Bad

by LP Lovell

  "What if I don't want to die?" I rake my fingers into his hair and tug his head to the side, tracing my tongue over his bloodied neck. A low growl rumbles through him as I moan.

  "Mm," he mumbles before kissing me again, his tongue slipping between my lips. "I promise I'll make it pretty. I just want you to bleed for me, Camilla."

  I can picture Ronan slitting my throat, watching me bleed with that wild, unhinged lust in his eyes. I want it. I want to make him utterly lose control just once before I die. "Then cut me," I whisper in his ear. "Fuck me while I bleed for you. Come inside me while you watch me die." Groaning, he slams into me on a hard thrust. His weight shifts and reaches for something on the desk behind me. When he moves back, he holds the letter opener up.

  “You want to bleed?” he says, fucking me.

  My heart skips a beat, and a sick smile pulls at his lips. I focus on him as he raises it and slams it into my thigh. Blinding pain rips through me, causing my head to spin. I bite the inside of my cheek on a scream and glance down at the metal handle sticking out of my leg. Blood wells around it before running down either side of my thigh.

  "You wouldn't even scream for me.” He sighs. “Such a shame." With a sadistic grin, he grabs the handle and yanks it out, then brings it to his mouth, slipping the dull blade between his lips. "I have something else in mind for you, little kitty.” He tosses the letter opener to the side. “Although, I do love to watch you bleed."

  His mouth covers mine as he thrusts into me hard. The taste of my blood coats his tongue, and god, it's arousing. He fucks me like he's possessed. The pain lances up my leg, blending with the torturous pleasure he's coaxing from me, the simple knowledge that death is so near. I throw my head back and he bites my neck, and I come for him, screaming his name like it's a sacrificial offering and I am at his altar. I have nothing more to give because he has taken everything.

  Growling into my neck, he grabs my hips and slams deep inside me, stilling. He stays there, his hot, ragged breaths washing over my neck before his lips brush my throat. "Don't move," he whispers. There's a storm swirling through his eyes, a look of anticipation—the same look that possessed him right before I slit that man's throat. "Don't." He hesitates, his mouth hovering over mine. "Move." My body shakes from the adrenaline and bliss running rampant through my veins. This is fear, I suppose, and as much as I hate it, it makes me feel alive.

  Ronan rounds the desk, slowly, methodically, his eyes trained on me like the prey that I am. A smile plays over his lips when he opens the drawer. I glance at the revolver now in his hand, almost disappointed that he hasn't planned something more violent. He stops in front of me, making a show of emptying three bullets before slamming the cylinder back into place and spinning it. "I kill you now, I watch you bleed for a moment, but..." A deep grin sets on his face. "I keep you, and I can watch you bleed time and time again. Such a dilemma."

  He leans over me, pressing my body into the hard wood of the desk. His finger strokes over my cheek and a trembling breath leaves my lips. I’m practically shaking with anticipation and fear. I want to hate him. I want to loathe him for everything that he is and everything that he's done but I can't, because I understand power, and this is what it is to wield it. The very thing that may kill me is the thing I crave so relentlessly, because Ronan is the embodiment of the power he possesses. I'm a threat to his control, to that power, he just has no idea how much. I beam as I think of some unknown enemy of his holding whatever information is on that USB drive.

  I crave Ronan. He craves me. I want to kill him, and he's going to kill me. But I will win in the end because I took something from him and he doesn't even know.

  Rage and destruction runs rampant through his eyes when he nudges the cold barrel of the gun beneath my chin. I stare at him. I can barely breathe, barely think through the rush of panic that assaults me. My heart thumps in my throat and tears prick my eyes against my will. I don't want to die, but I refuse to die badly. I've watched too many men refuse to accept their fate, knowing they've wronged me, knowing the price for such an act. I haven't wronged Ronan, but from the day I was old enough to understand my place in my father's empire I have accepted that I will die like this eventually. Honestly, it could have been worse. A bullet is a kindness in my world. Tears spill over my temples traitorously and Ronan tilts his head.

