Meet Killian in Pepper Winter’s new MC Romance!
NOW AVAILABLE
Synopsis
"We met in a nightmare. The in-between world where
time had no power over reason. We fell in love. We fell hard. But then we woke
up. And it was over . . ."
RUIN & RULE
She is a woman divided. Her past,
present, and future are as twisted as the lies she's lived for the past eight
years. Desperate to get the truth, she must turn to the one man who may also be
her greatest enemy . . .
He is the president of Pure Corruption
MC. A heartless biker and retribution-deliverer. He accepts no rules, obeys no
one, and lives only to reap revenge on those who wronged him. And now he has
stolen her, body and soul.
Can a woman plagued by mystery fall in
love with the man who refuses to face the truth? And can a man drenched in
darkness forgo his quest for vengeance-and finally find redemption?
"Ruin & Rule is a full-length
book at 436 pages and ends on a cliffhanger. Cleo and Kill's story continues in
SIN & SUFFER."
My Review
This is an intense book! Wow! Okay…..so the story line just
dives right in. We meet a women who has no idea who she is or where she is. She
is kidnapped for some reason and brought to a man called Kill. The president of
a powerful MC club. The minute she sees Kill she feels like she knows him…..he
thinks someone is playing a cruel joke on him.
Slowly through the story we learn who the mystery woman (Cleo)
is and what she means to Kill. There are a lot of flash backs from both Kill’s
&Cleo’s perspectives. While I understand why this is done, it’s not my
favorite way of storytelling. It makes it harder FOR ME to connect with the
characters in the present. They slowly get to know each other and form a
connection. The whole time Kill knows that it won’t last. He knows that his
past will come to light.
I don’t want to really give anything away because both Kill
and the Cleo have secrets. Kills are much more explosive! And just when you think
you know what he is hiding…..the truth is reveled and it is damning. Kill knows that it will destroy any connection
he forged with the Cleo.
I really like Kill. He is supposed to be the bad guy. And he
is. Kind of. It’s all hard to explain without giving anything away. Cleo is pretty strong. For not having any
memory of who she once was (except for confusing flashbacks) she clings to her
connection with Kill….but does not shirk away from his violent side.
This does end in a cliffy. A pretty brutal one at that. I’m
okay with cliffy’s…….just makes me appreciate the next book so much more!
Addicted
Prologue
We met in a nightmare.
The in-between world where time had no power over rhyme,
reason, or connection. We met. We stared. We knew.
There was no distortion from the outside world. No right
or wrong. No confusion or battles from hearts and minds.
Just us. In our silent dreamworld.
That nightmare became our home. Planting ghosts, raising
fantasies. Entwined together in our happily skewed reality.
We fell in love. We fell hard.
In those fleeting seconds of our nightmare, we lived an
eternity.
But then we woke up.
And it was over.
Chapter One
I always believed life would grant rewards to those most
worthy. I was fucking naïve. Life doesn’t reward—it ruins. It ruins those most
deserving and takes everything. It takes everything all while watching any
remaining goodness rot to hate.
—Kill
Darkness.
That was my world now. Literally and physically.
The back of my skull hurt from being knocked unconscious.
My wrists and shoulders ached from lying on my back with my hands tied behind
me.
Nothing was broken—at least it didn’t feel that way—but
everything was bruised. The fuzziness receded wisp by wisp, parting the clouds
of sleep, trying to shed light on what’d happened. But there was no light. My
eyes blinked at the endless darkness from the mask tied around my head. Anxiety
twisted my stomach at having such a fundamental gift taken away.
I didn’t move, but mentally catalogued my body from the
tips of my toes to the last strand of hair on my head. My jaw and tongue ached
from the foul rag stuffed in my mouth and my nose permitted a shallow stream of
oxygen to enter—just enough to keep me alive.
Fear tried to claw its way through my mind, but I shoved
it away. I deliberately suppressed panic in order to assess my predicament
rather than lose myself to terror.
Fear never helps, only hinders.
My senses came back, creeping tentatively, as if afraid
whoever had stolen me would notice their return.
Sound: the squeak of brakes, the creak of a vehicle
settling from motion to stopping.
Touch: the skin on my right forearm stung, throbbing with
a mixture of soreness and sharpness. A burn perhaps?
