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