Series: Kings and Villains #1
Publication date: December 1st, 2022
Synopsis:
He's my husband. I'm his prisoner.
Adrian Cross is the most ruthless kingpin in London's criminal underworld.
Dangerous. Powerful. Undeniable. Venom wrapped in Savile Row linen.
He's also my ex-husband.
Or rather, my not-quite-technically "ex" husband.
Now someone wants me dead, and the man I ran from might be my only chance of survival.
But his help won't come for free.
In exchange for his protection, he gets all of me: body and soul.
No limits. No mercy. No catching feelings for the man who hates me for what I did.
I tell myself my heart isn't part of our sinful pact.
But the deeper we sink into our twisted games, the more impossible that might be.
Because Adrian never gave it back in the first place.
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Excerpt
Chapter 9
Celeste
"Drink?"
I shake my head.
"No, thank you."
Cillian shrugs, rising from behind his desk and crossing to the shelf full of liquor across the room. He pours a heavy splash of whiskey into a crystal tumbler, turning to raise an eyebrow at me.
"You're sure?"
"Quite sure."
"Even after that?"
My lips purse as I fight to not visibly shiver.
"I'll... I'll take a small one, thank you."
A slow, triumphant smile spreads over Cillian's admittedly handsome face, even if his dark green eyes seem to exude pure malice and darkness.
He passes me a glass before sitting back across from me.
"Now then."
I clear my throat.
"Yes, so, as to the details of our--"
"We're not talking about the details yet," he growls. "Actually, we're not talking about our deal at all anymore until we discuss what just happened here."
"I'm not sure what there is to discuss."
Cillian sighs, sinking back into his chair.
"I was born, love. But not yesterday. What is it between you and Cross?"
I shrug. "Nothing."
"Try again."
My lips purse.
"It's a personal matter. It doesn't concern our deal."
"Ahhh, yes. But the thing is, your personal business is about to become my professional business, Ms. Margaux," he rumbles quietly. "And if it involves ticking off Adrian Cross, that's something we need to discuss in a wee bit more detail."
I swallow back the panic, shrugging casually.
"My business with Adrian doesn't concern our deal, and he plays no part in the services I'll be paying you for."
Cillian chuckles, reaching for his glass and taking a slow, thoughtful sip.
"Do us both a favor, Celeste."
"What's that?"
The smile disappears from his face like a light being flicked off.
"Don't think for an instant that it's wise for you to tell me how to run my business."
I shiver as the fear balls up in my throat. And then suddenly his smile is right there on his face again, flashing instantly in the way that only a true psychopath can really pull off. He sighs, swirling the whiskey in his glass.
"I'm waiting."
"Then you'll be waiting. Because I'm not going to discuss my personal life with you."
"Personal life between you and Adrian Cross."
I glare at him.
"Would you like an exorbitant amount of money, Mr. Kildare, in exchange for the services of a few of your men? I might not be in your business. But I'm fairly certain that thirty million pounds is slightly more than the going rate for bodyguards."
Cillian chuckles quietly.
"Depends on how long those services would be required."
I want to scream that for thirty million pounds, it'll be for as long as I damn well need. But I'm pretty sure that won't fly, even with Cillian.
"Six months."
Cillian arches a skeptical eyebrow.
"And what precisely happens in six months that it clears up all of your problems, Ms. Margaux?"
Six months is how much time I need. Six months is how long it will take for a dedicated team of financial consultants to liquidate the entirety of the El-Sayed fortune and transfer it to me. Which will allow me to use that fortune to find those who are trying to kill me.
And kill them first.
At least, that's what the financial consultant I spoken to in confidence and with a strict NDA in place said. The second one that I spoke to just now under the same conditions said the same thing. As did Michelle, my lawyer.
Six months. I need to stay for six months, then I'll have the capital and the clout to throw around to stop anyone coming after me, Adele, and Dahlia.
"It's just six months," I shrug at Cillian.
"The details--"
"The details are my own business. Now, would you like the thirty million or not, Mr. Kildare?"
He eyes me coolly, drumming his fingertips on the edge of his desk.
"Adrian Cross is not a friend of mine."
"Well, that makes two of us," I mutter grimly.
He laughs a low, dark laugh.
"That said, while he and I might be rivals, we have an uneasy peace between us." Cillian leans forward, tenting his fingers. "And something tells me, helping you is going to disrupt that."
