Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection

by Dakota Willink

  Turning around, I run over to Caprice who is still motionless in the chair. I assess her, seeing the blood oozing from her forehead and smelling the burning of wood. Looking around, I notice the fire, but I see where the smell is coming from. A brand is on the ground, burning the floorboards.

  Caprice isn’t just bloody. She is raw from the ropes digging into her skin. I pull my knife from the back of my pants and cut her free, realizing I haven’t waited to see if she was even breathing. I stare, waiting for what feels like a century until I see her chest rise and fall. Thank you, God!

  My phone rings so I answer it, knowing it’s most likely my father. “Have you lost your damn mind?” Yep. I’m right.

  “Possibly. I got to her in time and Sergei is dead. I need the doc, though, as soon as possible. She’s bleeding badly from her head. Looks like he branded her.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Can you get the doc to the house quickly? I don’t want to take her to a fucking hospital, not after everything she’s gone through . . . and Dad, her father ordered this. Sergei told me before he died how the Italians don’t treasure family anymore.” I change the wording a bit, but I’m sure he knows what I’m saying.

  “Yes. Cecilia is already here. I called her after the nurse stated there was a change in one of your mum’s machines.”

  My heart drops into my stomach. There is only one reason a change would happen, and we were told that chance was so extremely low . . . that the only thing we should ever do was prepare for her to be like this for the rest of her life. “Is she waking up?”

  “I don’t want to confirm it, but something is going on with your mum. Cecilia has a colleague bringing a machine over so they can run a test. It will confirm whether or not we should get our hopes up.”

  “I’m sure everything is touch and go.” From everything we’ve endured, we know not to expect too much.

  “Yes, now get my third daughter back home where she belongs. I imagine she’ll have a long road ahead of her after what she’s gone through.”

  I hang up the phone and scoop my wife up into my arms. “You’d better be okay, darling. I told you I was falling in love with you, so you don’t get to die on me now.” Now, we’re off to the place where I know she’s the safest. All of this will be behind us soon enough.

  Epilogue

  “Be brave enough to heal yourself even when it hurts.”

  ~ Bianca Sparacino

  Caprice

  6 months later . . .

  I never thought I’d want to look in a mirror ever again after what Sergei did. To this day, I still have difficulty gaining the courage to do so. When he shoved the brand onto my skin, he took away one of the things I always felt lucky about— my beauty.

  I ended up confessing that exact statement to Liam when we were in therapy last week. He told me I was being ridiculous and I’m always beautiful. I simply rolled my eyes. Of course, he’d say something along those lines. He’s my husband and we just found out I’m six weeks pregnant. Since then, he’s made sure I’m not doing anything to get myself upset. So, I’m sure the man would agree with me even if I said the sky was purple.

  The trauma I experienced that day shaped me, molding me like I’m only a piece of clay. Looking back now I know I was fragile then, and to an extent I still am but I’m also no longer dependent on anyone. I know the value within my soul that comes with finding my inner strength. Therapy was one of the ways I ended up finding it, and I have to give a bit of credit to Cecilia, the Mackenzies’ private physician.

  Two weeks after I was branded, I went to a plastic surgeon and called my best friend all in the same day. Out of fear, I hadn’t communicated with her when Sergei found me in Maeve’s, terrified they’d go after her. Angelina is supposed to make a visit out in a couple of weeks so I can tell her the good news in person. She’s also thrilled to be meeting my husband, who I adore more than anything else on this planet. Anyway, on that day I was also told we could do some skin grafts to work on making me look a bit more normal so to speak.

  I went through two grafts. The first one did okay, but the second one didn’t do well at all. Many would think I’m some sort of bohemian gypsy girl now, and in a way I am. I’m more full of life and grateful for things I never thought twice about prior to this experience.

  “You okay?” Liam asks, causing me to jump. I didn’t even hear our bedroom door open, then again I was stuck in my head.

  Turning, I face him. “Yeah, just getting ready to come downstairs. I should be asking if you’re okay though.” This is a big day for everyone in the Mackenzie family. For the first time in over twenty-something years, the twins are being reunited with their father and brother. Only, they aren’t coming alone. Instead, they’re bringing two men from Mackenzie’s arch-nemesis.

  “I’ll be fine regardless. Everything was fine when I went out to Los Angeles a couple of months ago. Awkward, but it was alright.”

  I nod. “Alright, well I won’t keep pestering you about it. Uh, do they know about my . . . ” I don’t want to say accident because it isn’t what happened.

  Liam stalks toward me, places his index finger on my lip and speaks. “No, because it’s no one’s business. Because of your lace headpiece, no one can see your burn, sweetheart. Not that it matters. You’re more beautiful than any other woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

  “Ugh, you’re just like those romance movies.” I laugh, getting a smirk back in response.

  “You love it,” he teases.

  “Maybe, but I love you more.”

  Being with Liam has shown me there’s much to learn within ourselves, however, I also learned an invaluable lesson— embrace the surprises in life.