Smell: dank rotting vegetables and the astringent, pungent
scent of fear—but it wasn’t mine. It was theirs.
It wasn’t just me being kidnapped.
My heart flurried, drinking in their terror. It made my
breath quicken and legs itch to run. Forcing myself to ignore the outside
world, I focused inward. Clutching my inner strength where calmness was a need
rather than a luxury.
I refused to lose myself in a fog of tears. Desperation
was a curse and I wouldn’t succumb, because I had every intention of being
prepared for what might happen next.
I hated the sniffles and stifled sobs of others around me.
Their bleak sadness tugged at my heartstrings, making me fight with my own
preservation, replacing it with concern for theirs.
Get through this, then worry about them.
I didn’t think this was a simple opportunistic snatch.
Whoever had stolen me planned it. The hunch grew stronger as I searched inside
for any liquor remnants or the smell of cigarettes.
Had I been at a party? Nightclub?
Nothing.
I hadn’t been stupid or reckless. I think…
No hint or clue as to where I’d been or what I’d been
doing when they’d come for me.
I wriggled, trying to move away from the stench. My bound
wrists protested, stinging as the rope around them gnawed into my flesh like
twine-beasts. My ribs bellowed, along with my head. There was no give in my
restraints. I stopped trying to move, preserving my energy.
I tried to swallow.
No saliva.
I tried to speak.
No voice.
I tried to remember what happened.
I tried to remember…
Panic.
Nothing.
I can’t remember.
“Get up, bitch,” a man said. Something jabbed me in the
ribs. “Won’t tell you again. Get.”
I froze as my mind hurtled me from present to past.
I’ll miss you so much,” she wailed, hugging me tighter.
“I’m not dying, you know.” I tried to untangle myself,
looking over my shoulder at the final call flashing for my flight. I hated
being late for anything. Let alone my one chance at escaping and finding out
the truth once and for all.
“Call me the moment you get there.”
“Promise.” I drew a cross over my heart—
The memory shattered as my horizontal body suddenly went
vertical in one swoop.
Who was that girl? Why did I have no memory of it ever
happening?
“I said get up, bitch.” The man breathed hard in my ear,
sending a waft of reeking breath over me. The blindfold stole my sight, but it
left my nose woefully unprotected.
Unfortunately.
My captor shoved me forward. The ground was steady beneath
my feet. The sickness plaiting with my confusion faded, leaving me cold.
My legs stumbled in the direction he wanted me to go. I
hated shuffling in the darkness, not knowing where I came from or where I was
being herded. There were no sounds of comfort or smothered snickers. This
wasn’t a masquerade.
This was real.
This is real.
My heart thudded harder, fear slipping through my
defenses. But full-blown terror remained elusive. Slippery like a silver fish,
darting on the outskirts of my mind. It was there but fleeting, keeping me
clear-headed and strong.
I was grateful for that. Grateful that I maintained what
dignity I had left—remaining strong even in the face of the unknown terrors
lurking on the other side of my blindfold.
Moans and whimpers of other women grew in decibels as men
ordered them to follow the same path I walked. Either death row or salvation, I
had no choice but to inch my way forward, leaving my forgotten past behind.
I willed snippets to come back. I begged the puzzlement of
my past to slot into place, so I could make sense of this horrible world I’d
awoken in.
But my mind was locked to me. A fortress withholding
everything I wished to know.
The pushing stopped. So did I.
Big mistake.
“Move.” A cuff to the back of my head sent me wheeling
forward. I didn’t stop again. My bare feet traversed…wood?
Bare feet?
Where are my shoes?
The missing knowledge twisted my stomach.
Where did I come from?
How did I end up here?
What’s my name?
It wasn’t the terror of the unknown future that stole my
false calmness. It was the fear of losing my very self. They’d stolen
everything. My triumphs, my trespasses, my accomplishments and failures.
How could I deal with this new world if I didn’t know what
skills I had to stay alive? How could I hope to defeat my enemy when my mind
revolted and locked me out?
Who am I?
To have who I was deleted…It was unthinkable.
“Faster, bitch.” Something cold wedged against my spine,
pushing me onward. With my hands behind my back, I shuffled faster, negotiating
the ground as best I could for dips or trips.
