Publication date: December 19th 2014
Genres: New Adult, Romance
Synopsis:
Since I was sixteen, the world has been mine. I do everything—
My way.
Every co-ed in town clenches her thighs over me, but most don’t fit the bill. See, I like my girls broken . Once I detect my shade of don’t-give-a-fuck damaged, I fight hard, I fight dirty, and I don’t give up until—
I conquer.
Drunk fathers and frequent beatings don’t merit attention, but when my despicable dad starts the process of croaking, I’m forced to remember. Thus, the downward spiral begins: my latest broken-girl turns the tables on me and splits. My hot-as-hell employee, Arriane, throws me the curve ball of a lifetime. And suddenly—
I’m out of control.
But at the center of my chaos, she exists. Always close, always sweet, and so beautifully fucking… wholesome. She represents everything I’ve shied from in a woman. Still—
I crave her.
I’m Leon, and I don’t deny my cravings. Just—this girl is not surrendering. So here I am, fighting harder. Fighting dirtier. And goddammit all, I will—
Conquer.
LEON’S WAY — Excerpts
1) This is my
bar. My party.
And she’s mine.
My girlfriend’s eyes shine with happiness
and relief. Only she isn’t beaming at me. She brushes my hand off her thigh and
stands up on her barstool, waving. Smiling a beautiful smile she has never
graced me with.
I look past the partiers on my club’s
terrace, following her focus. I ignore the colors of the sky, the explosions
from the New-Year’s fireworks, and detect him as easily as she did.
Dominic stands at the top of the stairs
like some chick-flick hero.
He wrestles to get past Jason, one of my
bouncers. Dominic’s eyes are trained on my—my—Pandora
with so much fucking emotion I want to jab them out.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I grind to Pandora when
she hops down to meet him. I’ve fought too hard to let this happen. In a few
minutes, a new year starts, and she’s in
it, goddammit, with me; she’s not taking off with another man.
How the hell did he get into Smother in the
first place? My bouncers are useless! One simple task I laid on them tonight:
don’t let Dominic in.
Pandora started out as a challenge to me. I
knew I’d snagged her late, that she had a history with the pretty-boy. But he’s
labeled “Perfect Dominic” on her cell, which is the very reason why she’s with
me and not him.
Yeah, Pandora and I, we are the same. We’re
each other’s brand of screwed-up, and guess fucking what? I’m not about to let
her forget. I never lose, and I control my world with the precision of a
puppeteer, but—
The strings are
fraying.
My dolls aren’t obeying.
Behind me, my second-in-charge, Christian,
calls my name. He doesn’t recognize me, not now that I shove my girlfriend past
the counter and use her body to crash through the door to the storage room.
I barely register Pandora’s eyes going huge
with terror. Her fear…. it’s beyond the kind I get off on. She’s panicking—but
so am I.
Because she can’t. Fucking. Choose. Him.
My mind blurs. Then, it checks out. The glittering rainbow of colors in the sky
means squat when a sole shade of red tinges my vision.
“Leon! What the hell are you
doing?” Pandora shrieks.
I am primal. A warrior. A
caveman. I thrust her hard against the shelves. I am a wolf biting down on her
neck, silencing her.
“I’ll fix this, Pandora—I’ll be
right back,” I growl. Then I close the door behind me. Lock, lock her in and
pocket the key. She’s going crazy in there, wailing for me to open—pleading—
Soon, I can’t hear her because
I have charged past Jason, and I’m at Dominic’s throat. “You!” I shout. “You
little shit. I will destroy you!”
2) The man I’ve loved for years is going
ballistic. Books, glasses, and candles ricochet off the walls and crash to the
floor. The low growl contained in his throat unleashes as he hurls his stereo
at the window, making the glass panes shatter on impact.
“She fucking left me for him!”
He spins and locks on me. When Leon stares
at you, he consumes you. He traps you in a small, flustered vacuum where he’s
all that matters. “Leon… you’ll be okay,” I begin, but my voice trembles.