  "Ah, there it is." He inhales, smiling. "Finally, I've found your fear."

  "I'm not afraid," I whisper.

  He sweeps a hand down my face, wiping away my tears. "You don't have to lie to me, I find it beautiful, Camilla. Everyone has a weakness. It's what makes us human."

  "Then I suppose you are mine, Ronan Cole."

  Closing his eyes, he sighs as the grin on his face deepens. "I know I am." The gun presses harder underneath my chin and I gasp. "Three bullets, six cylinders,” he says, his lips brushing mine. “And one click decides your fate. I almost hope you survive."

  I close my eyes, picturing the moment that bullet tears through my skull, the blood and brain matter coating Ronan's face—the taste of death on his lips.

  "One," he breathes, kissing me reverently. My heart pounds so fast it's all I can hear, my own morbid symphony. "Two." Another soft kiss, and he smiles against my lips. "Three..."

  THE END, Please don’t stab us. <3

  DIRTY

  Pre-order Dirty, Bad #2 now. Click here.

  About the Author

  Sign up to our newsletter and stay up to date:

  Join the Mailing List

  LP Lovell

  Lauren Lovell is a ginger from England. She suffers from a total lack of brain to mouth filter and is the friend you have to explain before you introduce her to anyone, and apologise for afterwards.

  She's a self-confessed shameless pervert, who may be suffering from slight peen envy.

  Other books by LP Lovell

  She Who Dares series:

  Besieged #1

  Conquered #2

  Surrendered #3

  Ruined #4

  Standalone:

  High

  Tiger Shark

  Kiss of Death Series:

  Make Me #0.5

  Kill Me #1

  Kiss Me #2

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lplovellauthor

  Twitter: @Authorlplovell

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7850247.LP_Lovell

  Stevie J. Cole

  Stevie J. Cole is a secret rock star. Sex, drugs and, oh wait, no, just sex. She’s a whore for a British accent and has an unhealthy obsession with Russell Brand. She and LP plan to elope in Vegas and breed the world’s most epic child.

  Other books by Stevie J. Cole

  Pandemic Sorrow Series:

  Jag

  Rush

  Roxy

  Stone

  Standalone:

  eXrated

  Darkest Before Dawn

  White Pawn

  Co-authored with LP Lovell:

  Wrong

  Wrath

  Wire War

  Absolution

  The Game

  War Poppy

  War Hope

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorsteviejcole

  Twitter: @steviejcole

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22680249-jag

  Acknowledgments

  As always, there are a whole host of people behind every book, so here it goes.

  Rick Van Den Bosch, thank you for being Ronan on the cover. Max Ellis, your photography is always gritty and awesome, as is your shit hot cover design. Thank you!

  Jen Lum, thanks for just being an awesome support to us always. We love you.

  Kerry Fletcher, you are the best PA ever. You put up with us, you help us and you have the patience of a saint while we are squirrelling our way through life.

  Jen, Kerry and Autumn, thank you for beta reading for us.

  Social Butterfly PR and Give Me Books, thank you for all your PR work.

  To
all the bloggers, readers, friends….thank you for your unending support of us and our work. We love and appreciate you all.

  WRONG

  Tor

  My life was mapped out and planned to perfection. I knew exactly what I wanted and where I was going, until I was thrust into his world and ripped from mine. In the blink of an eye everything shattered, proving to be nothing more than a cheap illusion. Now I’m living in this twisted form of hell, where enemies and friends are one and the same. I thought I wanted perfection. Now I don’t know what I want - perhaps not even my own freedom.

  Jude

  I'm the definition of wrong. I'm violent, I'm greedy, and I stop at nothing to win. I'm a notorious bookie and in my game paying with your life is not just a figure of speech. You lose, I collect. I take whatever you have. She’s collateral for a debt, and if that debt's not paid someone will die. This should be just business, so why can’t I kill her?

