dark romance books

Dark Romance Books: American Alpha Soldier (WMBW Interracial Romance Novel)

American Alpha Soldier

A dangerous love story between a former racist on the path to redemption and a black woman skyrocketing towards fame.

An alpha male soldier with a dark past…

His dream woman, desperate for a gospel music award…

Their hearts weren’t prepared for a head-on collision like this.

A white man journeys towards healing and sheds his dark past by falling in love with an African American woman.

This page-turning ultra-steamy story of atonement, true love, kinky lust, and real redemption will change the way you think about interracial love.

Hi everyone! I have been working to make some changes and re-release my book previously published as Rock Hard Soldier under a different title. Finally, the book is ready and on sale. I have to warn you that this book has very sweet romance mixed with dark themes and if you feel sensitive regarding some of the explicit content in this book, you may not enjoy it. However, the sex scenes in this book are INSANELY hot and I promise you will be scouring bars looking for the military man of your dreams to take you home…

Keep reading here to enjoy the entire first chapter FREE. 👇


Talia leaned over the table, pressing her elbows into the table and squeezing her bosom together unconsciously.

“So how much time do you have left?”

“One last tour of duty. Not sure when.”

“Exciting. So you’ve been all over the world?" She probed.

He sat back and nodded, “All over the middle east at least. Spent some time in Africa.”

“Oohh, Africa. Sounds wild.”

“It was.”

“Well, Damian, I’m glad Imogen convinced us to get together.” 

Damian smiled at the woman sitting across from him. She was the one who’d needed to be convinced. From the moment his buddy’s wife, Imogen Henderson, had brought her stunning friend Talia out for drinks, Damian had been smitten. He’d only said a few, shy words to her, but he was desperate to find out more.

Imogen, eager to play matchmaker, had convinced Talia to see Damian beyond the group setting. Their first date had started off well.

“I’m glad too.”

Talia shrugged, “Though I can’t say I agree with all this war stuff. I’m more of a pacifist.”

“A pacifist?"

Talia nodded.

“I don’t think there’s a single conflict that we can solve better with violence.”

Damian smirked and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, we’re all entitled to our opinions, aren’t we.”

“Hey, no judgment,” Talia replied.

“So what about you? What do you do for a living?”

Talia shook her long, curly black hair out of her face. Her sparkly eyeshadow complemented the Ankara print on her dress. 

“I’m a singer."

“What kind of singer?”

“Gospel music. Jazz music. Anything that will pay the bills.”

“No way.”

“Yup,” Talia nodded, “It’s always been my dream to be a big star. Like Etta James. Or Billie Holiday.”

“I love Billie Holiday.”

“There's not a man I trust who doesn’t.”

Damian grinned. He liked Talia so far. A lot. She was on the thicker side, with a nice round buttocks and a set of breasts that he’d pay to suffocate between. Not like he’d be so crude as to say that to her out loud. Her skin, a reddish-brown ochre color had a deep, warm glow. Her smile lit up her face, carving out two dimples in her cheeks. 

Her patterned dress was loud and extroverted, in stark contrast to the shyness she displayed on their date. She was reserved but open at the same time, giving Damian the impression that she valued her honesty.

“So where do you sing?” 

Talia lit up once he asked her about singing.

“I started off singing in church. But then… I stopped going to church. Started getting gigs singing in bars. I put out an independent album and now my agent is working to sign me a record deal.”

“Wow. That’s…impressive?”

Talia shrugged, “Not really. It’s not like I’m rich or anything. But I hope to be some day.”

“Don’t we all,” Damian replied with a smile.

He continued to press her, “So this album, can I listen to it some time?”

“You can buy it,” Talia teased, “Lord knows I need the money.”

“I’ve never been a fan of gospel music.”

Talia clicked her teeth, “I have a feeling I’ll change your mind.”

Damian admired her confidence. She seemed to ooze it, especially when talking about singing. Hell, he could imagine she’d be a good singer too. Even her regular speaking voice was deep and sultry, with a slight rasp to it. He could just imagine how beautiful she looked with her mouth all twisted up, as high notes flew into the air. 

Talia could see him looking at her and she changed the subject again. She found Damian attractive, but she didn’t want to lead him to believe she was ready for something that she wasn’t. A man being fine wasn’t enough of a reason for her to let him in.

“Another drink?” Damian asked.

“Sure thing.”

Damian pulled a waiter aside and ordered another drink for the two of them. He leaned across the table and smiled at Talia. His blue eyes were widened with curiosity. As he smiled, Talia noted how perfectly straight his teeth were, how he smelled of cinnamon and cloves, and how his hair was a gorgeous ash brown color.

“What? Why are you staring at me?”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Then ask it.”

“How good are you at shootin’ pool.”

Talia smiled back.

“I’m pretty damn good.”

“Then you won’t mind if I challenge you to a game after we drink?”

“Mind?” Talia replied, “I’ll whoop you ’til next Tuesday. Won’t be much of a challenge.”

Damian chuckled.

“I love your confidence.”

Talia teased him by winking. Man, she was gorgeous. Where the hell had Dwayne Henderson been hiding a single woman like this from him for so long? It had been such a long time since Damian had been with a woman. Deployment meant there wasn’t much time for romance and when there was, it was usually brief and meaningless.

Now that he’d settled down for a while, Damian could see himself pursuing something more. And with Talia, he could definitely picture it. She was luminous, confident and charming. Her voice was magnetic too.

Their drinks came and Talia pounded hers back quickly. Damian followed suit. She stood up and sauntered towards the pool table.

“Get ready to have your ass kicked,” She teased.

Damian grinned, “Oh no missy, I ain’t about to let you whoop me.”

They grabbed cues and set the balls in the triangle. Talia leaned over the table and squinted one eye shut. She seemed to be making micro-adjustments. As she set up her shot, Damian couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to her body. Her bosom swung over the table, giant mounds of flesh that distracted him thoroughly.

When the cue cracked into the first ball, sending three solids into the holes, Damian snapped out of his reverie.

“Shit. Nice shot.”

“I know it was,” Talia replied, winking at him.

“You know,” Damian replied, “I’ve never lost a game of pool.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Not this,” Damian said cheekily.

“Have you always been such a flirt?”

Damian chuckled, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Talia waited for him to make his shot. She was playing hard to get with him, but the truth was, she was trying to convince herself not to take things too far with Damian. In the past, most of the guys she’d dated had tried their hardest to get in the way of her career.

They’d seem OK with it up front, but when they realized just how much work Talia put into her singing and producing songs, they lost interest. Fast. If the guy was a particularly troublesome one, he’d try sabotage. Talia was wary around new guys. Damian was a bit different because Imogen had pleaded with her to give him a chance.

He was Dwayne’s buddy from Afghanistan and they worked out together three times a week. If Dwayne and Imogen vouched for him, that had to be worth something. Damian’s shot wasn’t bad. But Talia was convinced she’d still beat him.

She shot again. And missed. Badly.

“Damn it!” She swore.

Damian chuckled, “They let you sing gospel with that mouth?”

“I’m a singer, not a saint,” Talia replied, “And I really thought I had you there.”

“Guess I’m more of a challenge to beat than you thought.” 

Man, she was sharp. And Damian was finding himself more attracted to that than he expected. It wasn’t just her looks, her sharp wit or her charm. It was something more.

They played one round. Talia won. The smug look on her face didn’t bother Damian one bit.

“Round two?” He asked.

“Only after a shot of whiskey.”

“Gotcha.”

Damian was starting to feel the liquor. The slightly dizzy feeling plus the excitement he felt just being around Talia was starting to make him feel frisky. Damian ordered two shots of whiskey at the bar.

While Damian was at the bar, Talia leaned her weight on her pool cue, waiting for him to return. She knew she could beat him again. Talia was smiling so widely and so distracted that she didn’t notice the two men come up behind her.

“You usin’ this table?” One of the men grunted.

The two men were both taller than Talia. Both with protruding, globe shaped beer guts. One had black hair and the other was bald.

“Yeah. I’m waiting for someone.”

“It’s our turn,” the bald one said.

“Excuse me?”

The black haired one folded his arms and smiled smugly, “It’s our turn. So hand over the pool cue.”

Talia glared. 

“No.”

The black haired man started getting in her face when Damian returned.

“Do we have a problem here gentlemen?” He asked.

The bald one smiled, “We were just watching.”

They stood back and left Talia alone for the time being. With their arms folded, the two men stood against the wall watching. Talia tried to shake the uncomfortable feeling the men gave her. She had a sense that they hadn’t seen the last of them.

“Whiskey?” Damian offered. 

She took her shot.

“And you’re really okay?”

“Yeah. They were looking for trouble, but I don’t think they found any.”

“Good.” 

“Bottoms up,” Talia said with a smile.

Damian grinned and they tilted their heads back, consuming their shots of whiskey quickly.

“Mmm.” 

“Burns.”

“Ready for me to beat you again?” Talia teased.

“Hell yes.”

Damian was willing to let her beat him a second time. He was intoxicated just being near her. The liquor didn’t help. Damian watched as Talia leaned over to take her shot. Again, she looked perfect like this, all bent over with that look of hunger for victory beaming in her eye.

“Your staring is distracting me.”

“A man can’t help looking when he sees something nice.”

“Well try to keep it in your pants, okay?”

“No guarantees,” Damian teased. 

As Talia took her first shot, the two guys cheered and whooped in the back. Damian braced himself. He could tell they were looking for trouble from the moment he’d seen them start piling on Talia. For now, they’d held themselves back. But Damian didn’t know how long that’s last.

He took his first shot. Awful.

Damian stood up and cast a watchful eye at the men up against the wall. They were getting rowdier. At Talia’ next shot, they approached the table to whoop and cheer for her.

Talia was getting visibly uncomfortable. Damian turned to the guys and told them off.

“Why don’t y’all get away from this table.”

“It’s a free country sir. We’ll stay right where we are,” The bald one said.

It’s a date. Don’t give them the trouble they’re looking for. Damian tried to talk himself down from lashing out instantly, despite his urges.

Talia pressed her hand to Damian’s arm.

“Don’t worry about it. Ignore them.”

Damian was finding it hard. Talia was winning the game, whooping him badly. When she bent over to shoot what Damian was sure would be her last shot, the black haired man who’d been watching them waltzed over and smacked her on the ass.

Talia stood up, mouth agape. The bald headed man and the black haired man began laughing at the top of their lungs, their faces turning tomato red and beer spilling out of their pony-neck bottles.

“Did you see the look on the face of that monkey,” The black haired one laughed even harder. 

Damian couldn’t hold back any longer. He rushed towards the men. Talia grabbed his arm, trying to stop him.

“Damian! No! It’s fine.”

“To hell it is…” Damian growled. 

Damian walked over to the two men, getting into the taller one’s face. 