  Author Note

  Dear Readers,

  This is the book you’ve been waiting for since the end of Reckoning (Skulls Renegade MC #5). It took me far too long to publish this and for that, I apologize. To be honest, Liam was being silent as a mouse hiding from a starving cat. That is . . . dun dun dun . . . until October of 2019! Then he came out banging on freaking drums. I swear y’all, I can never win.

  Anyhow, some of you want to hug me while others probably want to wrap their hands around my neck. I can’t blame you for it. I really can’t.

  I’m going to answer a few questions here for y’all.

  Will there be more to the Mackenzies’ series planned?

  Yes, I have two more books for the Mackenzies and a potential spin-off series for the Mackenzie Security Team.

  Will Liam and Caprice ever find Piper/Pippa?

  Yes, but not for a long time. I have another book planned for Pip when she’s in her early twenties. At that time, both of her families will collide. (Spoiler Alert: If you read my entire Skulls Renegade MC, you probably have figured out who she’s with. If you haven’t, go read to figure it out. I’m not giving y’all any more hints!

  When will you be writing more of the Mackenzie series?

  I have my schedule planned out through the first bit of 2020. So, I anticipate I’ll be done another mid-way through 2020. Possibly May-ish for a release, but don’t quote me on that!

  Acknowledgments

  My Blogger Team — Thank you guys for sticking with me and my crazy writing schedule. I’m sure there are times where you slam your heads against your keyboards screaming out “again!?”. Trust me, I have those moments too. Just know I appreciate everything you do. I’m like a record on repeat, but I couldn’t do this without you.

  My Beta Bitchaz — We need shirts at this point, seriously. I’ll make a mental note of that and figure something out soon! Thank you guys for reading this entire book in less than two weeks. Y’all must really love me to put up with my hectic writing schedule. I love y’all to death and can’t wait to hug you all sometime soon!

  Clarise — We’ve been sitting on this cover for over two years. Two years of sitting in a saved file on my computer waiting for the opportune moment to write this story. Well, it finally came. Thank you for being a true fr
iend to me, encouraging me no matter what is going on. Can’t wait to squeeze you hard whenever we meet!

  Dakota — Without being accepted on this project, I don’t know if I would’ve ever written this story. Thanks for taking me on, but more than that, thanks for getting my ass in gear.

  About Elizabeth Knox

  Elizabeth is a romantic suspense author most popular for her motorcycle club and mafia books. While Elizabeth loves to write she is an avid reader as well who reads a mixture of genres. She lives in the North-Eastern United States with her husband, two cats and two dogs. When she isn't working you can find her spending time with her family, out to dinner with friends or binge watching the latest trending show on Netflix. Please make sure you click the follow author button to ensure you're signed up for all of Elizabeth's latest releases.

  DARK DESIRES

  A Novella by Jo-Anne Joseph

  DARK DESIRES

  by Jo-Anne Joseph

  Many know me, yet none have seen my face.

  I’m the topic of conversation, but nobody knows my name.

  I am a life thief.

  A soul destroyer.

  An invisible plague.

  And still, you want to know me.

  My darkness reminds you of the desires that lurk inside you.

  WARNING:

  This is a work of fiction and contains dark themes intended for mature audiences only [18+].There are triggers which sensitive readers may find offensive including but not limited to adultery, torture, rape, abuse and violence.

  Reader discretion is advised.

  DEDICATION

  To every frightened child without a voice.

  I hear you.

  “There is a wide, yawning black infinity.

  In every direction, the extension is endless; the sensation of depth is overwhelming.

  And the darkness is immortal.

  Where light exists, it is pure, blazing, fierce; but light exists almost nowhere, and the blackness itself is also pure and blazing and fierce.”

  ~ Carl Sagan

  Prologue

  The Life Thief

  The blade I rotate between my slender fingers feels as light as a feather, but the weight of its impact cannot be measured on any metric scale. The moonlight streams in from the window behind me, and the steel glistens. I pick up the red apple that’s been beckoning me, place it in my palm and marvel at its sheer perfection. I use my knife to slice through the crimson skin and balk at the smell. Rotten. How could something so perfect on the outside be so vile and tainted on the inside? I toss it in the dustbin that rests on the floor and pull out a cloth to wipe away the sickening wetness that now coats my blade.

  My heart gallops at the sound of his footfalls. It’s faint, but I hear it. Three, two, one… I count down the seconds before a loud knock sounds on the door. Confidence, always a turn on. Most men are born that way, they believe they’re invincible. They’re made bigger, stronger, faster, and that translates into power and dominance. A man doesn’t need to fear, because in his eyes, he is invincible.

  My lips turn up at the corners. I am invincible.

  The catch is only as good as the chase. And I have done the chasing. I waited, and I eventually baited him. It’s easy to lure them in, because deep down, they’re all the same. They like the thrill, a taste of the forbidden is nothing short of euphoric. And I am that, forbidden fruit, ripe for the picking.