“Step down.” The man grabbed my bound wrists, giving me
something to lean against as my toes navigated the small steps before me.
“Again.”
I obeyed.
“Last one.”
I managed the small staircase without falling flat on my
face.
My face.
What do I look like?
A loud scraping noise sounded before me. I shied back,
bumping against a feminine form. The woman behind me cried out—the first verbal
sound of another.
“Move.” The pressure on my lower back came again, and I
obeyed. Inching forward until the stuffy air of old vegetables and must was
replaced by…copper and metallic…blood?
Why…why is that so familiar?
I gasped as my mind free-fell into another memory.
“I don’t think I can do this.” I darted away, throwing up
in the rubbish bin in the classroom. The unique stench of blood curdled my
stomach.
“Don’t overthink it. It’s not what you’re doing to the
animal to make it bleed. It’s what you’re doing to make it live.” My professor
shook his head, waiting for me to swill out my mouth and return white-faced and
queasy to the operation in progress.
My heart splintered like a broken piece of glass,
reflecting the compassion and responsibility I felt for such an innocent
creature. This little puppy that’d been dumped in a plastic bag to die after
being shot with BB gun pellets. He’d survive only if I mastered the skills to
stem his internal bleeding and embrace the vocation I was called to do.
Inhaling the scent of blood, I let it invade my nostrils,
scald my throat, and impregnate my soul. I drank its coppery essence. I
drenched myself in the smell of the creature’s life force until it no longer
affected me.
Picking up a scalpel, I said, “I’m ready—”
“Holy fuck!” The man guiding me forward suddenly whacked
the base of my spine. The hard pain shoved me forward and I tripped.
“Wire—get me fucking reinforcements. He’s started a
motherfucking war!”
Wind and body motion swarmed me as men charged from
behind. The darkness I lived in suddenly came alive with sound.
Bullets flew, impaling themselves into the metal sides of
the vehicle I’d just stepped from. Pings and ricochets echoed in my ear. Curses
bellowed; moans of pain threaded like a breeze.
Someone grabbed my arm, swinging me to the side. “Get
down!” The inertia of his throw knocked me off balance. With my wrists bound
together, I had nothing to grab with, no way to protect myself from falling.
I fell.
My stomach swooped as tumbled off a small platform and
smashed against the ground.
Dirt, damp grass, and moldy leaves replaced the stench of
blood, cutting through the cloying sharpness of spilled metallic. My mouth
opened, gasping in pain. Blades of grass tickled my lips as my cheek stuck to
wet mud.
My shoulder screamed with agony, but I ignored the new
injury. My mind clung to the unlocked memory. The fleeting recollection of my
profession.
I’m a vet.
The sense of homecoming and security that one little
snippet brought was priceless. My soul snarled for more, suddenly ravenous for
missing information.
I skipped straight from fumbling uncertainty into
starvation for more.
Tell me! Show me. Who am I?
I searched inside for more clues. But it was like trying
to grab on to an elusive dream, fading faster and faster the harder I chased.
I couldn’t remember anything about medicine or how to
heal. All I knew was I’d been trained to embrace the scent of blood. I wasn’t
afraid of it. I didn’t faint or suffer sickness at the sight of it pouring from
an open wound.
That tiniest knowledge was enough to settle my prickling
nerves and focus on the outside world again.
Battle cries. Men screaming. Men growling. The dense thuds
of fists on flesh and the horrible deflection of gunshots.
I couldn’t understand. Had I fallen through time and
entered an alternate dimension?
Another body landed on top of mine.
I cried out, winded from a sharp poke of an elbow to my
ribs.
The figure rolled away, crying softly. Feminine.
Why aren’t I crying?
I once again searched for fear. It wasn’t natural not to
be afraid. I’d woken up alone, stolen, and thrown into the middle of a war, yet
I wasn’t hyperventilating or panicked.
My calmness was like a drug, oozing over me, muting the
sharp starkness of my situation. It was bearable if I embraced courage and the
knowledge that I was strong.
My hands balled, grateful for the thought. I didn’t know
who I was, but it didn’t matter, because the person who I was in this moment
mattered the most.
I had to remain segmented, so I could get through whatever
was about to happen. All I had was gut instinct, quiet strength, and
rationality. Everything else had been taken.
“Stop fighting, you fucking idiots!”