“Why don’t you two get away from here so I don’t have to get my hands dirty.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re gonna do to us?” The bald one grunted, cracking his knuckles.

“I don’t want any trouble. I just want us to be left alone,” Damian replied. 

He could feel his face turning red. He could feel blood boiling in his veins and that old desire to grab onto someone and bash their face in was running strong. Damian tried to resist. 

I’ve changed. I’m not gonna let one douche bag upset me. 

The black haired guy took a step forward, refusing to back down.

“It’s a free fuckin’ country and I don’t have to do shit that a nigger lover like you tells me.”

“What did you just call me?” Damian growled.

Bald head folded his arms with a cocky grin plastered across his face, “I think he spoke loud and clear. He called you a nigger lover.” 

"I already told you to watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Damian growled.

He cracked his knuckles. He knew the type that these guys were. They’d fix their mouth to say anything, thinking that no one would have the guts to stop them. But Damian had already identified their weak points. He could see that the bald headed guy had a slight limp and that the black haired one was too drunk to take a punch. He was prepared to fight them off.

“It’s a free country mother fucker,” The bald one said.

“Please Damian, let’s just get out of here,” Talia pleaded.

She didn’t want this to escalate. But Damian couldn’t stand to sit back and watch somebody spit out the n-word like it was nothing. Damian wasn’t going to listen to her. There was a time to be the bigger man, but it wasn’t now.

He stepped up to bald head and swung. Bald head dodged the first punch but he didn’t see the second coming. Damian’s fist connected with his face and Damian kicked his feet out from under him. Bald head fell, hitting his head on the pool table first. Damian landed another kick.

“Damian! Damian, you don’t have to do this!” Talia screamed.

Damian was too overcome by his fury to stop himself. Hearing the man’s words echoing in his head stung. Rage blinded him. Damian stepped over bald head. He grabbed black hair by the caller and slammed him into the pool table. He bashed his head into it again and again.

“Don’t you dare say that word,” Damian growled, “Don’t you dare say it!” 

The bartender had finally noticed something was wrong. He had called a couple bouncers who were now making their way to where Damian was standing. He slammed the black haired man’s head one last time. Damian stepped back before the bouncers and the bartender had arrived.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving!” Damian announced. 

Damian dropped the black haired man to the ground. He stepped over both of them and approached Talia.

“C’mon,” He replied, “Let’s get out of here.”

Talia was shaken. She followed Damian, grabbing his hand as they left the bar. The bouncers and the bar keep weren’t too perturbed. Damian had a feeling the men he’d run into were regulars — and regular troublemakers. While they expected him to leave, no one caused him more trouble. 

As Damian and Talia exited the bar, he shook his fist. Throwing a punch hurt. And he hadn’t thrown one in a while. He tried to abstain from violence wherever possible.

“Are you okay?!” Talia asked.

Damian nodded as they walked towards his car which was in a garage a few blocks away.

“Yes. I’m okay. But really I should be asking about you.”

Talia wrapped her arms around her shoulders. The weather was cool enough for a light jacket, but not cold. Still, she was shaken from her experience in the bar.

“I’m… fine,” Talia replied.

Damian shook his head, “I can’t believe those assholes. I know I shouldn’t have blown up. But I couldn’t help it.”

Damian paused and then held Talia still on the sidewalk.

“It’s not okay for people to treat you like that.”

“I know,” She nodded.

“Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

“Take my jacket. I don’t need it,” Damian said.

He took his jacket off and wrapped it around Talia. She fit nicely in the jacket, except for her breasts which prevented the jacket from zipping up all the way. Damian linked arms with her and they kept walking.

“Think they’ll let you back in the bar?” Talia asked.

Damian shrugged, “Probably not.”

“Y’know, I appreciate it. But you didn’t have to do all of that for me. I can handle myself.”

“I know. But why should you have to.”

Talia felt her heart flutter. She hated to admit it to herself, but she found herself painfully attracted to Damian. And while she considered herself a pacifist, there was something sexy about seeing Damian defend her. He'd meant it when he’d said those guys deserved it.

“Well thanks. I appreciate it."

“No problem,” Damian grunted.

They approached the garage.

“Second floor?”

“Yup,” Damian confirmed that she’d remembered correctly.

They walked up towards his car. Damian knew the night was almost over and he’d ended the date on a strange note. Those bastards…

Once they were outside Damian’s car, a restored 1973 Pontiac Grand Am, he stopped Talia.

“I’m sorry that things ended the way they did. I really am.”

“It’s fine, I swear,” Talia replied. 

“No. It’s not fine. When Dwayne told me that you'd actually go out with me, I wanted to make a good first impression. That… wasn’t it. You might think ‘cause I’m military that I'm here to play around. But I’m not.”

“Oh?”

“I’m looking for the real thing Talia. And you’re something… something very fascinating to me.”

“Fascinating? Well that’s new.”

“Sorry,” Damian muttered, “I’ve never been too good with my words.”

He took a step closer to her, forcing Talia to lean up against the Grand Am. The old car, the hot date, Talia couldn’t wait for him to kiss her. Damian started slowly, running his hands along her hips and sitting them right above her bottom.

“You’re beautiful Talia Sherbert,” He whispered.

“Thank you.”

Damian then leaned in, slowly, calculating each motion. He kissed Talia on the lips softly. His lips pressed against hers and their eyes both snapped shut. Talia reached up to touch Damian’s face. Stubble peppering his chin rubbed against Talia’ hand as she kissed him deeply. Damian thrust his tongue into her mouth and supported her as she leaned back against the car.

When he pulled away from her, Talia’ brown eyes were wide open. She looked… pleased. 

“I’ve been waiting all night to kiss you,” Damian muttered.

“Same…”

“Well c’mon then. Let’s not wait here any longer so that those guys don’t come looking for me.”

“Good idea.”

Talia got into the passenger seat. 

“So… Night cap?” Damian asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Wanna head somewhere else?”

Talia fidgeted in her seat like she was contemplating her answer. The truth was, she didn’t want the night to be over, but she also didn’t want to go anywhere else with Damian. The bar had been enough drama for the night. Plus, she was getting more tempted by the second to invite Damian back to hers.

“Why don’t I show you my place. I can play one of my records for you,” Talia blurted out.

She’d gotten ahead of herself. But she didn’t mind. Damian was hot. Smokin’ hot. And even if nothing happened between them but a few kisses, she had a feeling it would be worth it. Plus, he said he didn’t like gospel and she was determined to change his mind.

There was a practical reason for this. Of course. 

“Fine. We’ll go to yours,” Damian muttered, trying to hide his smirk.

For a pacifist, it was clear Talia was turned on by his display. That was the thing with good girls. They always went a little crazy when they bounced up with a bad boy. 

Damian gripped the steering wheel tight and listened to Talia give him directions to hers. As a moderately successful but not-quite-famous gospel singer, she lived in a nice part of town. It wasn’t too far from Damian’s place either. On the ride home, Damian flicked on the radio. Talia changed it to the RnB station.

Alicia Keys’ song No One came on. Talia started to sing every word. It was hard to stay focused when she was singing. When Damian heard her voice for the first time, he was mesmerized. Notes came out of her mouth effortlessly. Her voice had a type of power, a deep soul to it. Soul that put Amy Winehouse to shame. She was clearly a diamond in the rough as her voice was better than most living stars Damian could name.

She even sounded better than Alicia. As Talia sang, she rocked and danced along with the music. Damian could see it written all over her face: her music brought her joy. It was hard for him not to be infected by it. When the song was over, Talia was all smiles.

“Whew! I love that song,” She said, beaming from ear to ear.

Damian was mesmerized. Drawn in by her intoxicating smile and her liquid gold voice, he couldn’t help but hope another song came that would bring Talia out of her shell and cause her to belt out another beautiful tune. But the last few songs before they arrived at her place were dull, unchallenging to her vocals. So Talia was quiet. But still gorgeous.

Of all the time Damian had spent with her, being alone with her had been the best. She’d morphed from “Imogen’s friend” into this full, complex woman and there was so much more he’d noticed about her that had nothing to do with her looks. And well, her looks were magnetic too.

Talia had noticed him looking at her. She noticed the way his eyes tried not to stray to her breasts, yet remained inexplicably pulled there. She noticed the way he gripped the steering wheel tighter when she sang and how much Damian Buckley seemed to be holding back.

Don’t hold back. She wanted to tell him. I feel it too. And I want you…

Talia was far too timid to say this all out loud. She’d wanted Damian from the second Dwayne Henderson had brought him to the bar a few months ago. All that dancing around each other and casual flirtation had finally led to a real date. And even if Damian was no stranger to her, this was all still very new.

It had been a while since Talia had poked her head up from work to notice a man, much less go on a date with one. And Damian wasn’t just a man. He had a stable career, albeit, one she disagreed with. He was athletic, spending hours in the gym with Imogen’s hubby. He had gorgeous blue eyes and a woody, leathery scent to his cologne. 

When they pulled up at her place, Talia felt nervous. If she’d jumped the gun with him, she’d feel like a fool. She still couldn’t tell how Damian felt about her. He felt strongly enough to take on two drunks in the bar, but how far did that extend? What if he was just being a gentleman? And when he found out how much she put her work above everything else, would that turn him away?

He parked the car.

“Your home is… massive.”

Heat rushed to Talia’ cheeks. She’d started off her career renting out a basement bedroom with mold so thick she’d developed permanent hay fever from it. This house was a recent upgrade, and one she was barely comfortable with.

“Thanks.”

“So… Gonna play me one of your records?”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind about coming in.”

Damian leaned over. His face was close to hers, like he was going to kiss her again.

“Trust me… I haven’t changed my mind.”

He pulled away and opened his door, stepping out. Talia exhaled. Damian barely said much, but when he did say something, Talia found herself wanting to know more. For a military guy he seemed more reserved than she expected. All the army guys that Talia had known from high school were loud douche bags. Nothing like Damian.

He was hot and he wasn’t a dick. Not in the least bit.

There was something behind his eyes that told her he’d seen a lot in life. But what was it? What was it that pulled her in, compelling her to know more, compelling her to take a risk for him?

Talia opened the door to her house and flicked on the light. She saw Damian looking around, trying to hide how awestruck he was. She’d looked the same when she’d first walked into the place and when she was first hit with the realization that she could actually afford to live in a place like this.

Crisp minimalism defined Talia’ house. She didn’t have much furniture and nearly everything inside was a stark ivory or a cool grey. Damian was surprised. Given Talia’ colorful outfits, he expected her place to be louder. 

In her living room, Talia had a white shelf, filled with records. Some of them were bargain bin jazz records from the 1960s. Others were brand new. Her Beyoncé record was propped up on the top of the shelf, against her brand new record player. Talia saw her display catch Damian’s eye.

“Everything sounds better on vinyl.”

“Oh really?” Damian replied.

Talia nodded, “If you don’t listen to records, you should start.”

