"If you think Kieran is dangerous… twisted…
Wait until you meet Dante D'Angelo.
Charming. Merciless. Psycho with a smile.
And the girl he's been hunting? She's about to find out what fear — and obsession — really feels like."
I was trapped in the middle of nowhere.
Footsteps.
Jason.
Coming back.
I moved fast, slipping behind the cracked wooden door in the corner. The wood smelled like mold and salt. I pressed my back against it, breath held, pulse everywhere at once.
Jason stopped in front of the door — inches from where I was hiding.
His phone rang.
A woman's voice spilled through the speaker, loud enough for me to catch pieces of it between the sound of waves slamming the shore.
"I didn't tell you to kill her!" she snapped. "What have you done? The whole city is talking about Kieran's dead wife! Why would you kill her? I told you — take her away. I didn't say murder."
My blood went cold.
Jason scoffed, voice low and cruel. "I know what you said, old lady. Don't interfere in my business. I did your job. Now send more money or I talk."
A gasp almost escaped me — I slapped a hand over my mouth before I betrayed myself.
He wasn't just obsessed.
He wasn't acting alone.
He was paid to kidnap me.
By who?
My best friend. My stupid, smiling, trusted friend. He did all this… for money? Someone hired him to kidnap me?
Jason hung up and swung the door open so suddenly I stumbled backwards.
His eyes landed on the fallen chair. The broken bottle. The severed rope.
And he realized I was gone.
"Aurielle," he growled.
Before I could escape, He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked, slamming me into the ground. Pain ricocheted through my skull. His breath was hot, furious, unhinged as he dragged me across the floor.
"You think you can run from me?" he hissed.
He hit me. Hard. Again.
Something inside me snapped. Fear, anger, desperation — all of it mixed and burned through my veins.
I punched him.
Right across the jaw. Hard enough that his head snapped to the side.
He looked stunned — like he forgot I wasn't some fragile little flower.
Jason recovered fast. Too fast.
Before I could kick away, he snatched a shard of the broken bottle and drove it into my leg.
I screamed.
"White-hot pain shot up my thigh. Tears blurred my vision, but anger overrode fear—how dare he? How dare he betray trust I'd never thought he'd touch?"
He climbed on top of me and wrapped his hands around my throat.
I clawed at his wrist, choking. "J–Jason… please…"
He didn't loosen his grip.
Black dots danced in my vision. My lungs burned. I couldn't breathe.
I had one choice left.
I shoved my fingers into his eyes—hard.
He howled and jerked back, covering his face.
I didn't wait.
I ran.
Barefoot. Bleeding. Sobbing. Running like the world depended on it — because it did.
I sprinted through the trees, branches cutting my skin, sand sticking to the blood on my leg. A gunshot cracked through the night.
I ducked, zigzagging through the darkness the way I'd seen people do in movies. Another shot — wild, high, missing me.
I didn't look back.
I just ran.
...
Dante had just gotten back to his beach house — one of many — but this one was quiet, tucked behind palm trees, hidden from everything and everyone. The ocean wasn't far, just close enough to hear it if you listened.
He was sprawled on the leather couch, shirt half-open, head kicked back, breath slow, bored. A girl kneeled between his legs, blonde, pretty face, club lingerie riding up her thighs. One of those outfits held together by straps and arrogance.
Her mouth was wrapped around him, sloppy and eager, drool on her chin.
Dante didn't look at her — he never looked at the ones that weren't important.
His hand tangled in her hair, pushing her deeper, forcing control. She gagged, throat tightening around his d…ck but she didn't stop. If anything, she tried harder, like she wanted to earn something from him.
She wasn't getting anything.
Not his attention. Not his time. Definitely not his heart.
He groaned low when heat hit him just right and held her there a moment, not letting her pull back until he decided.
Then he finally released, sharp, rough, spilling c…m across her face.
White streaks on her cheek, her lips, her lashes. She blinked up at him like she wanted praise.
"Get up," Dante said, bored.
No affection. No softness.
She stood, licking his c…m off the corner of her mouth with her fingers before sauntering away like she thought she impressed him.
She didn't.
Dante buttoned his shirt lazily, eyes half-lidded, still completely uninterested.
His right-hand man, Marco, had been standing by the door the entire time — hands behind his back, eyes lowered like a soldier. The man didn't even blink at the sex show. It was normal in Dante's world.
Marco cleared his throat. "Boss. There's news."
Dante didn't look at him. He wiped his thumb casually across his lip.
"If this isn't worth interrupting my evening," Dante murmured, "I'll shoot you myself."
Marco nodded like death was a normal threat — because with Dante, it was.
"It's about Kieran."
Dante laughed. Actually laughed. A low, sharp sound.
"So the great cousin finally decided to make the news again?" he said, leaning back, stretching his arms behind the couch.
"He's causing chaos in the city," Marco said. "His wife died. Burned."
Dante froze — not because he cared, but because it amused him.
"Kieran got married?" Dante smirked. "And lost her already? Just like that?"
Marco nodded grimly.
"And he's losing control."
Dante's smile widened, wicked and slow.
"That's… beautiful."
He stood, fixing his cuffs like he was preparing for a board meeting instead of blood.
"Kieran was never meant to be don," Dante said quietly. "He plays at mercy. Mercy gets you killed."
Marco hesitated. "Boss… these islands are remote. You don't think he's here, do you?"
Dante snorted. "Kieran doesn't know I'm back. And even if he did, he wouldn't find this place."
He stopped. Turned his head slightly, something sharp and hungry in his eyes.
"But somebody's here," Dante murmured.
"I heard gunshots."
Marco stiffened. "I'm coming with you."
"No." Dante glanced back, a dead smile stretching across his mouth. "If you follow me, I'll kill you myself."
He stepped outside, no gun, no weapon — nothing but his hands and a craving for violence.
Dante lived on appetite:
• appetite for power
• appetite for blood
• appetite for chaos
Kieran was dangerous.
Dante was fearless.
He walked across the sand like he was walking into a party, hands in his pockets, head tilted, eyes bright with excitement.
Another gunshot rang out.
His smile deepened.
God, he missed this.
He'd been hungry for blood for weeks.
Whoever was out there had no idea what kind of monster they just woke up.