I say nothing.
"That disruption could be bad for business, Celeste."
"Thirty million seems to be generally considered a good thing for business, though."
He grins darkly, shaking his head again.
"And yet, war between me and the Cross family..." he shrugs. "Might not be worth even that much money."
"Don't they say that conflict is a ladder to success?"
A smile haunts the corners of his face, curling the corners of his lips.
"You're really not going to tell me what this is between you and Cross, are you?"
"No. Now, do we have a deal or not?"
Cillian stands, his green eyes lancing into me as he extends a hand across his desk.
"I'll have my people tell you how to send the funds."
***
The rest of my meeting with Cillian takes all of five minutes, considering all it entails is hammering out a few more details of my protection.
But even as we are negotiating the terms of my own safety, my mind is only halfway present.
The other half is firmly dwelling on him.
Adrian.
When I step out of the meeting, I'm fully expecting Adrian to be waiting in the hallway, knives out and teeth bared. This may be Cillian's domain--and it is his domain--but it's pretty obvious that Adrian doesn't give a single flying fuck about whose domain is whose.
But he's not there. Knives are not waiting for me. It leaves me swirling in a confusing vortex of disappointment mixed with relief.
Was I expecting to find him out here? Or was I hoping? The thought sours in my stomach as my brow furrows deeply.
Why would I hope for him to be here? Or anywhere? I shouldn't wish to be in Adrian's presence at all after his coldness, and his darkness.
After what he did to me.
To us.
Outside The Weeping Banshee, I'm still a swirling mix of emotions. And I'm glancing around, expecting, or--God fucking help me--hoping that he's out here, ready to pounce.
But he's not.
And I hate how empty that makes me feel.
***
The now-familiar doorman at the Dorchester Hotel greets me as he opens the front doors for me. Across the lobby, I step into the gilded private elevator and punch the button for my suite. The doors begin to close, and slowly I feel my shoulders unclench as my breath slowly exhales through my lips--
Until a hand jams between the doors, stopping them before they can shut completely.
Strong, tattooed fingers curl menacingly around the doors, wrenching them back open. My face pales. My heart thuds. And suddenly, there before me, stands Adrian.
I shiver as he steps inside, staring at me coldly and saying nothing as the doors slowly begin to close again behind him.
I swallow thickly.
"No, Adrian."
Then the door shuts with a click, and the elevator begins to rise.
Still, he says nothing. All he does is stare at me with that lethally cold hatred in his eyes until the silence suffocating us threatens to swallow me whole.
And then, just when I don't think I can stand another millisecond and I'm sure I'm going to scream or explode from the tension crackling through the tiny elevator, Adrian's hand juts out and his index finger jams the stop button.
My heart jolts as the elevator stops cold. I turn to him, swallowing thickly.
"Adrian..."
"What the fuck, Celeste," he snarls. "I mean what the fuck?"
"What it is, that you wouldn't help me," I snarl back. "I know you made damn sure Alfie wouldn't either. So--"
"So why are you here?!" He roars, surging into me, choking the breath from my lungs as his strong fingers wrap around my throat. The explosive response arrests me, and I gasp as he backs me into the golden, mirrored wall of the elevator.
Adrian looms over me, pinning me tight and drowning me in his wrath.
But through it all, I find my voice.
"Screw you."
I shove at him, but he grabs my wrists and slams them back, caging me against the wall. Hissing, I jerk my knee up. But he twists to the side and slams his hip against me, pinning my thigh against the wall.
"Don't," he rasps.
"Don't what?" I snap back. "Don't stop the Cross family line right here and now with a knee to your balls?"
He smiles grimly.
"You're not working with Cillian Kildare."
"You're right, I'm not. I'm merely sourcing protection from him."
"You're not doing that either, Celeste," he snarls.
My eyes narrow. "You don't get to have a say in that. Actually, you don't get to have a say in any part of my--"
"Cillian Kildare is a sadistic sociopath."
"I'm surprised you don't hang out together, then."
His lips curl venomously.
"You're not listening to me."
"You're absolutely correct, asshole. I'm not!"
"Celeste, you're not--"
"I need help, Adrian!" I scream.
The sound echoes in the golden metallic chamber of the elevator. I shake, my shoulder heaving as I glare at him.