Damian chuckled. He’d never met anyone as passionately into music as Talia was. Her record collection was beyond impressive.

“Got any rock’n’roll?” He teased.

“Of course!” 

Damian raised his eyebrows. Talia was full of surprises. He didn’t mean to hold onto prejudice, but he didn’t know any black women who were into rock’n’roll.

“What’d’y’got?”

Talia had everything impeccably organized. On the middle left hand side of her shelf, she flipped through her rock collection.

“Zeppelin. Beatles. Grateful Dead.”

Damian chuckled, “You listen to the Grateful Dead?”

“Why not?”

“You’re full of surprises.”

Talia ignored his request for the Grateful Dead and instead just flicked on her Beyoncé album. Pretty Hurts started to play. Damian had never heard it before. But it was an album Talia had heard a million times. As she swayed to the music, preparing herself to match Beyoncé’s notes, she felt Damian approaching behind her. He was close now. So close she could feel his warmth.

Talia turned around abruptly. Her logical brain made one last dash to save her from her impulses.

“Maybe… Maybe it’s getting late… And you should go now.”

Damian took a step closer to her.

“Is that what you want?”

Talia tried to hold true to herself. 

“Y-yes,” She whispered.

“Is that what you really want,” Damian replied, firmly.

His hands reached around her hips as he asked. He squeezed her tightly and kept his blue eyes locked to hers. His eyes were fierce, filled with the fires of his lust. He licked his lips like a lion about to pounce. Talia could feel her will getting weaker. Damian was fine. Far too fine. She’d made a mistake letting him this close.

There was no saying ‘no’ to a man like him.

“Yes… It’s what I want.”

Damian smirked, “I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?” Talia sassed.

“Because… I think you’re dripping wet. And I think what you really want is to feel my big cock sliding between your thighs. I think you want to cry my name out and sweat that gorgeous hair out ’til the sun comes up.”

“What if you’re wrong?” 

Talia knew how weak she sounded — how unconvincing. 

“I’m not.”

Damian leaned forward and kissed her. Talia wrapped her arms around him and kissed back. Damian pressed her body up against the wall. Her back tapped the wall with a gentle thud and she flung herself head first into kissing him. Screw it. His lips were baby soft. Each kiss was more tender and deeper than the last.

He was right. Talia could feel wetness pooling between her thighs as her desire for him heightened. Damian’s fingertips pressed against Talia’ skin. Fire surged through her body as he touched her. He pulled away from her for a moment and eyed her body.

“I want you…”

Talia took Damian’s hand and started leading him to her bedroom. She wanted him too, but not here.

“No,” Damian stopped her, and grabbed her hand, pulling her back to him.

“Here,” He growled, “We’re doing it here. Take your clothes off.”

His dominance made Talia wetter. She was used to being in control. At work, she called all the shots. On the stage, she was the center of the show and the center of attention. That’s what she was used to. And in one night, Damian had upended her need to maintain control.

Talia started to pull her dress up over her head. She pulled the printed dress up over her curves and struggled to get them over her large breasts. Once she was before Damian in her underwear, she felt a mix of vulnerability and excitement. She tried to cover her body with her arms.

“No. I want to see you… every last beautiful inch.”

Talia reluctantly let her arms down to her side.

“Fuck… It makes me so hard just looking at you.”

Damian rushed her again. He planted kisses on her lips and neck as his hands ran all over her curvaceous body. He squeezed her hips and her round buttocks and pressed his chest against her breasts. He couldn’t wait to get one of those supple blackberry nipples in his mouth. 

“Mmm, take your panties off,” Damian growled.

Talia took her panties off, exposing her plump, shaved pussy. Damian reached around and unhooked her bra with one swift motion. Talia shivered as the cool air of her living room teased her nipples to hard attention.

“Perfection,” Damian muttered. 

He bent his head to Talia’ nipples and took one into his mouth. Her bosom was warm and her flesh had a gentle vanilla scent. Damian knew he’d have to be gentle with her. The gospel singer with the molasses voice had flushed skin as he touched her. When he kissed her neck, she turned her face away ever so slightly. She was nervous to be like this in front of him. 

Damian planned to change that. He led her over to the couch and bent her over the arm.

“Stay put,” He commanded.

Talia stayed still, quivering as she felt Damian kneeling between her legs. He splayed her thighs apart and dove his nose between her legs. Mmm. Damian inhaled the scent of her freshly shaven pussy and then pulled his face away. Talia had never felt so exposed before, but heat curled down her spine as Damian’s face returned between her thighs.

He spread her pussy lips apart with his fingers and began to kiss all around her thighs, diving his tongue between her pussy lips only so often.

“Mmm, you smell amazing,” He groaned.

Talia shuddered. His lips flicked across her pussy lips again. She buckled, leaning against the couch with all her might. Damian squeezed her thighs and drove his tongue between her pussy lips. He lapped at the full length of her lips, tasting every inch of Talia’ flesh.

“OHHH,” She cried out as his tongue grazed her clit.

Damian began to lick at her folds with more vigor until her knees buckled and her thighs quivered in pleasure. Talia moaned and squeezed her eyes shut as a climax drove her body to orgasm. It was true what they said about white men…

Talia had never had her pussy eaten so passionately before in her life. Damian seemed to enjoy dipping his tongue into every fold and tasting every inch of her plump pussy. When he finally pulled away, her thighs were dripping wet and she was more than ready for him to take his cock and shove it into her.

Damian stood up and fished a condom out of his pants. He stripped naked and rolled the condom onto his dick. Talia glanced backwards, catching her first glimpse of Damian’s naked body. His physique was far more formidable than she imagined. Every inch of his body was pure, cut muscle. His hours in the gym had been well spent. 

Damian’s physique wasn’t the only thing impressive about him. His hardness protruded from his body like a monument. His thickness and hardness looked like it would stretch her wide open. Talia tried to hide her surprise. Damian had been so humble, that she’d never even thought about what he’d be packing between his legs.

But he was big. Really big. She braced herself against the couch as he positioned his hardness behind her. Talia was dripping wet and eager for pure pleasure. She was here for a good time with a good guy and so far ‘good’ was just the beginning of what she felt.

Damian began to press his hardness between her thighs. Talia gripped the couch and grit her teeth as he began to press inside her. His dick head sliding past her entrance was an instant mixture of pleasure and pain. Her knees buckled again and she wriggled her ass to allow him better access to her wetness.

As he pressed into her tight wetness, Talia moaned. Damian felt her pussy gripping him like a vice as he slid between her lips. It was a tight squeeze. Talia cried out again as he pushed his dick halfway in. He gripped her voluptuous hips and thrust the rest of his dick inside her with one swift motion.

“OHHH,” Talia cried. 

“Mmm,” Damian moaned.

He began to thrust into Talia’ tight little love hole. She gasped as his hardness stretched her wide and he started to pound into her furiously. Damian was pounding her pussy hard and fast. With each stroke, Talia could feel fire rising in her chest. Her heart raced and her skin flushed as she drew close to climax.

Damian continued to pummel her, stroking her soft ass cheeks and gripping her hips as he pounded her ferociously. As a big orgasm overcame Talia, she bucked her hips back. Her pussy exploded and juices flowed all over Damian's hardness as her wetness clamped down on his cock, throbbing as the waves of orgasm washed over.

She whimpered and gasped as Damian kept pounding her, close to a finish of his own. Her long hair was stuck to her neck as Damian kept pummeling her wetness. He was getting close too, Talia could sense it. Damian let out a loud groan as he finally finished.

He grunted with his cock buried inside her, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her body. Damian pulled his dick out and then took his condom off, tossing it into the trash. He returned to the couch, fully nude, as Talia lay on her back, gasping for breath.

She turned to look at Damian who smirked mischievously.

“I can see you enjoyed yourself.”

Talia nodded weakly. She could tell Damian would be eager for round two, but she needed to catch her breath. Damian walked over to her and pulled her up off the couch.

“Round two is in the bedroom…”

“You can’t be serious,” Talia said with a grin.

(She was hoping that he was.)

“Oh, I’m serious. And if you don’t get up… I’ll have to carry you there myself.”

Damian reached for her and Talia playfully swatted his hand away.

“I can get there myself.”

“Perfect. Now which way is it?”

Talia stood up and grabbed Damian by the hand, leading him to her bedroom. Her bedroom was just as tastefully decorated as the rest of her house with a giant, four poster king sized bed sitting right in the middle.

Lace white curtains framed the windows in the room, giving it a sensual and feminine look. Just like Talia. Damian leapt onto the bed first and Talia followed. She kissed and caressed his hair and then his back. She trailed kisses down his back until she came to his lower back.

The tattoo was small but it caught her attention immediately, pulling her out of the moment and turning her stomach.

It sat right there on his lower back. The six lines, twisted into a shape that represented hate, genocide and white supremacy. Talia had just made love to him and she felt sick.

With a shaky voice, she asked, “What the hell is on your back?” 

* * *

🇺🇸HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY! 🇺🇸 I published this day to celebrate BBQ, cookouts, family time and all the other awesome times we have on this holiday. This BWWM military romance is not heavy on military action but you’ll find steamy hot scenes that will rile you up for an incredible holiday weekend.

The book has so many twists and turns you won’t even be able to predict from this sample. Luckily for you, the book is live NOW and you can get your copy easy as pie on any eReader platform of your choosing.

CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK DIRECTLY FROM JAMILA JASPER

CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK FROM AMAZON, IBOOKS, KOBO, NOOK, ETC.

Dark Romance Books | The London Brotherhood Book #1-Book#3 | BWWM Mafia Romance Novellas

the london brotherhood interracial mafia romance

the london brotherhood interracial mafia romance

Happy 2019 everybody! This year, I'm going to be starting off with a BANG. And a GANG. Okay, I know some of you aren't into the uber-bad boys, so you'll need to be a little patient. If you're a lady with a dark side who loves kinky sweet romance and a black woman taming a white gangster into exposing his heart of gold, you'll LOVE the story of Sierra St. James and Ollie Cook. As you may have guessed, this new release is set in London -- perfect for BWWM fans who want romance novels set in England or romance novels set in London. 

The London Brotherhood Books #1, #2 and #3 are the first three books in a LONG series that will have TEN books and completed by June of this year. Book #1-#3 are interconnected mafia romance novellas, but Book #4 will be a standalone Navy SEAL Romance novel so that the angels and good girls among you can get some love too. 

For now, I invite you to indulge in this free romance novel excerpt of a mafia romance for black women who love romantic stories, read BWWM online for free and may enjoy stories from inspiring authors like Amarie Avant or Theodora Taylor.

 If you have any questions about this series, please leave a comment below and I will answer any and all questions as soon as possible. 

Before diving into this free sample, consider checking out the trailer. Click here to watch the trailer.

