and to learn more about our books. And don’t miss the first sneak peek into Terrible Beauty, the new dark romance by Anna Zaires featuring Alina, Nikolai’s sister from the Molotov Obsession duet.
Excerpt from Tormentor Mine by Anna Zaires
He came to me in the night, a cruel, darkly handsome stranger from the most dangerous corners of Russia. He tormented me and destroyed me, ripping apart my world in his quest for vengeance.
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Now he’s back, but he’s no longer after my secrets.
* * *
The man who stars in my nightmares wants me.
“Are you going to kill me?”
She’s trying—and failing—to keep her voice steady. Still, I admire her attempt at composure. I approached her in public to make her feel safer, but she’s too smart to fall for that. If they’ve told her anything about my background, she must realize I can snap her neck faster than she can scream for help.
“No,” I answer, leaning closer as a louder song comes on. “I’m not going to kill you.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
She’s shaking in my hold, and something about that both intrigues and disturbs me. I don’t want her to be afraid of me, but at the same time, I like having her at my mercy. Her fear calls to the predator within me, turning my desire for her into something darker.
She’s captured prey, soft and sweet and mine to devour.
Bending my head, I bury my nose in her fragrant hair and murmur into her ear, “Meet me at the Starbucks near your house at noon tomorrow, and we’ll talk there. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
I pull back, and she stares at me, her eyes huge in her pale face. I know what she’s thinking, so I lean in again, dipping my head so my mouth is next to her ear.
“If you contact the FBI, they’ll try to hide you from me. Just like they tried to hide your husband and the others on my list. They’ll uproot you, take you away from your parents and your career, and it will all be for nothing. I’ll find you, no matter where you go, Sara… no matter what they do to keep you from me.” My lips brush against the rim of her ear, and I feel her breath hitch. “Alternatively, they might want to use you as bait. If that’s the case—if they set a trap for me—I’ll know, and our next meeting won’t be over coffee.”
She shudders, and I drag in a deep breath, inhaling her delicate scent one last time before releasing her.
Stepping back, I melt into the crowd and message Anton to get the crew into positions.
I have to make sure she gets home safe and sound, unmolested by anyone but me.
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Excerpt from Diamonds in the Dust by Charmaine Pauls
Men like us, we see things.
We do things, things that make us unfeeling.
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That’s the price of power and money, of living la belle vie and running the French mafia. Then she came along like a pretty wildflower pushing through the cracks on a dirty pavement—fragile yet resilient, a breath of beauty among the filth. She was supposed to be just another job, a nameless person I was to pluck from her life and hand to my brother, nothing but a pawn in the gamble of our diamond business.
* * *
There’s a psychological label for men like us.
We lack empathy and guilt.
We do things to have what we want, things that make flowers wilt.
When I doze off, the rats soon discover I’m a harmless target and nip at the exposed flesh of my wrists and even at my legs through my tights. I swat and kick at them, but they’re becoming fearless, even taking their chances when I’m awake. The broken skin burns at first, but after a while the cold numbs everything, so much so I don’t feel the bite of pain as their sharp teeth gnaw at my flesh. The best way of warding them off is moving, but they follow and try to climb up my legs when they can’t bite through my boots.
By the time the sun comes up, I’m exhausted and cold to my core. It’s as if the damp has infiltrated my bones. I can’t stand on my feet anymore. I think the rats may kill me before I starve. I’m not sure which is the most merciful. My stockings are torn and the expensive clothes ruined, dirty from the damp and black mold on the walls. It stinks worse than my apartment building down here.
Leaning against the wall, I kick at a rat that climbs onto the toe of my boot. The slosh of the water is quieter. It’s low tide. There’s something else, too, like the fall of a hammer. It comes closer. No, it’s the fall of footsteps. My heart starts thundering in my chest when they descend the steps. I brace myself, praying for rescue, but the door swings open on Maxime’s face.
He’s wearing a pale suit with a pink tie, and his face is clean-shaven. When he opens the gate and enters my prison, a whiff of winter reaches my nostrils. It’s clean and fresh, a stark contrast to my dirt and exhaustion, like a magnifying glass on his cruelty. He’s cold and monstrous.
He’s not my savior.
I back away, but he grips my hair with one hand, and carefully pulls off the tape with the other. It hurts. The skin on my lips stretches and cracks. I drag my tongue over them and taste blood.
Something inside me snaps. My vision turns blurry.
He turns me around to undo the cuffs. The moment my hands are free, I jump at him. I claw and hit, screaming like a mad person. I must be mad, because what I should be doing is escaping. I kick. I punch him in the gut. He only stands there and takes it, my blows doing no damage. After the next fist I jam into his stomach, I shove him and run.
I’m not even on the first step before he grabs hold of my ankle. I go down, stopping my fall with my hands. The heels of my palms burn as the skin comes off, but I kick with all my might. I dig my fingers into the stone, my nails breaking as he drags me back into my cell.
“No!”
He flips me onto my back and covers my mouth with his hand. My lips are pulled back, my jaw wide. I bite down until the pressure of his hand becomes so severe, I think my skull may crack.
“Are you done?” he asks through thin lips.
I shake my head, but we both know I am. The fight goes out of me, my energy spent.
“If you scream,” he says, “I’ll leave. I can do this for days until you’re ready to listen.”
When I go still, he removes his hand. “That’s better.”
I lie on my back on the damp stones, the wetness seeping through my coat and dress, through my very skin and into my heart. He’s crouching next to me, studying me with one arm braced on his knee. His frame is big and powerful. The shadow he casts over me swallows me whole. Somehow, it seems darker and colder than the winter night I spent in my cell.
“I want you to listen to me, Zoe.”
My gaze homes in on his face, on the non-symmetrical lines of his features and the bump on the bridge of his nose.