Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Damen
All I want is to join my family for their annual Christmas hunt. But no, because that’s apparently only for married men. Like I need a ring on my finger to shoot a man in the back.
Oh, yes, the tradition is hunting people. We keep some enemies alive and let them think they can escape. It’s just a bit of festive fun, really, so it infuriates me that I, their best hitman, can't take part.
If my homophobic father thinks I’ll marry a woman to qualify, he’s delusional. This year, I’m coming home with a husband. And the perfect disaster of a man literally falls into my lap.
Green hair, tattoos, piercings, ripped jeans, and kohl-rimmed eyes. He’s loud, drinks too much, and has no manners.
My father will hate him.
Killian
My type? Hot, toxic, and guaranteed to ruin my life. I’ve been cheated on, stalked, blackmailed, and I am so done. When my latest ex corners me at a bar with his signature mix of lies and threats, I ask a hot guy in a sharp suit to pretend he’s my boyfriend.
He agrees, but asks me to be his fake husband at his family Christmas in return.
Free booze, a vacation in Aspen, and drama? Where do I sign up?
Only it turns out he’s a mafioso, his family hunts people for sport, and if I don’t play my cards right, I might end up on their trophy wall.
To survive the holidays, I just need to make sure I don’t fall for my rich, gorgeous, and psycho fake husband. Easy-peasy.
Have I mentioned he’s a millionaire, speaks French and f*cks like a demon?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Damen
“The rules have been the same for five generations now. If you want to participate in the Christmas hunt, you need to be married or at the least engaged. The world isn’t always going to bend to your whims.”
This is hardly the first time I’ve heard a similar sentence, but what makes this different is the fact I’m discussing this in a gay club, hoping no drunk stranger decides to prank me by screaming lewd shit into my phone.
I borderline came out during my cousin’s wedding three years back, when I insisted referring to my then-boyfriend as my partner instead of pretending that the person I was dating was female. I’m certain the gossip about that heated conversation reached my father’s ears too, yet here he is, insisting I can only be treated as an adult if I marry. It must be an open secret that I’m gay, surely.
I want to answer, but I’ve taken too long, so the tirade continues as I walk down the quiet corridor where only the faint pulsing of music can be heard. I admire the penis graffiti someone decided to draw on the wall next to a poster of a buff guy in a leather harness. What can I say? My taste in clubs isn’t as classy as my taste in suits, but it does match the guys I go for. Crude, inked, and a little feral.
I walk outside to hear my father better.
“Uncle Roger is bringing this nice girl for you to meet, Samantha. She knows about the business. If you hit it off, maybe by next year, you will be able to join us for the hunt. Who knows, maybe you’ll even have a kid in your arms by then. You’re almost thirty, Damen. It’s time to become a responsible family man. You know I’m proud of how you handle work, but life can’t be about just that.”
I scowl, and some poor guy, who happens to glance my way at the same time scurries off, heading for the safety of the dancefloor inside. If my family does know I fuck guys, are they coping by assuming I’m bi and will eventually settle down with a partner of the opposite sex?
That is not happening, because there‘s never been a woman I wanted to kiss, and I’m positive that won’t change. That very thing is on the tip of my tongue, yet when I open my mouth, eager to fill the silence when Father takes a break for air, words thicken in my throat and remain unspoken.
Why is this happening? I never have any qualms stating my opinions, no matter how harsh, but this particular topic always ends up feeling like glass so thin it might break if I look at it the wrong way.
I’m not ashamed of who I am.
I’ve had boyfriends, I vacation on Fire Island, and I even donate to gay rights organizations every year, yet here I am, silent when faced with my father’s demands.
“Just look how well your brother has done for himself. Bree is the most wonderful wife to him, and now they have Art to take care of, but it’s not taken away his edge if that’s what you’re worried about. Last year, he brought in four of the five trophies at the hunt.”