Free Romance Novel Excerpts | The London Brotherhood I

Chapter One

SIERRA ST. JAMES

“He took my mate’s girl, you get me? So I ‘ad to do something about it. I pushed ‘im up against the wall and ‘e started squealing like a pig. I took my knife and I pressed it up to him. He started shaking, scared like a little girl. I leaned in and laughed. I couldn’t ‘elp it. ‘E looked so weak. How am I supposed to respect ‘im. I didn’t do nothing though. I walked away. ‘E was scared enough.”

“Do you think there was any other way to handle him, Malik?”

“‘E disrespected me, innit? I ‘ave a right to defend myself.”

“I understand. It doesn’t feel good to be threatened, does it?”

“No Miss St. James. It doesn’t. I ‘ad to teach him a lesson, innit?”

“Was there any other way you could have handled him, Malik?”

“Let me tell you something, alright? Niggas like him get mad hench and think they can talk any way they want on the estate. You can’t show them weakness, innit.” 

“I understand. But Malik, you have to remember what we discussed last time. It isn’t always the best response to jump straight to violence.”

“You think these pagans understand conversation?” 

“Well, have you tried?”

He snickered.

“Miss St. James, I’m sorry, but it just wouldn’t work. I’m dealing with niggas darker than you could imagine.”

“Right.”

I paused, scribbling a note about Malik’s latest encounter in my record book, filled with accounts of tens of similar incidents, which had become progressively worse, not better throughout the course of our counseling.

“For example,” Malik continued, unprompted by any of my questions, “I’ve got bare problems on the estate. I’ve got beef. Real beef. I can’t show weakness. Last week, Butcher got my sister up against the wall with a gun to ‘er ‘ead. What do you think he’d do if I showed weakness.”

“So you’re doing this for your sister?”

“Yes. Maybe. Sort of.” 

“You think if your sister got free of her boyfriend you would feel safer?”

“Absolutely.”

For a child who raced to violence and responded emotionally to any perceived slight, I could always be surprised by Malik’s calm and rational nature that breached his estate programming during our sessions every once in a while.

“Is there anything you can do to get her away from him?”

“I could shank him.”

“Aside from that.”

Malik shook his head.

“No. He wants me to join…”

I raised an eyebrow. Malik had always been cautious with me not to reveal what I’d suspected since we started our sessions together. The brotherhood had been circling. My manager at the centre had warned us to look for the signs, underestimating the fact that our wards knew what we were doing and maintained a deep self-interest in keeping any potential gang activity far out of our sight.

Malik trusted me, and he’d just let his guard down enough for me to get information that I wanted. If the brotherhood was closing in on a new recruit, I’d have to tell someone.

“Join what?”

“Nevermind.”

“Malik, you can talk to me.”

“Oh I can, can I? So you won’t rat me out to Gemma?”

“Well—”

“You can’t lie to me. You’re too good.”

“I’m obligated to report to my superiors. That’s never been a secret.”

“Fine. Report me. But you don’t ‘ave to worry.” 

“Why?”

“Mandem can’t make Malik join a gang if ‘e don’t want to, innit?”

“Right.”

“Then nothing to worry about.”

“What sort of pressure are you under? Do you think you can withstand it?”

“Me an’ Butcher ‘ave an understanding. That’s about it. I help ‘im out, sure. But ‘e knows I’m only doing it for my sister, you get me?”

“Of course. If you need any help, Malik, that’s why we’re here.”

“I know.”

“Why are you here Malik? You don’t have to come in for counseling. What do you want from us?”

“I want to make sure my sister is alright. I don’t want to do anything that gets me killed. I don’t want to do anything dangerous. I want to be the man she needs. I want her to get away from that Irish bastard.” 

“Violence won’t solve anything with him. The brotherhood’s pockets run deep. Remember that.”

“That’s bait.”

“Right, but you just told me about how you handled things before. Something like that won’t fly when you’re dealing with dangerous, dangerous men.”

Malik smirked and put his feet up, a cocksure grin plastered across his seventeen year old face. His russet brown face was too wise for his age. He shouldn’t have had to deal with the cards he’d been dealt — seventeen, living on the estate with his sister and a crazy asshole who would have the brotherhood circling Malik like vultures if they could find any good use for him at all.

“What do you know about dangerous men?” Malik taunted me.

“I know enough to know that you don’t want to mess with them.” 

“Something’s different about you, Sierra,” Malik said, using my first name and leaning forward, his chin propped up on his hands as he stared at me, “You ain’t like the other counselors in this joint. You’ve seen things.”

“We aren’t here to talk about me.”

“I’m right though, ain’t I?”

“If I tell you something about me, will you answer my question honestly?”

“Sure, Miss.”

“I had a brother who was involved in gang activity.”

“Prison?”

“No. But you’ve had your answer, so now it’s time for you to answer my question.”

“Fair enough.”

“When they come knocking, when they come calling for you, will you tell me the truth? Can you promise me that, Malik?” 

“Fine. I promise.”

“Good.”

“Our session is finished today,” I announced, glancing at the old, loud clock in the corner of my office.

“Perfect.”

I rose and stuck out my hand to shake Malik’s. He lunged forward, embracing me in a tight hug. Hugging him made me realize how skinny he was for his age, how frail he was, and how a boy so young should never have his childhood on the line the way that Malik did.

“Can I walk you to your car?”

He wanted to talk more, I could sense it. One hour a week was hardly enough to push past all the barriers he had rightfully erected around people like me — people he saw as posh, people who didn’t understand the life he’d been born into on the estate.

“Do you have more to say to me?”

“Only about Butcher and what ‘e’s doing to ‘er.”

“Sure. Tell me.”

“Promise you won’t make things harder on her?”

“I’m only obligated to disclose gang related activity as it pertains to you.”

“Right. But you ‘ave morals innit. If you get all offended, maybe you’ll think about calling someone and make life harder for her.”

“I promise you, Malik. You can trust me.”

“Fine. Butcher ‘as gotten worse. It’s been harder to deal with, and I don’t know what to do about ‘im.”

“What’s happening?”

“He could really kill her, Sierra.”

I didn’t stop Malik when he called me by my first name. Accepting any bit of relatability those teens could throw my way was the only way I could relate to them. The more comfortable they felt with you, the better. That’s what I’d found out throughout the past five years. 

“What is he doing?”

“She’s terrified of him. ‘E keeps saying ‘e wants her to convert for ‘im, and ‘e’s more than willing to force her to.”

“Your sister is Muslim, right?”

“She converted for the last wasteman, I don’t see why she ought to convert for this one.”

“Butcher is a total idiot. He doesn’t get it and she’s out of her mind in love with him. She doesn’t care that he’s dangerous. That he’s a gangster. Last weekend, they got into an argument about ‘er scarf and he threatened to send her to Russia on a spaceship. ‘E’s fucked in the head.”

“Has he hit her?”

“Not recently. But she’s been behaving. It will start up again, mark my words.”

“Is he using?”

“Yes. MDMA, pills, everything ‘e can get ‘is ‘ands on.”

“He’s meaner when he isn’t using?”

“’E’s a mean bastard all the time.”

I walked towards the door of my office with Malik in tow. He held the door open for me, and we poured out into the centre. Hymns spilled out into the youth centre hallway, off-key, as usual. The choir director’s screech followed a particularly horrible note in Amazing Grace. 

“NO, NO, NO! YOU HORRIBLE IDIOTS, WE’VE BEEN OVER THIS!”

“’E’s got a bee in ‘is bonnet,” Malik muttered with a grin.

“I’ve got to pick up my things at the locker. You coming?”

“Sure thing, Miss St James.”

We walked for a few feet down the hallway before Malik tapped his hand on my shoulder.

“Miss St James?”

“Yes, Malik?”

“You mentioned your brother was involved in the gangs.”

“I did.”

“Will you tell me what happened to ‘im?”

“Will it scare you off joining if I did?”

“Probably not.”

“Right. Then I don’t see the point in bringing it up.”

At my locker, I slipped into my peacoat and changed my short heels into plain, black converse sneakers. Malik held my purse as I dressed.

“Same time next week, then?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Good. I’ll talk to Yasmin, then.”

“Keep in mind, she’s scared, and no matter what he’s done to her, she loves him.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“How can she love a pig like ‘im? ‘E’s done horrible things, and ‘e’s an absolute bastard to ‘er.”

I shrugged. 

“Human beings aren’t logical creatures. We struggle to defy our conditioning.”

“That’s all there is to it then? You grow up on the estate, you end up with a roadman?”

“We all make our own choices, but some of us are more prone to certain choices than others.” 

“You ain’t makin’ any sense, Sierra.”

“It’s complicated. People are complicated.”

“Can I ‘elp you with that?”

I handed Malik my purse, which he slung over his shoulder without a second thought. How could this child be so sweet to me, yet tell stories about the horrors he inflicted on other people, from holding them up at knife point, to selling MDMA at raves, or ganging up on teachers after school to steal money and cellphones. Malik was two people at once: a child who wanted to fit in, and be kind and loved and excepted, and a man on the verge of making the decisions that would influence his entire life.

He stood at a crossroads, and I stood with him with the power to influence his choices. The weight of his decisions kept me up at night. He wasn’t the only teen I counseled at the centre, but he was the most vulnerable — not because he was weak, but because he had a fierce sense of where he had landed in the world and he was braver than most. He was more willing to press a knife to someone’s gut or to jump into fights with fists flying madly.

Malik held the door to the centre open and the frigid London air blew stiffly through the doors, whipping my wig nearly clean off my head. I wrapped my coat tighter around my waist. The weather in London was always a bit shit this time of year. Chilly October rains left a slick wet coat on the sidewalk. Puddles formed outside the centre, stinking of hot piss and cold mud. 

Malik held my arm as I stepped around a puddle.

“Where’d you park the whip today?”

“A few blocks up. Let’s hope the meter didn’t run out.”

“I’ll sort it if it has,” Malik offered, a smile cracking across his dark, face.

“You don’t have to Malik.”

He pulled his hood up over his head, and for a moment, I saw the Malik from East London, feared by his peers at school and stalked by gang members who saw his terrifying potential. 

“No. I do. I want to thank you, Sierra.”

“I’m only doing my job.”

“No. You get it. You may be posh, but you get what it’s like so when you talk to me, you don’t look down on any of us. With Gemma, it’s hard. She’s from the North end. She doesn’t get what it’s like in my ends, you get me?”

“Gemma tries her best,” I replied, defending my coworker publicly, but in secret agreement with what Malik said. 

He was correct about Gemma. She didn’t get it. I, on the other hand, was raised like Malik. I understood how he thought the way he did, and I understood why he couldn’t see a way out of the life he’d been raised into, especially without a mother or father to guide him, and with a sister so wrapped up in her own drama that she couldn’t see the pain of the young blood she was responsible for.

“Gemma’s right peng, but she’s stupid,” Malik continued.

