Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Wolfson Strakh fought his way to freedom, and it still isn’t enough.
With ink-stained fingers and his fierce Alaskan family at his side, he should feel whole. Instead, the past clings like scars, leaving a loneliness that won’t release him.
Until Dove Rath blows it apart.
A runaway bride with a rifle, she’s the dangerous fairytale princess of his dreams. But she isn’t here to be saved. She’s here to end her stepbrother, Jag Rath.
Ruinously handsome and lethal behind a keyboard, Jag drags old darkness into Alaska, twisting protection into possession and loyalty into hunger. Curiosity sharpens. Desire flares. Boundaries blur. Secrets stir.
Jag’s past threatens the freedom Wolf bled for, the love he never expected, and the woman caught between them.
Now Wolf stands on another cliff, betting his life on love as everything ignites in a rise of ink and smoke
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
“You smell different when you’re awake.”
~ Eddie B, Whistler Canada
One year ago
I sit in the hollow silence of my prison. No windows to the outside world. No lights to ruin the ambiance of hopelessness. No mouth-breathers to invade my hell.
Just me and my voyeuristic companion.
“Hello, Regret.” I can’t see a dirty godsdamn thing beyond the reach of my hand, but… “I know you’re there.”
Silent and cold, Regret stares back.
“Admiring my banging good looks again?” I stroke my full beard. “Four months in this cage, and I’m still a sexy beast. Jealous?”
No answer. Of course not. Regret doesn’t speak. It seeps. Slithers around my rib cage. Crawls inside my lungs. It’s the dark abyss squeezing my balls with clammy tentacles and yawning in my face, unimpressed.
“Serious question. Why are you so clingy? Got nothing better to do than lurk in the damn corner like a bad habit?”
Regret swells, filling my empty spaces.
I have a lot of those.
“I feel you smothering.” I chuckle bitterly. “Breathing down my neck. Rubbing up inside me like a dirty dick. I get it. I fucked up. Is that what you want to hear?”
A chill pebbles my skin.
I shove off the musty mattress, needing movement. And a smoke.
Titties would be good, too. A couple of supple pillows to rest my weary head. Can’t remember the last time I felt up a girl.
Never sounds accurate.
The room stinks of sweat and stale breath, of time stretching too thin, of Regret festering in my bowels.
I should be dead.
To think, if I hadn’t thrown myself off that cliff, I wouldn’t be trapped in a concrete room without basic necessities like smokes and titties.
Instead, I did the damn thing. I stretched out my arms like Caucasian Jesus, died for mythical reasons, and resurrected downstream, right into the manicured hands of Dr. Try-Hard.
Yeah. My captor is a medical doctor. Good for me. He mended the arrow wound in my arm, dragged me from the brink of death, and locked me in this tomb.
The best part? He has an unhealthy hard-on for the psycho who raised me. Like, he wants to be Denver Strakh.
As if.
Dr. Limp Dick is a cheap imitation. A dollar-store Dahmer. I’ve been here for four months, and he hasn’t tried to rape me or eat me.
Why not?
Why keep me alive if not to fuck my heavenly body ten ways to Sabbath?
I inhale deeply and regret it immediately.
The damp air, ripe with mildew, carries a sharp bite of antiseptic.
Bleach.
Urine.
Blood.
Unthinkable fluids live in these walls.
How many people have died here? How many bodies have rotted down the drain?
I curl my fingers, pressing them to my nose. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just need to think.
The facts are these. If I hadn’t jumped, I’d be dead. I would’ve starved with Frankie and my brothers. Or we would’ve crashed the plane and burned alive.
But I wouldn’t have died alone.
Now you will. Regret fists my stomach. You’ll die a virgin. Caged. Forgotten. Alone.
“What do you want from me? An apology?” My jaw tightens. “Want me to fall on my knees and beg for forgiveness? It won’t change anything. They’re dead. Everyone I love is dead, and I’m not. I wasn’t supposed to make it out. Not without them.”
My insides clench as Regret strengthens its hold.
“You love this, don’t you? Watching me tear myself apart. Watching me drown in my mistakes.”
Regret leans in, waiting.
“I know. You won’t let me forget her. Or them. Or the last thing I said…”
I definitely tried to kill her. She’s dead anyway. We all are.
The echo of my words scrapes through my skull like rusted iron.
“No.” I grip my head. “That was a lie.”
A cruel, desperate lie. One I needed Leo to believe.
I would never hurt Frankie. When I fired that gun on the cliff, I aimed wide, knowing I wouldn’t hit her.
What if she believes the lie? What if she thinks you tried to kill her?
“She’s smarter than that. She knows I only said it so Leo would put a hot one in my chest. But the moron didn’t pull the trigger.”
So I jumped.
And instantly regretted it.
I tried to break the fall, repositioned to absorb the impact, and narrowly avoided a jutting rock. I landed like a fucking baller. I mean, the river was brutal, but I survived. Obviously.
And now you’re trapped. Regret drapes a phantom arm over my shoulders. With me. Keeping me here. Feeding me.
“I can’t escape.”
Don’t pretend you want to escape me. The whisper retreats into the shadows. When you’re ready to talk again, I’ll be here.
I rake my fingers down my face, digging into my beard and filthy skin. I need to focus. I need to get the fuck out of here.
But where the hell is here?
The doctor flew me to this place. I was drugged out of my mind and half-dead as he hauled me from his plane to this outbuilding. But as consciousness flickered in and out, I saw…