I can’t wrap my mind around this meltdown.
Nothing ruffles him, nothing surprises him; in all my years at the club, I’ve
never seen fissures in the marble of my boss’ beautiful façade. With the exception
of his girlfriends, everything he touches remains orderly, and yet he’s losing
it so completely right now.
This state he’s in… It doesn’t rock my need
to be there for him. I—
Am always close.
He’s my love. My unreciprocated love,
because I am just Arriane, his left hand, the favorite bartender. Not one of
the dolls he breaks.
Leon’s chest lifts and sinks with his
turmoil. “I’ve never worked to keep someone the way I did with her. Fuck, I did
everything I could while all he
needed to do was barge into Smother. He fucking stole her from under my nose!” Angry
tears glitter, drifting over surreally blue irises.
“Stole?”
He’s delusional.
3)
I am the devil. What did she ever do
to deserve this? She’s my employee and an innocent bystander who’s nothing like
my usual contenders.
Still, I prowl up over Arriane on the
mattress, the way I’ve done with countless women before. Straddling her, I’m on
all fours, dipping down just enough to blow lightly on her mouth, making her
gasp.
I have no excuse for acting like this. I
can’t claim to be drunk on this aftermath of a New Year’s Eve. No, I just can’t
deal with what happened earlier tonight. I want to forget how I lost my shit,
the way I rebuffed Pandora’s lack of commitment to me.
Arriane’s hair is midnight-black like mine.
It’s long and so silky it shines even in the dim lighting of my bedroom. First,
I slide the simple black hairband out of her ponytail. Next, I fan her mane out
over my pillow.
“You should wear your hair down more,” I
tell her, and the small hump on her throat lifts in an anxious swallow. I draw
back for an instant, studying her.
“You like it?” she murmurs. She seems
surprised.
I slide a glossy lock between two fingers
and watch it spill back to the pillow. “Of course I do. It’s fucking
beautiful.”
Three years ago, I was running low on
employees, and in walked this girl, this sweet twenty-year-old who needed
money. Like most people in the college town of Deepsilver, Arriane came here
for her degree. Only she doesn’t come from an affluent family, and tuition is
expensive. Since then, she’s worked more at Smother than she has studied. Whenever
I need someone, I turn, and Arriane is there, ready to pick up the slack.
Beautiful, loyal Arriane.
“Your eyes are violet,” I state, because I
hadn’t noticed before; she works for me, and I don’t get involved with my
employees.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “No one else in my
family—” she starts, but then I lick her lips and she gives off a quiet moan. I
like that sound.
4)
Curiosity kills cats I hear, and I’ve
died a million deaths over the years. Now, I’m ready for the slaughterhouse—for
a new sort of death, a tougher, harder death.
I should not have come upstairs.
Should not have been with him.
Should not have insisted on going all the
way.
My heart skips. I dress quickly and slink
into the living room. Leon has cleaned everything up. The room is as tidy as it
was before his breakdown hours ago. A blanket covers the broken window, and I’m
sure he’s already called the installers.
In the kitchen, fresh coffee steams from the
coffeemaker. A plate covered with cling wrap waits on the table. It has my name
on it.
“I’m
sorry,” the note begins.
“I’m
sorry I took advantage of you, Arriane.” I blink over treacherous, stupid tears, because the words
hurt and I’m the one who should apologize. I
took advantage of him—his
desperation. I start reading again.
“I’m
sorry I took advantage of you, Arriane. It will never happen again.”
I finish the breakfast spread he’s made for
me. Pour coffee into a mug. My heart’s still alive when I walk down the stairs
and into the bar with my cup in hand. I don’t consider the damage the New
Year’s crowd did to my decorations. Spilled beer and half-dried cocktails glue
me to the floor, trying to keep me from his office. My shoes stick and rip free
from the floor, alerting Leon of my proximity. I lose courage. I want to go
home and postpone this.