  Everything is not always as it seems.

  Lust. Blood. Lies.

  Nothing this wrong should feel so right.

  Chapter 1

  Jude

  This won’t be the first time I’ve killed someone, and it won’t be the last, so why is my heart pounding so damn hard right now?

  Most people might say that what I’m about to do makes me one sick fucker, but when someone slaughters your family, you, in turn, kill theirs. I’m doing this for revenge, pure and simple. Merciless vengeance, it’s just how it goes in my world: you use violence and power to enforce your rules. When you make a living illegally, you learn how easy it is to prosper from others’ fear, although not all bookies are as brutal as I am. Having a conscience is where other bookies fail. Brutality is the difference between making a few dollars and making a million. You cannot be weak and survive in this profession, and the moment someone no longer fears you, you’re fucked.

  I’m not fucking weak! I’m trying to psyche myself up, slightly pissed that I’m finding this harder to swallow than I thought I would. I know the only reason I’m still standing here with my pulse banging in my ears is because this particular situation involves a woman. You’d think it would be no problem to follow through with, seeing as how I don’t really have morals—right and wrong, I don’t play by those rules, I wasn’t raised to. Hell, I grew up in a house where arsenals were kept in every room “just in case.” I witnessed my first murder when I was only twelve. So I can’t understand why I’m conflicted right now. A soft moan and the thud of the headboard hitting the wall carries down the hall, and I shake those thoughts from my head.

  Marney and I press our backs to the wall. My heart is still thrashing around like a caged gorilla. I try to regulate my breathing, but it’s nearly impossible with all the adrenaline that’s flooding my system. I stare at the door. I want to utterly destroy Joe Campbell, I want him to be so miserable death is the only thing he has left to look forward to, and if this is the way I have to do it, so be it!

  There’s only one light on at the end of the hallway, and it’s just enough that I catch Marney make eye contact with me, then nod toward the door. I push away from the wall and kick the door in, startling the man and woman fucking on the bed. She shrieks and scrambles to her feet, covering herself with the sheets.

  The man jumps up. Taking a boxing stance, he throws a punch at me. I duck and pull the gun from my belt, cocking it as I aim directly at his head. He freezes and tosses his hands in the air. I narrow my gaze and realize this is not a middle-aged man. This is not Joe, which fucks everything up.

  “Shit! Where’s Joe?” I shout at the woman now cowering in the corner.

  “He’s not here,” she sobs. Her eyes fix on me, taking in each detail of my face.

  I glare at the man still frozen in front of me.

  “Don’t hurt us, please,” he grovels.

  “The safe is in the basement. There’s over a million dollars in there,” the woman frantically offers. “Take it! Take whatever Joe owes you,” she pleads, her voice trembling.

  “Shut up,” Marney shouts.

  I clench my jaw. “Oh, you’re gonna pay, sweetheart, but this debt can’t be paid in anything but blood.” I tilt my head to the side as her eyes focus on mine. She’s shaking and crying. “Your husband took something from me, and I’m going to take something from him.”

  I swing my gaze to the naked man and stalk toward him. “Too bad for you, you chose the wrong woman to fuck around with. Wrong place, wrong time.” I stop about three feet in front of him, point the gun at his face, and pull the trigger. His body jerks backwards and collapses to the floor with a thud.

  A shrill, drawn-out scream pierces the air, falling silent when the woman pulls in a large breath only to scream some more. I turn, the gun still raised, and she runs across the room toward the door. I go to pull back on the trigger, and I can’t. I really didn’t think it would be this hard to kill a woman.

  Marney catches her and slams her onto the ground, pressing her down by her throat. “It’s not personal. This is all for your husband.”

  “Please don’t kill me. I’m a mother...my boys...please!” she weeps.

  “I’ll make it quick. I promise.” His tone is vacant of any emotion, completely monotone and matter-of-fact.