I stifled a chuckle, and instead chided him for his comment.

“Malik! She cares — about all of you. She’s only a bit naive.”

“A bit daft, rather.”

“Come on you,” I laughed, linking arms with Malik.

He smiled as we stepped over puddles and braced ourselves against the city cold. Businessmen raced past us, shiny suits and shinier loafers carrying them into their Beemers and Audi cars. They lived in a different London from the one that we lived in. They lived in a London of cocaine, money, riches, and relative ease. Life on an estate like the one where Malik was raised didn’t feel real to them. They lived in the London shocked by Grenfell Tower. We lived in the London where we knew it could happen to any of us, and the city council would hush it all up and cover it up with excuses and blames.

Two cities, two groups of people. The city’s diversity could feel like a myth.

As we approached my car, Malik continued to chat me up about Gemma, and the other youth counselors. Effie, the drug counselor had made a fool of herself recently since she’d shown up to a rave where a few of the teens had seen her drunk as a skunk and high off her ass on MDMA. Taking her seriously had become much more difficult after that. Nick, the athletics director, had made himself an enemy of the brotherhood recently, and according to Malik, rumor had it that one of the enforcers showed up at his house and forced him to back off their latest recruit.

Outside of my office, Malik spoke more freely than he ever had. He kept his walls up around himself, and even as we approached my car, I got the distinct sense that he might never open up to me. No matter how hard I tried to reach him, there would always be a wall between me and him which would lead to him joining the brotherhood. I could lose him the same way I’d lost my own brother. The thought settled in my stomach with unease.

You can get the extended, 10,000-word sample of this romance novel before the book launch 100% FREE by clicking here: GET FREE 10K SAMPLE NOW . The book is live now and discounted for all of 2019. Grab your discounted copy right here 👉 smarturl.it/londonbrotherhood

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BWWM Books | Mr. Too Big (BWWM Hitman Romance Novella)

mr. too big billionaire hitman romance novellaMr. Too Big, a steamy hitman novella came from an idea that I had while talking to my husband. Yes, it sounds corny but it's true, my HUSBAND inspired "Mr. Too Big". Infer what you will from that one! I couldn't wait to get the novel written and I actually had it done two weeks before I published it. I had no idea what to do with the book and my mind was RACING with questions...

Will my readers like this book?

Is this book good enough to publish?

Will the kinks in this book be "too raunchy" for Amazon?

I can tell you right now that the book is HOT. It's almost too raunchy for Amazon. Oops. I guess I couldn't help myself. The book was definitely good enough to publish and to this day, I get emails about Mr. Too Big from readers who were pleased to stumble across my steamy novella. Sometimes it's better to believe in yourself than to cloud your head with doubts...

I don't want to spoil too much of this story for you, but let's just say our hitman JAY will have you drooling. I know you need a new book boyfriend, so dive into the sample ASAP

BWWM Books Novella Sample: Mr. Too Big

Jay 

One more job, and then I was out. 

Isn't that what they always say in movies, right before the shit hits the fan?

I guess maybe it was only too appropriate, then. Because things were about to go down for me like they'd never gone down before. 

As I would soon find, I'd gotten far too big to try and pull out now... 

I sat across the street from a towering skyscraper in the middle of downtown, outside a small cafe. In another lifetime, I would have been sitting with a newspaper pressed against my nose, trying to look inconspicuous in order to hide what I was really up to. These days, though, a guy like me reading a newspaper would have stuck out like a sore thumb- six foot one, jacked and rugged, occupying his time with a relic of the previous century. 

So instead I sat stooped over an iPad, blending in a lot better that way, a set of shades concealing my persistent glances toward the building on the opposite side of the street. I kept pressing my earpiece closer and closer like there might be something going on that I was missing. I'd bugged my target's car, then watched as he and his bodyguards made their way out into the building in question. I knew there was nothing that I should be listening for, but I guess I was just a little bit on edge. 

This was the job to end all jobs. The payday that was going to get me out of this shit once and for all. And I was going to do everything in my power to ensure that it went off without a hitch. That any one of a million different things didn't manage to fuck it up for me. 

I'd been following my target around for weeks, hoping to gain some insight into his schedule. A mister Ray Philips, one of the most contemptible sons of bitches I'd ever been assigned to take out. Day trader. Arms dealer. A major player in the pharmaceutical industry, who'd made a fortune jacking up drug prices for those who were most vulnerable, and most unable to afford them. 

I'd never been proud of how I made my living. It wasn't that I'd chosen the life of the assassin, so much as it had chosen me. Having enlisted as a soldier and seen things that no man should see, and doing things that man should ever do in good conscience, I found myself unable to reshape myself into the mold of a healthy, everyday life. The violence was in my blood. My soul craved peace, and a reprieve from all the horrors I'd witnessed and been a part of. But I still needed to make money, and at the end of the day, I realized there was really only one thing I'd ever been good at. 

I worked for a man called Hillary. Marlon Hillary. A rich jackass in his own right, he'd kept me around as his gun for hire for the past five years. I took care of his enemies for him. The business rivals who posed too much of a threat. Those who were willing to get their hands even dirtier than he was, and who seemed as though they might serve as a problem for him in the long term. 

I harbored no delusions about what I did. I was a murderer, pure and simple. But at least in this position, I had some say over who bit the bullet. I could say no to a job if I had to if my conscience started objecting too loud, unlike in my previous line of work. 

I did have a moral code, even if it wasn't much of one. I'd always refused to take out the innocent. To hurt anyone who didn't have it coming, and then some. I'd turned down a few high profile clients who'd requested such services of me- asking me to kill men and women who, obnoxiously wealthy and corrupt or not, had done nothing worthy of the death sentence that had been asked of me to impose upon them. 

I'd lost a pretty penny that way over the years, believe you me. I could have been done and out of this game by now if I hadn't shown such restraint, but here I was, still in the game, and only just now on the threshold of getting out of it. 

I didn't even want to think about how much of my soul I would still have left by the time I finally did get things wrapped up...

Thankfully, this Ray Philips was like the best of both worlds to me. He was both rotten to the core and worth a fortune in my pocket- easily the largest bounty I had ever made an effort to claim. 

Then, at last, the moment I'd put the bullet through his temple and washed the blood from my hands, I had plans to pack up my fortune, buy a first class ticket to Belize, and leave this life forever, spending my remaining time on earth making my best effort to forget that any of it had ever happened. 

Not that I would forget. 

I could never forget all that I'd done. The sins these hands were responsible for. The lives they'd taken. But at least, for once, I could try to rest. I could lay my head down in contemplation, and try to figure things out for myself. What I was meant for. What I was put on this earth to do. If, indeed, I really had any business being on this forsaken rock at all. 

The only problem right now with my ingenious plan was that Ray Philips didn't seem to stick to any kind of reliable schedule that I could make out. All the days I'd been following him, I had hoped to take note of a recognizable pattern of some kind. Something that would make it easy for me to catch him when his guard was down, and when I stood the lowest possible risk of getting caught. 

But of course, I really should have learned by now, nothing was ever really that easy for me... 

Apparently, having his fingers in so many pies at once kept Philips as busy as a bee, flitting from one flower to the next, his movements erratic, unpredictable. He must have done enough coke to never have to spend ten consecutive minutes asleep at a time. 

And so, I decided, I was just going to have to take the plunge one way or another. 

I made up my mind that today would be the day. I was ending this, tonight, as soon as he was at home and, with any luck, asleep. 

And then I was out of this, at long, long last. 

I'd lapsed into a reverie in the heat of the early evening sun, and let my vision fall out of focus without meaning to. I jerked awake at the sound of static in my earbuds, then footsteps clacking across the sidewalk toward the Mercedes in which Philips had been driven here. 

“Okay, men. We're done here today. If Esposito doesn't want to listen to reason, I'll just take things into my own hands. I'm done playing games with such a goddamn child. Now, take me the fuck home, I need some rest. I haven't slept a fucking night clear through this entire goddamn week.” 

So much of the time I kept my cool so well. Now, though, I let myself get too excited. I leaped up from my chair without meaning to, keen to follow after my target, even though there was no imperative need to do so just now. I knew where he was going. I should have waited a while instead of trailing them too directly, but I wasn't thinking. 

Across the street, Philips didn't notice me. Nor did the large, thuggish bodyguard opening the back door to the Mercedes for him. The one at the driver's side did, however. 

Through two lanes of heavy evening traffic, my eyes met those of the driver through his shade, making my heart skip a beat. 

Damn it... Damn it... Damn it! I thought to myself, freaking the fuck out that my cover was about to be blown at best, and that at worst I was about to wind up with a bullet in my own head. 

I thought fast, though, trying to minimize the damage. 

I stretched, as though my eyes meeting those of Philips' brute had been nothing more than a coincidence. Then I took the last sip of my coffee, and laid some money on the table, as though I'd become totally oblivious of all that was ensuing on the other side of the street. I sorted out some change from my pocket and left a far too generous tip for the young woman who'd brought me my coffee- if this worked like I hoped it would, it might have just been her that ended up saving my life. 

Then, keeping up the charade, I set off down the street, away from the Mercedes, away from where my bike was parked nearby, striding as though I knew exactly where I was going, and why I was going there. I really had no clue, except that I needed to get as far away from Philips as I could, as fast as possible. 

I didn't dare look back over there again, back over to the building where Philips had been. I did, however, squint into the glass windows of the building I passed on my side. The knot in my stomach unclenched at the sight of the Mercedes pulling away, the bodyguard's suspicion of me evidently minimal enough for him to let me off the hook. 

I let out a sigh of relief and decided I would circle the block once for good measure. 

There was no rush to get to Philips this instant. I would wait until tonight when conditions were more favorable, and then I would end this, once and for all. 

I could almost taste the fresh air of freedom on my lips... 

_____

Midnight. 

I'd parked my bike in the woods outside Philips' mansion several hours ago, then hiked over to a spot overlooking his place. I'd watched his house through the scope of the rifle I carried with me until every light had gone out, and a vehicle had pulled away out the driveway- the vehicle, I hoped, of Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, his bodyguards. 

I couldn't be certain that Philips was the only occupant in the place but now felt like as good a chance as any. At that moment, it honestly felt like my only chance. 

I crept down to the house like a phantom, switching instantly into combat mode. I'd learned to turn off all of my inhibitions, to cast aside all of my doubts whenever the moment of truth arrived. I was no longer a human being anymore. But a machine. My actions swift and decisive. My decisions, my responses, purely rational. Dedicated to getting a job done, and nothing more, nothing less. 

I pushed a fist through the glass panes of his front door, and made swift work of disabling his security alarm- I'd cracked the code the previous week while he was away one afternoon. I stepped through the door with soft, but speedy footsteps, and glided my way up the spiral staircase for the second floor, heading for his master bedroom. 