The loud growl rumbled like an earthquake, hushing the
battle in one fell swoop. Whoever had spoken had power.
Immense power. Colossal power.
A shiver darted over my skin.
“What the fuck happened? Have you lost your goddamn lovin’
mind?” a man yelled.
A sound of a short scuffle, then the fresh whiff of tilled
dirt graced my nose.
“It’s done. Throw down your weapons and bend a fucking
knee.” The same earthquake rumbled. The weight of his command pushed me harder
against the damp ground.
“I’m not bending nothing, you asshole. You aren’t my
Prez!”
“I am. Have been for the past four years.”
“You’re not. You’re his bitch. Don’t think his power is
yours.”
Another fight—muffled fists and kicks. It ended swiftly
with a painful groan.
The earthquake voice came again. “Open your eyes and
follow the red fucking river. Your chosen—the one you hand-picked to slaughter
me and take over the Club—he’s dead. Did you ever stop to think Wallstreet made
me Prez for a fucking reason?”
Another moan.
“I’m the chosen one. I’m the one who knows the family
secrets, absorbed the legacy, and earned his way into power. You don’t know
shit. Nobody does. So bend a fucking knee and respect.”
Another tremor ran down my back.
Silence for a time, apart from the squelch of boots and
heavy breathing. Then a barely muttered curse. “You’ll die. One way or another,
we won’t put up with a Dagger as a Prez. We’re the Corrupts, goddammit. Having
a traitor rule us is a fucking joke.”
“I’m the traitor? The man who obeys your leader? Who
guides in his stead? I’m the traitor when you try and rally my brothers in a
war?” A heavy thud of a fist connected with flesh. “No…I’m not. You are.”
My mind raced, sucking up noises and forming wild conclusions
of what happened before me. Was this World War Three? Was this the apocalypse
of the life I couldn’t remember? No matter how I pieced it together, I couldn’t
make sense of anything.
The air was thick with anticipation. I didn’t know how
many men stood before me. I didn’t know how many corpses littered the ground,
or how such violence could be permitted in the world I used to know. But I did
know the cease-fire was fragile and any moment it would explode.
A single threat slithered through the grass like a snake.
“I’ll kill you, motherfucker. Mark my words. The true Corrupts are just waiting
to take you out.”
The gentle foot-thuds of someone large vibrated through
the ground. “The Corrupts haven’t existed for four fucking years. The moment I
took the seat, it’s been Pure Corruption all the way. And you’re not fucking
pure enough for this Club. You’re done.”
I flinched as the sulfuric boom of a gun ripped through
the stagnant air.
A crash as a body fell lifeless to the grass. A soft puff
of a soul escaping.
Murder.
Murder was committed right before me.
The inherent need to nurture and heal—the part of me that
was as steadfast as the beat of my heart—wept with regret.
Death was something I’d fought against on a daily basis,
but now I was weaponless.
I hated that a life had been stolen right before me. That
I hadn’t been able to stop it.
I’m a witness.
And yet, I’d witnessed nothing.
I’d been privy to a battle but seen nothing. Knew no one.
I would never be able to tell who shot whom, or who was right and who was
wrong.
My hands shook, even though I managed to stay eerily calm.
Am I in shock? And if I was, how did I cure myself?
The woman beside me curled into a ball, her knees digging
into my side. My first reaction was to repel away from the touch. I didn’t know
who was friend or foe. But a second reaction came quickly; the urge to share my
calmness—to let her know that no matter what happened, she wasn’t alone. We
faced the same future—no matter how grim.
Voices cascaded over us, whispers mainly, quickly spoken
orders. Every sound was heightened. Being robbed of sight made my body seek
other ways in which to find clues.
“Get rid of the bodies before daybreak.”
“We’ll go back and make sure we’re still covered.”
“Send out the word. It’s over. The Prez won—no anarchy
today.”
Each voice was distinct but my ears twitched only for one:
the earthquake rumble that set my skin quivering like quicksand.
He hadn’t spoken since he’d condemned someone to death and
pulled the trigger. Every second of not hearing him made my heart trip faster.
I wasn’t afraid. I should be. I should be immobile with fear. But he invoked
something in me—something primal. Just like I knew I was female and a vet, I
knew his voice meant something. Every inch of me tensed, waiting for him to
speak. It was wrong to crave the voice of a killer, but it was the only thing I
wanted.
