Publication date: October 11th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fairy Tales, Retelling, Romance
Once upon a time I was promised to a powerful man. I was raised to be dutiful and innocent. But on my wedding day, I’m stolen by four men. Men who loathe my fiancé. They’re going to use me to fulfill their vendetta.
One of them only wants my body.
One of them wants me as his wife.
Another one offers freedom… at a price.
And the last wants me dead.
I was raised to be a good society wife. Now I’m facing a battle of wits and breathless desire. My only hope is to set aside my innocence. Or learn to use it as a weapon.
Author’s Note: VELVET CRUELTY is a scorching romance between a woman and four beautifully dangerous men in which she never has to choose. Read at your own discretion.
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A girl barely old enough to be called a woman is sitting on a bench two hundred feet below me. She’s laughing, a cutesy box of cupcakes on her knees. I adjust my lens scope and her face comes into focus. Green eyes, pale skin, and a wide, soft mouth with lips as red as blood—a color I’ve seen more of than most. She picks up a cupcake and holds it away from herself, as though afraid to taste it. Knowing her stepmother, she probably is.
Terrell says something and she laughs, her long ebony black hair catching the light. People stare as they walk past, their mouths falling open. The girl’s always been pretty but since she turned eighteen no one can take their eyes off her. I move my scope half an inch to the left and find Terrell. Clean-shaven with a hint of baby fat around the cheeks and chin. He looks younger than thirty-eight. And soft. The kind of guy you’d size up if you were looking to jump someone at a train station.
My finger brushes the rifle trigger. One squeeze, the whisper-jerk of a bullet and he’d be gone. But a quick death is better than Zachery Terrell deserves.
He can’t take his eyes off the girl either. From forty stories away I can tell he wants to grab her hair and pull her mouth onto his cock. He won’t though. Two benches away, not bothering to look like anything but muscle, are her bodyguards. Kurt Whitehall and Theodore Murphy. Their Rugers are in full view at their sides as they chat and eye up female joggers. I could be killing John F Kennedy behind them, and they wouldn’t notice. They’re there to stop Terrell from grabbing teenage tits and that’s all.
I’ll see Whitehall and Murphy soon. Show them exactly how bad they are at their jobs.
The girl stops laughing and brings the pink cupcake to her lips. Her small tongue flicks at the frosting and Terrell almost nuts in his jeans.
She’s not teasing him. She’s just fucking clueless. A doe-eyed little girl. Never been on a date. Never had a friend sleep over. Her mom dresses her in shirts Mormons wouldn’t be caught dead in. Whenever anyone talks to her those big green eyes glaze over. Bobby says she’s pretending to be slow. Doc and I think she’s dumber than a sack of hair. If she had a different last name, she’d have flunked out of high school. But when you know you’ll be married before you can buy beer, why bother learning?
Terrell moves to wipe the pink frosting from her nose and the girl glances at her bodyguards. They snap to attention and Terrell’s hands fall to his sides. He’s smiling but it’s fixed. Irritable. He doesn’t like being told what to do, but rules are rules and no one touches Harlow Constantine. He’s lucky to sit next to her. When the girl graduated from Pembrooke Prep, she received her diploma offstage. She’s danced at the New York Ballet Academy since she was nine, but no one’s ever seen her perform. A kid once tried to film her riding a horse at Kensington Stables and Murphy hit him so hard, he got a concussion.
Terrell’s spent millions gaining the stepmother’s loyalty and that bitch has made sure no one’s so much as brushed up against the girl’s side. She’s as pure as snow and in four weeks she’ll say ‘I do’ and belong to Terrell forever.
Or so he thinks.
Terrell’s security team is almost invisible. Two guys in the skyscraper across the road. Two more in a Buick idling by the curb. A sniper on top of St Michael’s church. If I shot Terrell this morning, I’d have to execute five men in under a minute to get away. Not impossible, but messy. I shift my position, easing the ache in my spine as the girl finishes her cupcake. She sucks leftover frosting from her fingertips and a throb runs down my cock. There’s a body begging for corruption under those ugly clothes. It’d be fun to tear her out of them. She’d cover herself with her hands, but that’d only make it hotter, her tits jiggling as tears ran down her face. I’d feed her Orchard, so she’d be wet and writhing, whatever her prissy little mind told her. I’d pin her to the floor, shove her thighs wide with my knees, and press into her pussy. I’d watch her virgin blood smear up and down my shaft as I fucked her. She’d fight me the whole way, her little fists pounding against my back as I broke her open.
The perfect Constantine princess, ruined by a dirty lowlife like me.
But that’s not the plan. Whatever Morelli decides to do with the girl she doesn’t really matter. Terrell matters. Making him regret the day his father slimed into his whore of a mother matters.
There’s a chance I’ll fuck Harlow Constantine, but it’s more likely I’ll kill her. Kill her, cut out her heart and feed it to Terrell. And it won’t be personal. As Terrell taught us a long time ago, sometimes you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Eve Dangerfield has loved romance novels ever since she first swiped her grandmother’s paperbacks. Now she writes her own stories about complicated women and gorgeous-but-slightly-tortured men. Her work has been described as 'genre-defying,' 'insanely hot' and ‘the defibrillator contemporary romance needs right now'...and not just by herself or those who might need bone marrow...OTHER PEOPLE! She lives in Melbourne with her boy and a bunch of semi-dead plants. She can generally be found making a mess.
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