I was normally so good about all of this. So skilled at making an entry, and doing my job, and disappearing without a trace. As I made my way down the hallway, however, and the door to his room came closer and closer, and so did my freedom, I felt my blood pressure rising. It all seemed too good, too perfect to be true. 

And suddenly, I realized that it must be. 

Something wasn't right... 

I stopped, dead in my tracks. 

I didn't know what was off. But something was. There was just a sense of it. A feeling in the air, that I couldn't quite seem to put my finger on. 

And then I heard the sound of a footstep, trying to be lighter than it could manage to be from around a corner. 

I spun on my heel, whirring back around in the opposite direction. 

I saw the flash of light before I heard the sound. 

BAM! BAM!

I hurled myself down to the ground as the bullets missed me by nothing greater than a few millimeters. Once I was to safety, I didn't even think about it. I lifted my gun up to what I calculated to be the man's knees in the darkness, and I fired. 

“Jesus Christ! Motherfucker!” 

He shot at me again as he was falling, but only managed to hit a vase atop the stand beneath which I'd taken cover. He hit the ground like a timbered tree and was already rushing to point the barrel of the gun back up at me, but I was too fast for him. 

I pointed at his head and fired, and that was the end of him. 

He lay there, motionless in silent in the middle of the hall. I waited, for just a fraction of a second, long enough to be sure that he was as dead as a doornail. Then I sprang up, and rushed over to him, and saw that it was the man from the Mercedes. The one who'd locked eyes with me across the street.

Clearly, the place hadn't been left as unguarded as I'd hoped. 

I'd largely been suspecting that, though. 

I let out a light sigh, not wanting to let myself be too relaxed just yet. My gut told me that this was the only guard in the place, but I still had Philips left to go. And something told me he would be on a high alert after I and Tweedle-dee had just made enough noise out here in the hallway to summon up the living dead. 

I hastily weighed my options at that moment. 

Retreat? Fuck no. 

I was getting this job done, dead or alive. 

Wait? For what? For Philips to have more time to get his guard up? To call the authorities? Not that I imagined he would, given the many dirty dealings he was connected to in some way or another. Still, though, the principle was the same. The longer I let that son of a bitch stay alive, the longer he had to come up with a plan to stop me. 

Time was of the essence here, and whether I liked it or not, I was all out of time... 

I stepped up to his door, staring at it for a moment with dread, instead of the naive optimism I'd allowed myself to feel at the sight of it, only a few short moments ago. 

I lifted my hand to the knob, and almost made the mistake of stepping inside. But then I checked myself. I twisted the knob, just enough to get it started. Then I stepped off to the side so that I was no longer positioned directly within the doorway. I lingered for a moment, then pushed my foot against the door's lowest panel, kicking it open from off to the side, still standing next to the hinges. 

Immediately once the door was open, a mad volley of automatic gunfire exploded through the door, the bullets pelting wildly against the opposite wall, tearing the drywall to smithereens. 

I heard Philips yelling over the sound of the bullets, his battle cry the sad mimicry of a middle-aged man who's never been in combat but who's watched Rambo on TV at least a dozen times. 

He moved slowly out into the hall, still firing, too blinded by the pulse of the gun to see that he was hitting nothing whatsoever, save for his own house. 

I waited until my shot was clear, then I jerked my gun up, and aimed it right for the side of his head. He became aware of me just as I started pulling the trigger, and started turning in my direction.

BAM!

“FUCK!” 

The bullet raced clean through his head, but he was facing too me way too much as he fell, and the gun was still going off in his hands as he fell. Streams of bullets whipped and whizzed through the air in my direction, seeming to leave these white hotlines in their wake like miniature chemtrails, fading only very slowly from my field of vision. 

And then I felt something hit me, in spite of my very best efforts to avoid the barrage.

I yelled out in pain and was sure in that moment that this spelled the end of me. The impact had been against my head, and no sooner had I felt it than I watched my life flashing before my eyes. All the horror. All the carnage. All the mayhem, and all the heartbreak. 

No! No! Fuck! Fuck! Please, please, don't let this be the last thing that I see before I'm ushered in through the gates of hell! I'll have all eternity to look at all that... Just please, don't let this be the end!

I was lying on the ground by the time it dawned on me that I hadn't been mortally wounded. A scalding teardrop was rolling down along my cheek, thick and viscous. It seeped in between my lips, and I felt it on my tongue, and I realized that it was blood from my wound. 

I touched my cheek, and it stung but realized with relief that I'd only been grazed. 

I wasn't about to die. Not yet, anyway.

It took a while past the ringing in my ears to recognize the sound of voices ringing out in the background. I leaped back to my feet, instantly on my guard again, and the adrenaline of survival the only thing that was keeping my legs from collapsing. 

I held my gun pointing into the room but thankfully didn't fire. The afterimage of gunfire finally faded away from my field of vision, and I could see that there were two naked women, cowering in fear in the opposite corner of the room. 

I sighed and lowered my pistol. Then I looked down into Ray Philips' wide eyes, the gaping red hole in his temple a sure sign that it was over at last. I'd done my job. And I was finished. 

“You two could really do better,” I said to the two of them, with a last look inside the room. Then I pulled the door shut again behind me, and took off down the hall at top speeds. I should have felt victorious, elated, freed at last from the shackles of this line of work. 

Instead, though, I just felt sick. My blood pressure was high. My pulse was skyrocketing. I never felt great after a kill, but this was something different. I wondered whether it was the fact that I'd come so close to death, or maybe that I'd taken a life I hadn't intended to take when I'd signed up for this job. 

I didn't think it was either of those things, though. 

I think, somehow, my body was trying to warn me. I think it was a sense of foreboding, to let me know what I had no way of knowing yet, but that I probably should have anyway- by instinct, if by nothing else. 

That, quite simply, this wasn't really over. It was only just getting started... 

Right now, though, I ignored all of that. I rushed into the woods, and hopped onto my motorcycle, and took off down lightless back roads like a bat out of hell, increasingly on edge. I could hear the sound of sirens blaring like mad from the highway, and could see the red and blue lights flashing toward the crime scene as I made my escape- Philips might not dare have called the cops when he was alive, but I was sure the two women he'd probably paid to sleep with him would have. 

I told myself I didn't give a damn. That there was no way in hell I wasn't getting away with this. 

I just kept going and going, the momentum perversely soothing, as all the while the whole world seemed to be crashing in around me. 

_____

I started taking my clothes off the instant I stepped through the door of my apartment, and I was naked in the shower within a minute, the water cranked up to full heat, filling the bathroom with steam. 

I leaned forward against the far wall, panting so deep and so hard I thought I was hyperventilating. I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with me. As often as I'd done this, I'd never reacted to the way that I was now. Was it the girls maybe? Was it that glimpse of something I could never have in my life, making me feel so guilty, so paranoid? 

I still couldn't say for certain. 

I looked down at my feet, gasping, and watched the blood of Ray Philips and his bodyguard swirling down the drain amidst the scalding whirlpool of water. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. And then, without totally being aware of it, I noticed my hand finding its way between my legs, grabbing a nice, firm hold on my cock. 

I'd been hard ever since I put the bullet through the head of the bodyguard. 

It sounds terrible. I know it does. Like I get off on killing or something. But that's not it. 

Ever since I'd started doing this, I always got rock solid from the danger of a hit. I think it was something to do with survival, and biology, and all that shit. Like my body just knew, instinctively, that it was in danger. That its chance to reproduce was drawing to a close, and it demanded that I give it one last shot before I turn my back on life. 

I always had to cum after a kill. And right now I was aching for it like I'd never ached before. 

I wrapped my fist around my rock hard cock and started rapidly pumping myself beneath the shower, grunting as my hand slammed back into my balls, needing so badly to get this out of me, thinking that once I did it would finally be enough for me to be able to react. I jerked my growing inches of solid manhood with a vengeance. Like the job wasn't actually finished until I'd completed this crucial, cleansing ritual. I was pulsing so hard, and my tip was getting unbelievably swollen, and I wanted to get this heat out of me so fucking bad. 

But the pressure wasn't building. No matter how hard, how relentlessly I pumped myself, how desperately I needed to see this through to completion, my mind wasn't where it needed to be. I closed my eyes and tried to think. Tried to conjure up whatever it might take to get my rocks off, but couldn't figure out what the hell that might be. 

I tried picturing the two girls back at Philips' place- taking both of them at once- but of course, that only made matters worse. Then I tried thinking about Julia, my ex-fiance, who I'd dated all the way back before enlisting. Sometimes, she did the trick for me. That woman knew how to screw a man like it was nobody's business, and sometimes I could still taste her on me if I concentrated hard enough. Still feel the tight, rhythmic pulsing of her tight slit around my cock as she rode me. 

But then I would start thinking about everything she'd done to me. How badly she'd broken my heart, once I came back from combat so profoundly changed, so different, like she hadn't known what she was signing up for when I enlisted. 

This took me in the opposite direction. I started feeling bitter, and resentful, and about as far away from turned on as it was possible to be. 

And so I thought again. I shifted my focus. I tried to draw forth a name from depths of my mind. A name, and a face, of anyone who still filled me with any sort of tenderness. Instead so much pain. All the crushing heartbreak that had been inflicted on me by nearly everyone else in my life. 

And that was when someone strange came to mind. 

Keisha Hillary. 

It almost caught me off guard at first. 

I certainly hadn't been expecting it. 

Keisha, the daughter of my boss, Marlon Hillary. The two of us had only met a handful of times over the years that I'd ben in Marlon's employment. There had certainly never been anything between the two of us, as such- Marlon probably would have had me killed if he even caught me thinking about it. But the couple of times we had run into one another, there had been something unaccountably striking about her. 

Poise, and graciousness, and of course beauty. There was something mature about her, for a girl who was only twenty-one years old. A bit young for a blondish silver fox in his mid-forties? I'm not going to pretend otherwise. 

But on the occasions I'd seen her, I'd thought I saw some glint of those rich, mahogany eyes of hers. An expression of longing, unspoken, but very clear, and very present. I want you, she seemed to say, without speaking, and at that moment, beneath the boiling water, and with the last of Philips' blood draining away beneath my feet, something seemed to click. 

I wanted her. Badly. Like I'd never wanted a woman before in my life. 

I groaned and started slamming my hand against my body, pumping my shaft again at double the rate of before, jerking my fist along all those solid tumescent inches of mine. 

I pictured my tongue in her throat. My hands on her perfectly portioned breasts, squeezing them, pinching those dark, luscious nipples. I pictured her thighs, just the right amount of wide, and her tight, juicy ass, and imagined how wonderful it would feel, kneading those buttocks between my greedy fingertips. 

I savored the imagined touch of her rich, ebony skin, and the contrasting cool and heat of her body, and how hot and how tight she would feel around me if only I could be inside her. 

Finally, I pictured her down on her knees, and my cock in her throat and her tongue twisting around me, sucking me off with a kind of urgent desperation like I just couldn't cum for her soon enough. 

