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AFTERWORD
Thank you for reading my novel, Dare You to Ruin Me. I really hope you enjoyed it! If you did, could you please be so kind to write a review HERE?
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DO YOU WANT MORE ROMANCE?
Turn on the next page to read the first chapters of my latest best-selling novel: Hunter’s Scars
Do I love him, or is Stockholm syndrome altering my brain chemistry? My husband Nikolai calls Alek Ivankov a monster, yet he tortures him relentlessly. His actions make me wonder who the real monster is. I sneak into Alek's cell to tend to his wounds in secret, defying Nikolai. But each encounter reveals more of his deceit. Confronting him lands me in the basement with Alek. I really did love Nikolai… until his past started haunting me.
HUNTER’S SCARS
CHAPTER ONE
ALEK
“Are you ready now?”
Of course not. The man standing in front of me knows that I will never surrender. I won’t break. No matter what he does to me. No matter how many days of torture he forces me to endure before my heart finally gives out and I die, I will not break.
I think that’s what Nikolai Volkovich gets off on the most.
Even though it’s a futile endeavor that he’s undertaking, the bastard has always been a sadist. He likes hurting people just to see them scream. Something about him craves blood. Whether he’s inflicting bruises on his opponents in the boxing ring or with full out torture, he loves it.
I swear the bastard is circling me with a predatory half chub in his black slacks.
Not that I can see much of a bulge there. Guess that he’s not packing much inside of his pants. It would make sense that all his bravado and violence are a result of needing to compensate for a shrimpy, small dick.
I smirk. I can’t help it.
The very action makes my eyes water with pain - the one that isn’t swollen shut anymore.
Nikolai stops his circling appraisal of the carnage that he’s inflicted on my suspended body. My hands chained up above my head have been numb for at least the last hour, maybe two. Every breath that I suck in feels like I’m inhaling shards of glass. But if thinking about the likelihood of him being lacking in the manhood department keeps me sane? Who cares?
“Something funny?” Nikolai asks as he grasps my chin in his beefy hand so hard I wince.
“No, of course not.” I wheeze.
Nikolai snarls and releases me with so much force that I spin in a half circle where I dangle.
He’s got to have at least seventy-five pounds of muscle on me and he’s a good three inches taller than my six foot one. I have always been fast on my feet, but he’s a brick shithouse. It really wouldn’t even be match a fair match between us if I wasn’t chained to the ceiling of his rank ass basement. Those stains on the floor? Not just my blood. It’s rude, really, to bring me of all people into a room that he’s already tortured somebody in before.
At least bleach the floors or something.
I, Alek Ivankov, deserve a little more flourish at the very least. A private torture room isn’t too much to ask for. It’s not like the rich bastard can’t afford one with all his blood money.
Now my mind’s eye switches to a delusional scenario where I’m being led down into Nikolai’s basement and being shown various torture rooms like they are the finest hotel suites for me to take my pick before being shoved into one.
