Home > Chained Hands (Chained Hearts Duet #1)

Chained Hands (Chained Hearts Duet #1)
Author: T.L. Smith

 

Blurb

 

 

Sailor

 

 

* * *

 

My husband sold me.

Not only did he sell me, but he told me he loved me while doing the deal.

What lies he tells.

Only fools believe him.

Unfortunately, one of those fools was…

me.

 

 

* * *

 

Keir

 

 

* * *

 

I’m not in the habit of buying women.

I didn’t need to.

I was a king of my realm, the devil you whispered about in your sleep.

So, when his debt fell due, he sold me his wife.

And I was happy because I wanted to play with her like any fool would.

And play with her, I did.

Pity, in the end, I would have to kill her.

 

 

Variety Gossip

 

 

* * *

 

The King of the Underworld

 

 

* * *

 

New York’s most notorious bad boy, king of the underworld and most eligible bachelor, was seen today without a woman once again. But he was snapped with his hands up the skirt of one of New York’s top models, and let me tell you, she was not complaining.

Pity what they say about him.

Uses women then discards them.

Pretty sure I wouldn’t complain about him using me, though.

Right readers?

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

Keir

 

 

Once, a long time ago, I dreamed I could be a normal man. Like the ones you see holding hands as they walk down the street with their girlfriends, like nothing in the world is a worry to them as they smile, and laugh, and kiss. But then I realized that life is a lie. A big, fat, juicy lie.

Mine? My fucked-up life is as real as one could ever get.

The blood that pools at my feet tells me so.

The fear apparent in this guy’s brown eyes tells me so.

His life is a lie, just like many others living around me are beautiful lies.

Licking my lips, I wonder if he would easily go back to his normal, boring life if I gave him a chance.

Or would he stop living a lie?

I think we both know the answer.

The lie is too juicy to let go of it so effortlessly. It’s much easier to live it. Be surrounded by it.

I don’t like the lie, never lived it, and never intend to. So, when you lie to me, I’ll come along and bleed it from you. I’ll let the blood that seeps from your body tell me your truth.

If you owe me, that is.

My father used to tell me, “Boys are just men in the making. You, my son, are a killer in the making. Remember that you will never be a man. You’ll have the needs of a man, yes, but no woman will love the real you.”

He said those words for as long as I can remember. Reiterating them often.

I’m not a man.

I’m a stone-cold killer.

That’s why this man sitting here pleading for his life doesn’t faze me. Doesn’t stir anything within me.

Because we know by the end of the day, I’ll walk out of this house.

And the man with the brown eyes will die burning inside.

What a beautiful fucking fairy tale ending.

“Boss.”

I pull my gun.

The boys have had their fun.

It’s time to leave.

I have other debts to collect.

“We could stay … play a little longer.”

I once enjoyed the mere satisfaction of watching a man bleed until he passed out. Or listening to his screams as I gouged out his eyes one at a time.

But something has shifted.

Now, I raise my gun, and in an instant, the bullet finds a new home between his eyes, and his head snaps back on impact.

Looking up, I see Joey shaking his head.

He wanted to play, and I know that, but I’ll wait to see if he says anything.

He should know better.

My patience level is becoming smaller and smaller, and my trigger finger is getting happier and happier.

Once I was a man who killed simply for the joy of it. The high that followed was unlike any other.

The hard-on I would get from watching some fuckface die some sort of excruciatingly cruel death would be exhilarating.

Now, it’s different.

Now, I fuck because I’m bored.

And I’m bored a lot.

And bored is not what you want me to be.

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Sailor

 

 

His lips taste sour.

That’s my first thought after his eager mouth leaves mine.

His rough hand slides up my skirt, creeping its way up my thigh with intent as we stand outside the club. I didn’t want to come, but he insisted.

He insists on a lot of things, and like a fool, I follow without question.

A fool, I tell you.

I know it, you don’t have to tell me.

Because, hell, I know.

But it’s different from the life I had before. So very different.

“Are you ready?” he asks into the air, not even looking my way as his hand stays where it is, possessively resting on my upper thigh where my leg is covered in ink. I move my stare away from his lips, the ones that have left a bitter taste on my tongue and turn my head to where he’s focusing his attention.

It doesn’t seem like much to me—an alleyway off a quiet street with only a few cars around us. If I didn’t know this man, I would think he was taking me down this dark, dingy alley to rape me, kill me … gosh, anything a woman’s worst fears are comprised of.

But I do know him, and I have for an incredibly long time. The ring on my left hand indicates the reason, and the man whose touch is still lingering on my skin put it there.

I’m not scared of him, though. And he knows it.

“Ready for what?” I ask him, nervousness filling my tone since I have no idea what I’m in for tonight. But again, he doesn’t answer me. Typical. He simply smirks before flashing me his extremely white teeth, the ones he just has to brush three times a day. Internally, I roll my eyes just thinking about it.

Did I mention his habits annoy me?

A lot.

His hand drops from my thigh, the cold night air caressing my bare skin the minute he steps away, and for a second, I wish he were back. Back standing in front of me, holding me like a good husband holds his wife. Instead, he hardly gives me a backward glance as he starts walking ahead, expecting me to follow him like a lost puppy. And I do, because no matter how stupid I am for staying with him, I’m not so stupid to be left alone in a dark alley.

Like, hello.

Not that dumb.

Wrapping my arms around my waist, I grasp at the silky material of my violet insanely short minidress that clings to every curve of my body. The one I wore to make him happy. He prefers it when my dresses are short. Easy access, he likes to say.

Which is weird considering it’s been months since we’ve fucked.

“Wait, Dillan.” I’m not able to keep up with his pace in my heels, but he doesn’t seem to notice nor care as he approaches a door in the distance. He stops and spins around, a smile spreading across his face that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, then knocks on the door three times.

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