  I stand, my bare feet touching the cold linoleum floor without a sound. The room is dark save for the moonlight streaming through the windows. The sound of the nearby train temporarily breaks the silence. Goosebumps cover my skin as I flit across the floor, stopping briefly for a graceful pirouette in front of the man standing guard at the corner. I like to think of him as my assistant, though he hates the title. When I reach the door, I pause, my muscles relaxing with every breath I take. I’m not nervous about this. I’ve done this so many times, it’s become second nature.

  “Show time.” I whisper to him.

  I open the door an inch, and I’m greeted by a specimen of a man, all muscle and power and need. His hunger is evident in his dark brown eyes as they roam over my lace clad body. He can’t be a day over thirty, his hair standing on end in that sexy way men like to wear it these days. He leans against the door frame, smirking at me. “So, you gonna let me in?”

  His voice is smooth and husky, I’ll enjoy drinking him in. “Of course,” I open the door and he enters the darkened room.

  “Where’s the light switch?” He asks, looking over his shoulder.

  “Oh, we won’t be needing that.” My assistant speaks from the shadows. The man gasps just as he’s put in a headlock. I remain still, gripping the knife in my hand, knowing it was about to begin.

  “The dark is a desirable place.” I laugh as my victim tries to fight his way out of the inevitable.

  1

  Miranda Mayflower

  Now

  As mundane as my tasks are, I enjoy them. Dusting the pews, receiving the flowers from the local florist, and arranging the communion table every Sunday is my way of serving the Lord, and I do it proudly. I know that if I want to get into heaven eventually, I have to offer my very best, and that means my time and commitment. I belong to a small congregation in Queens. It’s my Sunday routine to wake up before sunrise and come into the church at least an hour before the actual church committee arrives. The last thing I want is to get in anyone’s way.

  I am the wallflower, always here, but barely visible. The great thing about that is I see things, terrible things, but I will never speak of them. Speaking of those things will only lead to trouble, and I don’t need that. Stay in the shadows. I keep my head down and pretend to look the other way. The one who has knowledge uses words with restraint.

  “Miranda, you’re here early.” A chill spreads over the back of my neck and travels down the length of my spine. Pastor Chase’s familiar, velvety voice startles me, and I straighten up too quickly, nearly dropping a stack of song books. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He offers me a warm smile.

  I’ve always thought Fynn Chase had the most beautiful smile. His teeth are bright white, his lips full and luscious. Before he became Pastor Chase, he was just Fynn, my closest friend, Maureen’s boyfriend, and the only man I’ve ever desired.

  But that was a lifetime ago, I remind myself. When he decided to dedicate his life to the work of God, Maureen scoffed, swearing she would never be a Pastor's wife. Yet here she is, married to one. My chest tightens at the thought, and I instantly feel guilty. I had it tough growing up, but Maureen, she went through hell, and she deserves to be happy. Fynn makes her happy.

  Still, I cannot deny that age becomes Fynn. His beard is more pepper than salt, his jawline firm, dark hair always a bit messy. I’ve seen the way women look at him, yet he only has eyes for one.

  I nod, a small smile on my lips. It is so miniscule, I wonder if he sees it at all. I bow my head, unable to meet his gaze as I pass by him in haste when he does the unthinkable. He reaches out and lays a hand gently on my shoulder. It’s a kind gesture, Pastors are supposed to be friendly. Fynn is supposed to be friendly, but I shudder, shrugging his hand off.

  “Miranda, wait, I-”

  No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. I recite the verse over and over in my head, not saying a word, as I back away from him, making my way to the storeroom, leaving him standing there looking after me, clearly disappointed. I lean against a shelf to catch my breath, holding onto the shelves. Fynn does things to my psyche. I place a trembling hand on my chest. He does things to my body too. And I made a vow. I will not break it.

  No temptation. That voice in my head, constantly reminding me of the graciousness of the Lord, how merciful he has been to me despite my wicked, wicked soul. I am vile, despicable, and yet He loves me unconditionally.

  I sit on a swing after the morning service, watching the children while their parents socialize in the church dining room. They stuff their fa
ces while there are people starving on the streets. I don’t see any value in getting mixed up in those gatherings, so I avoid them like the plague. The women gossip, and the men boast. A church gathering is no different from any other, these people just hide their iniquities better.

  I don’t speak, so there’s nothing for me within those walls, walls that threaten to suffocate me. The women always seem to have something they just have to fill me in on, a useless therapist they suggest I try in order to get my speech back. They are despicable creatures to suggest these things to me. They’re all undercover heathens to doubt Gods ability to heal. Those who desire to be healed. They will be judged, just not by me, I remind myself.

  Then there are those who have just the right man to introduce me to. Being single is a crime, apparently. They see the way their husbands look at me, their pervy eyes roaming my body, and they want to make sure I’m no longer a treat. I never dated in the past and don’t intend to start now. Never saw the appeal in mundane outings with men I have nothing in common with.