  Headlights stream through the window, bouncing around the dark room, and she lets out another tortured cry. She fights, yanking and jerking. She bites Marney’s arm and I watch an animal-like scowl shoot over his face as he pulls his gun, shoves it against her temple, and BAM. She lies completely still. Marney wipes the blood splatter from his face with his sleeve. “Now what? Not as effective since we couldn’t tie the bastard up and make him watch, huh?”

  I shrug, leaning over and pulling up the man’s body. “Put them in the fucking bed.”

  Marney grunts as he pulls the woman from the floor and tosses her onto the mattress. I step back and look at the two bodies piled on the bed. I grab the woman’s blood soaked hair, lifting her face and dropping it by the man’s limp dick. “Open her mouth,” I tell Marney, laughing.

  “You’re fucking kidding, right?”

  “See what he thinks about walking in on this shit.” I can’t help but smile. This right here is beyond fucked up.

  Marney shrugs, parts the woman’s lips, and I push the flaccid cock into her mouth.

  We make our way down the stairs and let ourselves out the back door, walking through the woods for a good two miles in silence. When we come to the edge of the tree line, Marney grips my shoulder. “You did your pops right just then. He would be proud.”

  A run-down cab sputters up, the brakes squeaking as it comes to an abrupt stop. Richard hangs his hand out the window to signal that he’s alone. We climb in and Richard glances back at us in the rearview mirror. “Damn. You two look like you bathed in blood. What the fuck did you do?”

  “What had to be done,” I mumble, and slump down in the seat.

  I’m fucking wrong, and I know it.

  Chapter 2

  Victoria

  It’s one in the morning, and I’ve been on shift for twelve hours. I’m reaching my physical and emotional limit. I’ve had a night full of heart attacks, drunken injuries, and drug overdoses.

  I’m just about to call it a night when the doors to the ER crash open. The medics rush in a stretcher, and all I can see is blood, a lot of it.

  Dr. Phillips, one of the ER doctors, is running behind the team, shouting at various staff. “Multiple gunshot wounds!”

  “Devaux!” he yells at me. “Let’s go, keep his heart going until we can get to the operating room! Let’s move!” he barks frantically. I hop onto the gurney and place a knee on either side of his body. The gurney is rushed through the hospital corridors, doors flying open in our wake as a team of doctors and nurses work frantically to keep the man alive.

  I pump his chest rhythmically, trying to keep his heart from stopping, from giving up.

  We burst into the OR I hop off the gurney and check his pulse. Nothing.

 
“He’s got no pulse!” I shout while the nurses hook him up to the monitors.

  People move like clockwork, everyone knowing their place and operating like a well-oiled machine. Clothing is cut from the man’s lifeless, bloodied body as a defibrillator is wheeled next to him.

  “Clear!” Dr. Phillips shouts, and holds the paddles on the patient’s chest. His back bows off the bed, his body contorting in shock.

  I stare at the flat green line on the monitor, marking his lifeless state.

  “Clear!”

  Again they shock him, and still nothing.

  Come on, live. Just fight a little harder, I think to myself.

  The doctor shocks him three more times to no avail.

  “Time,” Dr. Phillips says.

  I glance at the clock on the wall. “One twenty-two,” I call out.

  He’s pronounced dead, and everything stops. The fight is over, and we lost. It never gets any easier. I’ve been a resident in the ER here for nine months now. I’ve seen death on a daily basis—it’s part of the job—and still, the fragility of human life always surprises me. One minute someone can be absolutely fine, living their life, working their job, having a family, and the next...it can all be over. Life itself can be so fleeting. You’re promised nothing. And that’s hard to swallow at times.

  I became a doctor to save lives. And for every one that dies, there are ten more that are saved. It’s what makes this job so rewarding. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do in life. I decided to drop everything and leave my home in England to come here and study—to make a life for myself in America.