“Arriane?” Leon’s voice sieves out so
softly. Like we’re different now.
I inhale. Riip to the office slowly. Hurry with the last steps before I can
change my mind. Then I peek in through the half-open door.
“You called?” I say, swallowing. I haven’t
showered yet and smell of us. I have the early shift at work today, and I forgot
to tie my hair back into a ponytail. Lord knows where the hairband is—I don’t.
Slowly, I edge my face behind the thick sheet of my hair. His scent on me
teases, causing a jab to my heart. Woodsy cologne, sex, and wrongness.
5) No one yells as loudly as Ingela. No one. I
puff out a breath and start getting dressed. A single wall divides the kitchen
from my bathroom, and seriously, if she whispered my name, I’d hear her.
“Still here,” I breathe out as a test.
“Well, you’re taking forever, and Cam has a
question for you! Come out!” she screams.
Whatever question our fellow bartending
colleague has, we both know it has to do with hairy triangles and that the
answer is, and should always be, “no.” I’m also pretty sure he doesn’t want her
to ask me because they all think I’m the runner-up boss at the bar. Even
Ingela, only she has no respect for authority. The staff as a whole has decided
it must be a cultural thing. We’re starting to believe everyone in Northern
Europe has this as a birth defect.
I’m impressed with how well Leon handles
Ingela. A month ago, she appeared at Smother with blue eyes shining and a wide
smile lighting her face. “I’m Ingela, I’m an international exchange student,
and I like your bar, so I shall work here,” she had explained. “I need a job
because I’m totally, totally broke.”
I don’t ask, but my guess is she’s in the
country on a student visa. Leon must be taking his chances with the IRS by
paying her under the table.
Thankfully, Ingela’s little phone chat is
over by the time I’m out of the bathroom.
“You missed out.” She nods, her signature broad
grin in place. Short honey-blond bangs hop over her perfect eyebrows as she
speaks. “Cameron is…” she frowns, thinking. “Heell—hellar—” Then, she cops out
and goes, “Funny.”
“Hilarious?” I suggest, and she smacks her
hands together.
“Yeah! Hilarious.”
“So, not ‘rude as hell’ or ‘gross?’”
Ingela cups her mouth with a palm,
laughing. “Oh yes, uh-huh! He called just to be gross with me.”
I’m not surprised—at either of them. Ingela
grabs the last piece of whole-wheat toast with liver pate and shoves it into
her mouth. With the other hand, she ruffles the short layers of hair brushing
her neck. “I have class first, but I’ll be at work in…” she checks her watch,
“bah, when I get bored. Or soon anyway. I’ll take the campus bus—the Silver
Line. It drops me off by Smother.”
“Okay, so you won’t be late?” I ask.
Ingela dons washed-out jeans peppered with
holes. Tall and skinny, the stereotype of a Scandinavian girl hikes her odd
little backpack up on a shoulder and strides to the door. “Never.” She bats her
lashes.
6) Leon is a private man, and I shouldn’t pry.
Still, sometimes when you don’t think, you jump in. And I?
I can’t let him hurt alone.
I take the steps over to the tall table he
sits at with his accounting. I don’t stop until my hand touches his cheek.
“Leon?” I ask, my heart slowing with worry.
He sucks in a breath at my touch, thick
lashes dropping. Lightly, he bends into my palm and I feel it, the stubble I
dream of. It pricks like kitten-paw-soft cacti against my skin.
“What’s wrong?”
I expect him to brush me off, get up.
Become his business-self. Give me a low, clear order I can carry out for him.
But Leon’s knees slide apart, making room
for my body. His hands scoot around me, pulling me into him, and something
shifts in my womb even though it’s probably too early.
His sigh is so heavy. Arms spread over my
back, fingers pressing into flesh, fanning upward until a fist curls around my
neck. The pinch is painful as he nudges me closer, bending so he can delve in
against my throat.
