Sinful Ruin (Lucky Kings #2)

Chapter 1

“I’m so sorry, Genesis.” My father points a gun at me when I enter his office. “We were desperate, and they wanted you.”

Classical music plays around us as he stares me down from behind his desk. His eyes are bloodshot, and sweat drenches his wrinkled forehead and shirt collar. A lit cigar in an ivory ashtray and a bottle of bourbon sit in front of him.

In panic, I slip my gaze from him to the gun. My heart beats so wildly that I feel it thrumming in my throat.

Carlisle Astor isn’t a man of violence. He’s a top donor to charities and politicians who vow to rid the New York streets of gun violence.

Before I can ask even one of the million questions floating in my mind, he straightens in his chair, struck by a sudden alarm.

“They’re here.” His finger toys with the gun trigger.

“Who?” I step out of his line of fire and follow his gaze to the shut door.

I stand there, waiting for intruders I’m unsure even exist.

Seconds pass as we wait.

Suddenly, a gunshot echoes through the office, and I jump.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds pass .

The door remains closed.

My breathing shallows as I slowly turn to my father, and terror rises through me.

He’s hunched over the desk, a gunshot wound marring his forehead. His arm hangs limply over the chair armrest, his lifeless hand still gripping the gun. Splatters of blood cover the wall, bookshelves, and the framed photo of us dressed as zombies for Halloween behind him.

“Dad!” I cry out, rushing to his side.

Blood seeps from his head, trickling down his neck, and covers my palm when I check his pulse.

Not even one weak beat.

I choke back a sob, telling myself to remain calm and not break down, as I frantically search for his phone to call for help since I’d forgotten mine in my car.

I find no luck on the desk or in the drawers.

My hunt stops when pounding comes from the other side of the door.

My father wasn’t paranoid.

They are here .

Scanning the office, I search for an escape, but there’s nowhere. My father put millions into this home. Why couldn’t he have sprung a few more dollars for a hidden bookshelf leading into a secret room?

I duck behind the desk when someone kicks in the door. Peeking around the corner, I see three armed men enter the office. Their large frames darken the doorframe like the boogeymen in your nightmares.

My father’s handgun has nothing on the automatic weapons slung over their shoulders.

“Come out, come out,” the man in the middle taunts, his Russian accent thick. He whistles loudly while scanning the room. “I’m ready to meet my bride.”

His bride?

I crouch lower, losing sight of them.

Screw the view.

I’m not about to become this psychopath’s wife.

Had my father not just committed suicide or said, “They wanted you,” I’d swear these men barged into the wrong home.

“You have three seconds before I blast that fucking desk with enough bullets to murder an entire fucking army,” he warns, his patience thinning. “You don’t want to piss me off, nevesta .”

I don’t move.

“ Seychas !” the man screams.

Now .

I know my fair share of Russian.

Learning new languages was my father’s form of bonding.

Reality sets in, and chills run down my spine.

I either have to give myself up or wait for this madman to blast the fucking desk with bullets . Standing, I raise my arms, and inch by inch, the men come more into my view.

I was right.

They are straight out of your nightmares.

And they’ve come to make mine a reality.

“There she is,” the man in the middle, who appears to be in charge, says.

His cold eyes travel down my body. As they move back up, they reach mine, and his lips form a sinister smile.

A smile that promises destruction.

“My bride.” He releases his hold on the gun to rub his palms together in satisfaction.

He’s terrifying but—dare I say it—also attractive.

Tall, dark blond hair, a sharp nose, and a thick scar that runs along his jawline.

“The cunt is prettier in real life than her pictures,” the burly man to his right comments, licking his thin lips.

The cunt caller isn’t as attractive as his boss, and points are deleted for his comment and the way he’s creepily staring at me. If I wasn’t terrified for my life, I’d give them all a lecture on how to speak to women.

“You’re one lucky motherfucker, Dima,” the creep adds. “I wish I were getting her. Maybe you’ll share.”

Dima’s glare cuts to the guy. “You suggest that again, and I’ll rip your fucking tongue out and feed it to my dog.”

The man ducks his head. “Sorry, boss.”

I use this opportunity to sweep my gaze over my father’s desk, searching for a weapon. I tiptoe forward when my attention drops to the gun in his limp hand.

“Don’t you even fucking think about it,” Dima warns, creeping closer.

I glare at him, stumbling back and running into the bookcase.

Dima smirks, as if a terrified human is his favorite sight. “I can’t wait to have my fun with you. You look like a fighter.”

“You lay a hand on her, I’ll fucking gut you and your men and feed you to your dog,” a recognizable voice snarls behind them. “She’s mine.”

I slap my hand to my chest to tame my wild heart.

The three men separate, making room, as if they were the opening show and the main event has arrived.

Julian Bellini steps into my sight.

He looms over all three men, his presence heavier than the others combined.

While they’re the boogeymen, he’s the devil in the night.

The monster who controls them.

He wasn’t trained to scare you.

He was trained to see you as prey.

To eat you alive.

To drag you into his hell.

Yet, with all that darkness, I’ve never seen a more beautiful man.

Julian towers over the other men, like a skyscraper taking over a village. His short black hair is brushed to the right, shaved shorter on the sides, with a slight part. Tattoos extend over nearly every inch of his exposed skin. His calculated cerulean-blue eyes stare me down.

Eyes that I’ve felt on me for years.

Eyes that I’ve wanted on me for years.

His face, lined with hatred yet sculpted like a god’s, hardens when our eyes meet.

The music changes to a loud, thumping Beethoven.

Julian draws closer, his eyes anchored to mine, ready to crack open my soul.

He smirks widely. “Hello, Genesis. Looks like I arrived at the party just in time.”