"And you wouldn't give it to me, so I found it elsewhere. Exactly as you said, your highness," I sneer.
Adrian's face darkens.
"I don't help liars."
"I'm not a liar. Fuck you."
"Oh? Why don't we start with the fact that Amir and Nasser aren't fucking dead."
I stare at him.
"You're insane."
"No, I'm thorough. And unlike the boy you had twisted around your finger four years ago, I don't take the bullshit that cascades from your mouth at face value anymore."
I wince at his words.
"So, yes, I looked into it, Celeste. And surprise-fucking-surprise, they're both still very much alive."
"That isn't true."
His eyes gleam maliciously as he leans close, sucking the air from my lungs.
"Let me get this through your head. I don't believe a word that comes out of your mouth, Celeste."
"And let me get this through your egomaniacal head, Adrian," I spit. "I hate you."
His lips curl into a sneer.
"You used to sing a very different tune."
"I also used to be eighteen fucking years old!" I snap. "And I used to think I was the only one!"
His face hardens.
"Excuse me?"
I shake my head, my eyes dropping away.
"Forget it."
"No. What the fuck are you talking--"
"I'm not talking about anything that matters, because it's dead and buried and in the past. Like everything about us, Adrian."
"Everything?" He growls.
I gasp as he suddenly draws close--so close that his body pins mine to the wall behind me. So close that the heat of his skin throbs against me, and so close that the dark aura around him threatens to consume me whole.
"Excuse me?" I stammer.
"You never answered my question before."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"If we're talking about things that are long buried or things that are still very much in front of us," he breathes, "I want an answer."
"To what."
His eyes turn the color of a furious ocean.
"I want to know if you've spent the last four years utterly frustrated and unsatisfied sexually. If it was any small comfort to pretend Amir's I'm-sure-pathetic attempts at giving you pleasure were me fucking you, like I know that dirty fucking girl inside of you truly wanted."
A ball of forbidden darkness pools and throbs in my core as my mouth falls open.
"You--you can't talk to me like--"
"I can, actually. And the thing is, Celeste..."
He leans close, captivating me with his fierce, vicious eyes and the dark, sultry tone of his voice.
"The thing is, I know for a fact that you fucking love it when I talk to you like this."
I'm numb, a growing heat building under my skin as my core turns to liquid fire.
"I do not--"
"Like the dirty girl you are."
I swallow thickly, shivering as he moves closer.
"Like a whore."
My eyes flash.
"Fuck you."
"Like my personal little fuck toy."
Goddammit, why is this asshole turning me on by talking to me like I'm a fucking streetwalker?
I know why.
It's because this game is rigged. And he knows me. Just like he knows precisely that speaking to me like this will turn me to putty.
Fucking bastard.
"I'm not that girl anymore," I snap.
"No shit. But some things never change, Celeste."
I glare at him.
"Everything has changed when it comes to you and--"
"Tell me, little liar," he growls. "Do your nipples still turn that darker shade of pink when you need to get fucked? Has that changed?"
My face turns to pure fire.
"You--!"
"I guess they still do," he smirks. "And do you still squeeze your thighs together like a desperate little whore when you're especially achy for me to bend you over the nearest anything and fuck you senseless until you scream my name?"
My jaw drops, and the ball of heat in my core begins to melt and drip like honey through my system. Adrian glances down, and I wince.
My thighs are clenched.
Tightly.
Fuck.
Adrian smirks cruelly, and his fingers tighten around my neck a touch more, sending this horrible thrilling sensation through me and making every nerve in my body howl with excitement and desire.
He leans close, and I bite my lip as his warm breath brushes my earlobe.
"Are you still a dripping wet, messy little girl for me whenever I even touch you?"
My eyes snap to his, fury surging in them.
"Fuck. Y--"
His hand releases my wrist and suddenly jams between my thighs. My eyes bulge when he brings it right up under my skirt. And in one motion, before I can even grasp what he's doing, or scream, or stop him, or hit him, or anything, Adrian's yanking my soaking wet panties to the side, and sinking two fingers deep into my slick, dripping wet pussy.
"Adrian--"
He curls them, and instead of cursing his name or screaming at him...
I moan.
I fucking moan. And the only thing that makes it worse is the low, smug chuckle in my ear.
"Lots of things have changed, Celeste. But some things never do."