I started roaring and pounding myself, and I felt the pressure building, at last, building toward its sweet, inevitable, perfect crescendo. 

Then I let out a yell at the top of my lungs. Every muscle in my body seemed to spasm. Every part of me was seized by orgasm, gripped from head to toe, the bathroom seemed to spin around me, the steam making me lightheaded, and my heart thundering to escape from my chest. 

My cock spilled over, pulsing, leaping, pumping its hot cum everywhere. It plunged across my shifting hand, and hit the wall of the shower, and poured along down the drain. And all the while, as I just kept cumming and cumming, the whole of my being on fire with pleasure, was how fucking amazing my cum would look all over Keisha's skin, and dripping from her mouth, and spilling down so slowly between her perfect breasts. 

At long last, I felt the thrill of climax dissipating. I gasped, and shivered, and felt a devastating emptiness wash over me. All of the sudden, I was reminded of just how far I was from the girl I'd fantasized about. How ridiculous it was for me to imagine that kind of thing in the first place, knowing that a man like me could never settle down. Never have anything even remotely resembling what I craved to have with her. 

Best just to put her out of my head, and be grateful for what she'd done to me. 

Getting the toxins of murder out of my system, and allowing my heart to finally settle down to something even remotely resembling a normal rate of beating. 

I gave my shaft a last few deep, slow pumps, then practically slid along the tiles of the shower to the floor, exhausted, in so many more ways than I could count. 

“Fuck,” I gasped, tilting my head back, closing my eyes, and letting the steam from the water sweep me away. 

I tried my best to ward off my looming depression. To tell myself that I was all okay. So, I couldn't have what I really wanted. I could never have it. But I was out of this life now. I'd made enough on that hit to be finished with it. Gone for good. 

No looking back. 

That, as far as I was concerned, should have been enough.

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Dark Romance Books | Ex Con's Captive | Book #2 BWWM Captive Series

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This book follows the story of the second Jackson sister, Tyra Jackson. Unlike her sister, Gigi, Tyra has had a tougher life than most. She's used her loud-mouth and her spitfire temper to shield her from all the hurt she's been exposed to in life. Her father's death leaves her an heiress but it's not a status she's comfortable with at all.

Tyra can be impulsive, which makes for an explosive dynamic between her and her captor, Leon Wilkins. The chemistry between the two is instant and volatile, with the contrast between Tyra's outspoken ways and Leon's reserved stoicism. Set far away from life in America, Ex Con's Captive will take this African American beauty all over Eastern Africa, from Nairobi to Kampala, and even through Tanzania. Get relaxed to read the FREE sample of this steamy hot August 2018 interracial romance release from bestselling Author, Jamila Jasper.

Romance Novel Excerpts: Ex Con's Captive | Book #2 BWWM Captive Series

 

 

TYRA JACKSON

Goodbye to Gigi wasn’t easy. I’d only just grown accustomed to having a sister and saying goodbye so soon had never been a part of my plan. She zoomed off in a taxi and left me standing next to Dinah.

 

“Think she’ll be okay?” I asked.

 

“Of course,” Dinah smiled, “Of course she’ll be okay. “

 

“I dunno. She’s taking it hard…”

 

Dinah smirked, “Listen, I’ve got people looking after her.”

 

I raised an eyebrow.

 

“People? What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“It means you don’t have to worry.”

 

I didn’t get along with Dinah as well as I got along with Gigi. I found her standoffish and she spoke as if she knew everything. If she knew so damn much, why didn’t she just tell us instead of being so cryptic and speaking in code?

 

“C’mon,” Dinah said, “Let’s head inside. We still have guests.”

 

“Right…”

 

We walked back inside when one of Dinah’s staff approached her with a worried look on her face. She touched Dinah’s arm and whispered into her ear. Dinah’s expression twisted with worry and she thanked her housekeeper before returning to my side.

 

“Bad news.”

 

“How bad?”

 

I worried about my mama back in California. She’d never been without me for this long and with my younger brothers (half-brothers) off on their tour of duty, she needed me now more than ever.

 

Yup, my mama had more kids when I was sixteen years old and my brothers were just old enough to pick up guns and serve their country. 

 

“There’s a storm. We’ve just had word a hurricane is going to hit tomorrow.” 

 

“In Costa Rica?”

 

“Off the coast. It’s unusual but… not impossible.”

 

“I’m supposed to leave tomorrow morning!”

 

“Sorry Tyra. You’re welcome to stay here the night.”

 

I had no desire to stay in Dinah’s cold, Costa Rican mansion any longer than I had to. I was never close to my father and if I had to be honest, I came to collect my inheritance and meet my sisters, who I’d met only a handful of times during my life. The mansion had no life to it. The large beams and open spaces with their operatic acoustics only felt empty to me. 

 

Despite the tropical heat, the humid atmosphere within the concrete megalith chilled me to the bone. I wrapped my shawl around my shoulders and returned past the manicured palm trees and bougainvillea gardens to the guests. My father’s associates all imbued me with a sense of deep discomfort. When one man grabbed my hand, my palm shivered with the panic a woodland creature feels before being squeezed by an anaconda.

 

I stuck to Dinah’s side the rest of the evening. I could sense her growing frustration with me, but I couldn’t bear to mill about with the black-suited dementors whose soul-sucking interest in wealth alone was practically palpable to me. I reached for my phone, hoping to steal away for a few minutes to call my mother. No bars. Right — the hurricane.

 

Dinah had attempted an escape, but I spotted her across the room talking to a short, latino man, one of the ones who had spoken at the funeral. He had a scar across his eye and chilling anthracite eyes. 

 

“Tyra, have you met Luciano?”

 

The name rang a bell. He’d spoken and given one of my father Jerome’s eulogies.

 

“Ah, I don’t believe so.”

 

He reached out his hand, licking his lips before greeting me.

 

“Beautiful Tyra. I remember your mother.”

 

He winked. 

 

“Oh, thanks. Hi.”

 

“I’m Luciano. I’m leaving. I must get out of here before the storm hits.”

 

His thick accent belied his perfect diction.

 

“Safe drive,” I replied.

 

He chuckled, “I doubt it.”

 

He hugged Dinah and we watched him leave together. 

 

“Scary, isn’t he?” Dinah whispered.

 

“You could say so.”

 

“Harmless. I’ve known him since I was a child.”

 

I didn’t think growing up in this environment, Dinah had any clue what safety meant, but I didn’t question her. Drinking and partying continued until the wee hours of the morning. Dinah and I were the last to retire, except for the wait staff who now had the funeral of a century to clean up after. 

 

Dinah yawned as we ascended the marble staircase.

 

“Daddy would have hated this,” she mused.

 

“I guess.”

 

I didn’t know our father well enough to say otherwise.

 

“I’ve arranged a private company to take you to the airport tomorrow. You won’t miss your flight.”

 

“What about the storm?”

 

“They say it’s swung north. We’re safe.”

 

“Thank goodness.”

 

I exhaled a sigh of relief and caught another yawn from Dinah.

 

“Sleep tight. I’ll send Ana up in the morning to take your breakfast order.”

 

“Thanks, Sis.”

 

“Sorry, we didn’t get to hang out much this time.”

 

“Next time.”

 

I doubted there would be a "next time". Since we’d grown, “next time” never materialized the way it had when we were younger. 

 

Dinah went to bed, leaving me in my suite. I wandered around with my phone for a while, flipping my braids out of my face as I pressed it against the window.

 

Nothing. Nothing. I shuffled to the left. Nothing. I shuffled to the right. Ah! Yes!

 

One bar.

 

I called my mama’s number, feasting on the melody of the warbled dial tone.

 

“Hello? Who’s this?”

 

“Mama, it’s me? Can’t you see the number?”

 

“Ain’t it late?”

 

“Sort of.”

 

“Girl you done woke me up.”

 

“Sorry. There was a storm…”

 

“Hope…y-….safe…”

 

The line crackled.

 

“Mama what?”

 

“I hope you’re staying safe.”

 

“Yes. I’m gonna make my flight tomorrow. Signal’s really bad so I won’t call most likely.”

 

“Okay. I’ll be at the airport with Steven.”

 

My mama had been trying to force her new boyfriend Steven down my throat for the past eight months and it wasn’t going well.

 

“Steven? Why?” I huffed.

 

“He’s my man. Maybe if you had a man, you wouldn’t be worried about my man,” my mom started.

 

I rolled my eyes and ignored her as she trailed off into a rant about how I needed to get laid more so I would stop getting all “up in her business”. 

 

“I just don’t like Steven!” I interrupted.

 

“Uh huh? You just have a problem with an old lady like me getting busy six nights a week.”

 

“Mama gross!” I yelled.

 

“Well it’s true,” she mumbled.

 

Hoping to spare myself any more disturbing details about my mother’s sex life, I made an excuse and hung up the phone. My mama had been a famous super-model in London, parlaying her olive green eyes and tanned skin into an international career. She’d been in magazines, met the Versace siblings and partied until addiction yanked everything underneath her and sent her spiraling towards rock bottom.

 

Money corrupts. She’d ended up with a baby — me — a few leaked porn tapes that had excluded her from high society in Los Angeles, and a ten year battle with cocaine and heroin that had only ended once she got pregnant with me. She’d raised me well, but there were times she couldn’t shake the wild child inside of her off. Without me to look after her, I didn’t think she’d make it.

 

I needed to get back. Steven, her new man, was a former pimp. I suspected he hadn’t left the pimping behind and I needed to get back to her so I could use my inheritance to find proof of who Steven was and chase him away from my mama. She deserved better.

 

I stayed awake all night thinking about my mama, Steven, and my now deceased father. Jerome had never been a good man to her. My sisters didn’t know it, but he’d paid good money for the night he spent with my mother. He’d only cared about her once the baby was born. Up until he got a paternity test to prove I was his, he’d spent every moment denying me and calling my mama a dirty hooker when he was the one who had paid for her.

 

You could see why I didn’t tell my sisters… 

 

My mama got on my case for not getting laid but I would have stayed celibate for my whole life if it meant not ending up with a man like my daddy. 

 

My eyes burned in the morning. A knock slammed against my door. I slid out of bed and ordered a simple breakfast — local Costa Rican bread, avocado, scrambled eggs, fresh mango slices and sparkling water. While Dinah’s housekeeper prepared breakfast, I showered and prepared for my flight.

 

The tropical weather messed up my braids and I knew my mama would comment on my hair the moment I landed in Los Angeles. I took a quick shower, tied my braids up into a tight high bun and wrapped a silk scarf around my forehead to hide my less than perfect edges.

 

I couldn’t wait to get back to LA where I could wear makeup every day without melting it off. Not even my acrylics survived the weather and the French manicure on my toes were my only ties to good looks that remained. 