“Just family stuff scrambling my brain,” he
whispers. Can he hear my heartbeat? It’s fast, insistent. Hopeful. When I dare
to move my arms from their frozen, low-slung sides, it’s to link them into his
embrace. He turns my face to him and kisses me, first chastely on the mouth,
until I open and he deepens the kiss.
He finds bare skin under my shirt, and as
we make out, he forces a hand into the crack at the top of my jeans.
I let him.
I want him happy.
Not thinking, I lift a foot up on the
railing of his barstool as he scoots out on his seat enough to leave only
fabric between us. He puffs a grunt into my ear. “Wait, let me…” he begins but
trails off in favor of action. Deft fingers undo my jeans button and unzip my
fly. “Much better. I couldn’t get to you.”
I gasp when his fingers find my entrance
from behind, easing in, showing both of us how quickly I heat for him.
“Sweetie, the guys will be down any
minute—”
Leon cuts me off with a stinging slap on my
ass, ending his violent caress with a firm grasp on the butt cheek he spanked.
“Trust me.”
I
do. I—
He holds me while he fingers me.
The boys laugh at the top of the stairs.
“Nah, I’m good,” Christian rumbles. “Got my Shannon—she keeps me busy. But go
for it. They say once you go threesome, you’ll never want to go back.”
Cameron howls with laughter, their
high-five ringing down to us. “Damn, that’d be awesome. Gotta find me some
chicks who’ll be into it more than once. I mean how ’bout forever, am I right?”
If I hadn’t been drowning in Leon’s world,
I’d roll my eyes again at Cameron.
“Sure, and marry both of them. In different
states before you all move to a third one,” Christian helps.
“You.
Are. A. Genius,” Funny-Cam bursts out. “Or in a different country! Sweden.”
“Ingela, huh?” Christian asks.
“Yeah, I might’ve suggested it to her. She
said I was, and I quote, ‘gross.’”
Christian’s reply is dry. “Go figure.”
7)
Jason is being particularly dense
tonight. I’ve shown him three times how I want the new ropes to work outside
the entrance to Smother, but he keeps opening them so the line becomes shorter
and less organized. I show him again.
I move on to Tom, Jason’s gym rat friend,
whom I hired as a bouncer over a month ago. The man still hasn’t gotten the
part where my exes need to stay clear of the club. I cross my arms and tip my
chin up so I can stare down at him despite his hulk-sized stature.
“Tom. I realize there are a few to
remember, but when they ask for
me—and in particular when they claim to be my girlfriend—there’s no way in hell
it’s not one of them, okay? Even if Jason isn’t nearby and can verify your
suspicion, just send them off.”
Tom crinkles a freckled brow, thinking.
“But what if they’re not lying? I wouldn’t want to send the lady off if she
really is your girlfriend, Boss.” His worry lines smoothen, indicating that
he’s satisfied with his reply, and I remind myself that I didn’t hire him for
his ability to flex brain muscle.
One of the new bartenders, Jen, waves from
the dance floor. Once she has my attention, she points at two guys shoving at
each other while dancing couples give room around them. I nod once. “Jason. Fight
inside.”
“On it, sir.” He plods off, on a mission.
I pull in a breath, getting ready to
explain the self-explanatory in regard to girlfriends. “Tom, did any of the
girls you let in last night look like Arriane?”
“Boss? No…”
“Here’s the deal. Unless I tell you
otherwise, Arria is my only girlfriend. Anyone else is fucking lying.
Understood?”
Tom blinks. “Yes sir.”
“Good. Now, assist Jason with the jerk-offs
inside, and I’ll keep an eye out here in the meantime.”
Tonight’s sad as hell. Don’t get me
wrong—I’m glad Arria obeyed and stayed at her apartment with Ingela after yesterday’s
scare with the ER visit, but I’m not digging her absence. There’s no happy hips
wiggling and tempting me behind the bar counter, no sweet smile whenever I zoom
in and catch her attention, and no stolen squeezes.