"Fuck... you..."
I struggle to make words as he starts to fuck his fingers in and out of me. His palm grinds against my clit, making my thighs shake as my throat opens and closes.
"Exactly the same," he growls deeply. "Still such a messy, greedy little slut for me."
I whimper, chewing on my lip as my traitorous hips begin to rock agianst him.
"You're a fucking bastard."
"And you're a lying little whore."
Fury flashes in my eyes before his breath teases again over my ear.
"But you're my lying little whore, Celeste. Always were, always will be--"
I shove at him, but he's stronger. Adrian pins me to the wall, and suddenly, a mix of aching need and dark desire explodes through my core as his fingers tighten on my neck. The ones between my legs curl harder, faster, stroking my g-spot incessantly as the world blurs at the edges.
My mouth hangs open and my body shakes as my eyes roll back in my head.
"You love when I treat you like my little slut," he purrs into my ear.
"I hate you."
He starts to finger fuck me harder, faster. And everything begins to crumble.
"Get the fuck... away from me... Adrian--"
"The sooner your messy little pussy comes all over my fingers, Celeste, the sooner I will."
I choke on a moan, writhing in pleasure under his touch.
"What--why--"
"I'm proving a point," he snarls. "Now stop talking, open your legs, and fucking come for me like a good girl."
"I... hate--"
"Lies," he rasps into my ear. "Now shut up and come for me. Now."
His teeth sink into my earlobe sharply, just as his fingers stroke my g-spot perfectly. His palm grinds against my clit, and suddenly, I'm shattering for him.
I bite my lip so hard I taste coppery blood as I orgasm around his hand. I can feel my pussy clenching and wringing his fingers as I spasm and shake, shuddering around him as my lungs scream for air.
And then, just as I'm coming down, he releases me.
His hand drops from my neck.
His fingers stroke once more in and out of me, before they slide out from between my legs.
I watch, horrified, more turned on then I've been in years, as he brings his glistening, sticky fingers to his mouth, and wraps his lips around them.
His eyes hold mine wickedly as he slowly licks them clean. Then, before I can stop him, his hand shoves back under my skirt and inside my panties to sink deep into my quivering pussy again.
"Adrian..."
"You might hate me, Celeste," he growls. "But your pussy is head over fucking heels for me."
"You asshole--"
I moan as he strokes my g-spot again, and I hate that I whimper in protest when he withdraws his fingers. He brings them up again, wet and glistening, but this time, they don't go to his own mouth.
This time, they hover in front of my lips.
"Open."
My face heats, and I stare at him.
"Adrian--"
"Open your pretty mouth and lick your cum off my fingers while you tell me you still hate me, Celeste."
He leans close, his sinful lips right against my ear.
"I want you to taste your lies."
I start to shake my head.
"Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth."
And I do.
It's not that I'm scared. It's not that I think he'll hurt me or something if I don't.
It's just that I'm quite suddenly powerless, like I always have been with him. It's my inability to stop the dark, depraved lust that surges inside me whenever he's around. To say no to my twisted desires and fucked up needs...
And so I open my lips and whimper. His finger slides inside.
"Suck."
I do, shivering and throbbing with horrible heat and desire as my tongue swirls over his finger, tasting my own sweetness on it.
Slowly, he slips it out of my mouth. He smirks as he steps back, and I don't even realize he's hit the button for my floor again until the elevator starts to rise once more.
I stand there on wobbly, shaking legs, my mouth still hanging open, shocked and appalled at myself.
But also swimming in a haze of desire.
Adrian straightens his tie, and I suddenly realize I'm slumped against the wall with the front of my skirt tucked into my stretched, soaked panties, and my hair disheveled as fuck.
I blush, quickly fixing everything as the elevator comes to a smooth stop. The doors open, and Adrian turns to me.
"I believe this is where you get off."
A reader first and foremost, JAGGER COLE cut his romance writing teeth penning various fan-fiction stories years ago. After deciding to hang up his writing boots, Jagger worked in advertising pretending to be Don Draper. It worked enough to convince a woman way out of his league to marry him, though, which is a total win.
Now, Dad to two little princesses and King to a Queen, Jagger is thrilled to be back at the keyboard.
When not writing or reading romance books, he can be found woodworking, enjoying good whiskey, and grilling outside--rain or shine.
You can find all of his books on his website.
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