Needed.
I need to know who he is.
Wet mud sucked loudly against boots as they came closer.
The woman whimpered, but I angled my chin toward the
sound, wishing my eyes were uncovered.
I wanted to see. I wanted to witness the carnage before
me. Because it was carnage. The stench of death confirmed it. It was morbid to
want to see such destruction, but without my sight all of this seemed like a
terrible nightmare. Nothing was grounded—completely nonsensical and far too
strange.
I needed proof that this was real.
I needed concrete evidence that I wasn’t mad. That my body
was intact, even if my mind was not.
I sucked in a breath as warm fingers touched my cheek,
angling my face upward and out of the mud. Strong hands caressed the back of my
skull, fumbling with my blindfold.
The anticipation of finally getting my wish to see made me
stay still and cooperative in his hold.
I didn’t say a word or move. I just waited. And breathed.
And listened.
The man’s breath was heavy and low, interspersed with a
quick catch of pain. His fingers were swift and sure, but unable to hide the
small fumble of agony.
He’s hurt.
The pressure of the blindfold suddenly released, trading
opaque darkness for a new kind of gloom.
Night sky. Moonshine. Stars above.
Anchors of a world I knew, but no recognition of the
dark-shrouded industrial estate where blood gleamed silver-black and corpses
dotted the field.
I’m alive.
I can see.
The joy at having my eyes freed came and went as blazing
as a comet.
Then my life ended as our gazes connected.
Green to green.
I have green eyes.
Down and down I spiraled, deeper and deeper into his
clutches.
My life—past, present, and future—lost all purpose the
second I stared into his soul.
The fear I’d been missing slammed into my heart.
I quivered. I quaked.
Something howled deep inside with age-old knowledge.
Every part of me arched toward him, then shied away in
terror.
Him.
A nightmare come to life.
A nightmare I wanted to live.
If life was a tapestry, already threaded and steadfast,
then he was the scissors that cut me free. He tore me out, stole me away,
changed the whole prophecy of who I was meant to be.
Jaw-length dark hair, tangled and sweaty, framed a square
jaw, straight nose, and full lips. His five-o’clock stubble held remnants of
war, streaked with dirt and blood. But it was his eyes that shot a quivering
arrow into my heart, spreading his emerald anger.
He froze, his body curving toward mine. Blistering hope
flickered across his features. His mouth fell open and love so achingly deep
glowed in his gaze. “What—” A leg gave out, making him kneel beside me. His
hands shook as he cupped my face, his fingers digging painfully into my
cheekbones. “It’s not—”
My heart raced. Yes.
“You know me,” I breathed.
The moment my voice webbed around us, storm clouds rolled
over the sunshine in his face, blackening the hope and replacing it with pure
hatred.
He changed from watching me like I was his angel to
glowering as if I were a despicable devil.
I shivered at the change—at the iciness and hardness. He
breathed hard, his chest rising and falling. His lips parted, a rumbling
command falling from his mouth to my ears. “Stand up. You’re mine now.”
When I didn’t move, his hand landed on my side. His touch
was blocked by clothing but I felt it everywhere. He stroked my soul, tickled
my heart, and caressed every cell with fingers that despised me.
I couldn’t suck in a proper breath.
With a vicious push, he rolled me over, and with a sharp
blade sliced my bindings. With effortless power, so thrilling and terrifying,
he hauled me to my feet.
I didn’t sway. I didn’t cry. Only pulled the disgusting
gag from my mouth and stared in silence.
I stared up, up, up into his bright green eyes,
understanding something I shouldn’t understand.
This was him.
My nightmare.
About the Author
Pepper
Winters wears many roles. Some of them include writer, reader, sometimes wife.
She loves dark, taboo stories that twist with your head. The more tortured the
hero, the better, and she constantly thinks up ways to break and fix her
characters. Oh, and sex... her books have sex.
She loves
to travel and has an amazing, fabulous hubby who puts up with her love affair
with her book boyfriends.
Her Dark
Erotica books include:
Tears of
Tess (Monsters in the Dark #1)
Quintessentially
Q (Monsters in the Dark #2)
Her Grey
Romance books include:
Destroyed