 

Breakfast came to me on white platters and I ate in bed. After thirty minutes, the housekeeper entered my room and informed me that Dinah hadn’t slept well and she wouldn’t be getting out of bed to say goodbye.

 

“Are you sure I can’t sneak in there?” I asked.

 

“No,” she replied, “Dinah is sleeping.”

 

“Uh. Okay.”

 

“Your driver is downstairs,” she said.

 

“So soon?”

 

“Yes. You leave early.”

 

“Oh… Okay.”

 

Discomfort knotted my stomach. 

 

“Can I at least leave her a note?” I asked.

 

“No,” the housekeeper replied firmly.

 

“Oh…”

 

“Come on,” she smiled, sensing my discomfort, “Let’s go.”

 

I followed her, tugging my suitcase behind me and deciding whether or not I should make a break for it and say goodbye to Dinah anyway. I decided against bothering her. I didn’t feel we were close enough to justify it. 

 

I followed Dinah’s dark-haired housekeeper outside to the black car with tinted windows that awaited.

 

“This is it?”

 

“Sí.”

 

The driver got out of the car and approached the housekeeper with an envelope. She took it and scurried off. I squinted in the sunlight trying to get a good look at him. The rays blinded me enough that I couldn’t quite see his face. He was pale, freckled and wore thick sunglasses that obscured much of his face.

 

He didn’t smile.

 

He opened the front door for me rather than the back. This wasn’t the custom in America, but figuring it was just cultural, I entered the car. He sternly got into the front seat and I tried to work my best Spanish on him.

 

“Buenos días.”

 

It’s impossible to live in LA without picking up a little bit of Spanish. 

 

“Buenos días,” he replied in a thick Costa Rican accent.

 

His voice surprised me as his skin tone was one usually found amongst foreigners or expatriates. However, his accent sounded natural, like he’d been raised in the jungle.

 

As we drove out of the driveway, a thicket of trees clamored together overhead. He reached for a toothpick and stuck it in his mouth, gripping the steering wheel loosely as we drove.

 

“Where are we headed?”

 

He didn’t reply.

 

“Hablas inglés?”

 

“No.”

 

“Cómo te llamas?” 

 

“Leon.”

 

“Eso es francés, no?”

 

“Si.”

 

Not much of a talker, I presumed. Too bad. I had been nervous among my father’s contemporaries but I usually charmed the pants off most people in the real world (not the wealthy world). I’d talk to cab drivers, janitors, and I knew the homeless people on my block like we were family. 

 

Maybe now, I could do something for them, I thought to myself.

 

I leaned back in the seat, resigning myself to a three-hour early morning drive without a lick of conversation. When we hit the highway, Leon started to speed. The roads wound around and after a few minutes, when I caught hold of my stomach again, I noticed we weren’t getting deeper into the city, but further away from it.

 

My heart sank. I hadn’t thought much about the envelope exchanged between Leon and Dinah’s housekeeper. The incident flashed into my mind with worry. Oh hell no… 

 

I’d watched hundreds of hours of newsreels about women being kidnapped and sold into sex slavery. In that instant, that was all that flashed into my mind: being sold as a piece of meat for some sicko who would make me regret the rest of my living days.

 

I went ballistic.

 

“WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?!” I shrieked.

 

“Señora, en español?”

 

“En fuckin’ español? WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME. DONDE?”

 

“Señora, calmate!”

 

“CALM DOWN, ANSWER THE QUESTION NOW! DONDE?”

 

“Señora, cálmate!” He growled.

 

Oh, he wanted to get angry? I did what any rational person wouldn’t do. I reached over, grabbing the steering wheel and swerved the car off the road, dragging the wheel to the left and screaming as the car went flying off the edge of the road.

Phew! This story is already getting crazy. Are you ready to continue reading it right away? I won't hold you up. 

Amazon readers: https://amzn.to/2UrRwTZ

iBooks, Nook, Kobo readers: smarturl.it/exconscaptive

 

Dark Romance Books | Hitman's Captive | Book #3 BWWM Captive Series

hitman's captive jamila jasper interracial romance dark romance story bad boy bwwm romance novelsThe third and final installment in the BWWM Captive Series is finally here. We'll be closing out the novel with the final installment to this rockin' trilogy that follows the crazy stories of Gigi Jackson (Book 1, Seal's Captive) and Tyra Jackson (Book 2, Ex Con's Captive). These sisters have taken us around the world, okay?! In Book 1, we found ourselves in Costa Rica and in Book 2, we went all the way to Nairobi, Kenya with some part of the book in Uganda (Kampala) and Tanzania. 

It's been an incredible journey to Book 3 for me and I've spent many months tweaking the ending that I originally wanted to write a story that wasn't just about Dinah, but tied in the other three sisters so that you can all get final CLOSURE on the girls we have come to love throughout this year... 

What I can promise you in Dinah's book is that she's nothing like the reserved and shy Gigi or the loud-mouthed troublemaking Tyra. She's a breed of her own thanks to her upbringing by her CRAZY RICH father. This book explores what that life on the "dark economy" is like. 

Did you know that it's common for many rulers in ancient times to only surround themselves with female guards because they believed women are more trustworthy? There was no better woman for Jerome to trust than his own daughter so he turned her into the woman he needed her to be... a cold-blooded assassin. And yes, Jerome technically recruited "child soldiers" to protect his multi-million dollar fortune. This book delves into the depths of what this wealthy man left behind and how his daughter will manage to pick up the pieces of having grown up stronger than any woman she knows and struggling to let other people -- especially men -- into her life.

I don't want to spoil how the story ends for you, so without further ado, thank you for reading this far and I hope you enjoy the absolutely delicious teaser I'm posting below. Warning, you WILL be teased, so expect to end the sample wanting more (desperately).

Romance Novel Excerpts: Hitman's Captive | Book #3 BWWM Captive Series

 

CHAPTER ONE

“Miss Jackson, it’s handled.”

 

“What did they say?”

 

“They asked about the funeral.”

 

“There’s not going to be a funeral. My remains are…”

 

“I said they were lost at sea.”

 

“Good.” 

 

“With all due respect Miss Jackson, due to the short notice of your departure, I cannot guarantee that the truth will stay hidden from them at all.”

 

“I understand, Stephanie. But you know that I don’t have a choice here.”

 

“We always have a choice, Dinah.”

 

“Not me.”

 

“You’re Jerome’s daughter. I understand that. But your father is dead…”

 

“Exactly. And just like people came after Gigi and Tyra, they’ll come after me. You and I both know that I’ve done far worse than being Jerome’s daughter.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

“I know. Consider this a semi-permanent retirement. When trouble has died down, I’ll consider coming back.”

 

“Elsa misses you.”

 

I leaned back in the red velvet seats on the jet, trying not to think of Elsa.

 

“Elsa is a dog. She doesn’t understand anything. She’s just happy as long as she gets her food every day.”

 

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

 

“Listen, Stephanie. We’re about to land. I’ll be back on the grid in twenty.”

 

“Is she beautiful?”

 

“Yes, the island looks the same. But somehow colder.”

 

Stephanie chuckled, “She looks colder every time.”

 

“When is the last time you’ve been back?”

 

“I don’t know. Years. Not since Wy—”

 

“You can say his name, Stephanie.”

 

“Not since Wyatt was around.”

 

“Yeah. Let’s hope he doesn’t think to look for me here.”

 

“He won’t. We took measures to ensure that he’ll never find you.”

 

“Promise me, Stephanie, you’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Good. I gotta go now.”

 

“Be safe, Dinah.”

 

“I will be. You know that.”

 

“Yes. But you have a funny habit of getting into trouble, don’t you?”

 

“I’m my father’s daughter. I can’t help that.” 

 

“Bye, Dinah.”

 

“If you don’t hear from me in three days, worry.”

 

Stephanie hung up and I wandered down the aisle of the jet, popping into the pilot’s cabin.

 

“Closing in, Jerry?”

 

“Yes. It’s tough landing her today. Snowstorm comin’ in tomorrow, I’m sure you heard.”

 

“I did.”

 

“You ready?”

 

“The house survived the winter of ’09 just fine.” 

 

“Good. Good.”

 

“I’m gonna miss you, Jerry.”

 

“Don’t believe that.”

 

“We’ve flown all over the world together.”

 

Jerry shrugged, “Coulda been any other lug Mr. Jackson hired.”

 

“But you’ve always been my pilot. Always.”

 

“You’ve grown up into a fine young lady.”

 

The plane approached the ground and I grew quiet as I watched Jerry take her in closer, flying the private plane smoothly to avoid bumps and discomfort. Our first flight together had been a nightmare compared to this one. With daddy dead, all of us would scatter to our little corner of the globe and hope that we could live without trouble for once.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“If you need me, call my place in Hafnarfjörður.”

 

“It’s only a three hour flight.”

 

“Exactly. I’ll miss ya kiddo. But it’s for the best.”

 

“I know. That’s what I told Stephanie.”

 

Jerry snorted at the mention of Stephanie’s name. 

 

“She still think you should stay in the tropics so they can hunt you down like deer?” He asked gruffly.

 

“She wants me to stay.”

 

“Not a chance. YOu’re too smart for that. And you’re right to come here. Nowhere is safer than Avalon.”

 

I didn’t respond and a few moments later, the plane landed on the strip, a mile away from the island’s main house. 

 

“Bundle up, missy.”

 

I wrapped my scarf around my face and pulled up the hood on my jacket so it warmed my ears. Jerry opened the plane doors and walked me down the stairs. He stared at me for a moment on the tarmac with tears in his eyes.

 

“Years. You’ll be here alone for years, Dinah. I just… I can’t imagine what your father would think.”

 

“He would understand. This is what he would have wanted.”

 

“I suppose you’re right. I suppose it’s safest.”

 

“If I’m with the rest of the world, they’ll track me down and when they’re done, they’ll kill all my sisters. I have no choice.”

 

“I know. I know.”

 

He hugged me and salty tears ran down his stubbly cheek onto my cheek as we pressed our faces together. I squeezed Jerry tightly, not wanting to let go. For a split second, I realized he was the last remaining parental figure that I had and I would have to say goodbye to him and to everything I knew. 

 

I finally pulled away, sniffling and disguising my own tears from him.

 

“Promise me you’ll stay in touch.”

 

“I will.”

 

“And stay out of trouble.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Sure you don’t want me to drive you to the house?”

 

“No. I can handle it.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Bye, Jerry.”

What happens next?! This month, you can find the extended version of this chapter as well as TEASER #2 on my Patreon. For as little as $1.49/month gain instant access to the rest of this sample, as well as 100+ posts with previous eBook samples, private blog posts, full-length short stories, and some full-length short audiobooks.

Take the plunge and join the private Patreon family here: www.patreon.com/jamilajasper

Just want to take a look at some more 100% FREE content? Check out the trailer to this book here: smarturl.it/HitmanTrailer

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