8) I change immediately, even bind my hands.
At the moment, gloves defeat the purpose for me, but a little tape never hurts.
I’ve got my system. I know what works. Besides having kinky-ass sex, this and
my bike are the only things that calm me down. Bare-chested and in black dojo
pants, I rage into the heavy bag.
The music from the club thunders through
the floor, but I need more, so I shove in a CD before I continue. The collision
between the tunes downstairs and my own death metal make me want to break into
a crazy laugh.
I don’t, though, because I’m spending my
energy on this. For every punch, I visualize my father’s face when I took him
down at sixteen. The shock, the bruises, the blood I left him with. The fucking
cracked collarbone.
Something surges in me at the thought—I
force everything else away.
I tear into the medium bag. Tear at it,
tear at it—killing the damn thing like I wish I’d done to him. The mirror tosses back my glistening shape.
What
evil god let him survive the stroke?
I snarl out my disappointment, joining the
chorus of ugly roars from the stereo, and I don’t stop, don’t stop killing him until a hand touches my shoulder. I
freeze, because not even here, in my sanctuary, am I less than one step from
control.
My chest rasps with need for oxygen. I
realize I have none left, and my lungs can’t pull it in fast enough. In the
mirror, I see her, small, scared, watching me gulp down air. She’s smothered in
this music that’s straight from hell, the opposite of anything she represents, and the baby—
Shit,
the baby can’t be hearing this!
I bound to the stereo and power it off.
From below, a ballad slinks into our bubble, and I stare at her, wordless.
Enormous eyes flicker with compassion. With
slow, tentative steps, she narrows in cautiously, like I’m the frightened one.
I cover my face with my hands. Shut her out. Move back into the corner I’m in.
“Sweetie,” she whispers.
Purchase:
Will be found here come release day: http://www.amazon.com/s/
Originally from Norway, I moved to the United States twelve years ago. I hold a Master’s degree in languages and taught Spanish at college level before settling in at the Savannah College of Art and Design as an adviser.
I write New Adult fiction, sometimes with a paranormal twist—like in “Shattering Halos,” published by The Wild Rose Press in February 24th 2014 and in “Stargazer,” released November 2014. The first book I’ve self-published was the New Adult Contemporary novel “Pandora Wild Child,” which made me a proud indie author in October 28th 2014.
I specialize in impulsive heroines, bad-boys, and good-boys running amok. Then, there’s the intense love, physical and emotional attraction beyond reason—sensory overload for the reader as well as for the characters. Like in real life, I hope you’re unable to predict what comes next in my stories.
Yes, so I write what I love to read, and depending on the reader, you’ll find my books to be a fast-paced emotional rollercoaster—or disturbing because the struggles of love aren’t your thing. Here’s to hoping you have the same reading vice as me!
Website : http://www.sunnivadee.com/
Facebook: https://www.
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/
Goodreads: https://www.
Pinterest: http://www.
Instagram: http://instagram.
I write New Adult fiction, sometimes with a paranormal twist—like in “Shattering Halos,” published by The Wild Rose Press in February 24th 2014 and in “Stargazer,” released November 2014. The first book I’ve self-published was the New Adult Contemporary novel “Pandora Wild Child,” which made me a proud indie author in October 28th 2014.
I specialize in impulsive heroines, bad-boys, and good-boys running amok. Then, there’s the intense love, physical and emotional attraction beyond reason—sensory overload for the reader as well as for the characters. Like in real life, I hope you’re unable to predict what comes next in my stories.
Yes, so I write what I love to read, and depending on the reader, you’ll find my books to be a fast-paced emotional rollercoaster—or disturbing because the struggles of love aren’t your thing. Here’s to hoping you have the same reading vice as me!
Website : http://www.sunnivadee.com/
Facebook: https://www.
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/
Goodreads: https://www.
Pinterest: http://www.
Instagram: http://instagram.
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