Binding Ties

Prologue

Clarke couldn’t take his eyes away from her.

That tantalising blend of gold and copper that fell down her spine in soft waves – her supple, soft curves trussed up uncomfortably in what should have been a seductive lingerie set – designed to entice the men around her, encourage them to cough up the cash.

Lure them into getting sliced up by the Russian mafia because she was the missing piece in their jigsaw.

Because Vladimir Dobrev was originally a twin, and his twin had been more cruel, more deadly and menacing than his younger brother. He’d been murdered  by his wife, who had since vanished without a trace.

Until the toad had come across this fragile beauty in Asylum, and all mother fucking hell had broken loose.

Clarke’s jaw clenched – his teeth grinding against each other to stop himself as he saw her eyes close in self-disgust, yet another man pawing at her slender, milky thighs – testing the merchandise. He wanted to rip away the hands of this filthy, slimy pervert.

But that is not what security at Tourniquet were here for, after all.

Clenching his fists as he crossed his arms over his broad chest – the muscles bunching and flexing within the restrictive, militant black shirt that he’d been given as an uniform – he made a silent promise to her with his eyes, but she simply shook her head, wrenching her head away from his gaze as the customer continued to leer and paw at her.

She’d learnt – a long time ago – never to trust anybody. She knew, with every breath in her body that who she was would one day be the thing that got her killed. Karma had fucked her over well and truly with the family he’d given to her – same old story - Daddy was a psycho, Uncle Vlad was a fucking filthy pig rapist that could well have been her youngest sister’s biological father, and her poor mum came off her drugs for one night to see her only son fiddling with his baby sister, trying to be just like daddy.

So when Dmitri Dobrev had stumbled back into their seven bedroom town house, she’d shot him at point blank range – square in the chest – leaving him to bleed out on their genuine African Granite floors while she dragged all six of her children to the nearest bus station, and gave the driver ten thousand to just get them the fuck away.  

And she’d never seen a moment of regret pass over her mother’s haggard yet hauntingly beautiful features – even when the money ran out, even when she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer – she’d still allowed the pride to seep through – she’d kept her babies safe, that was all that mattered.

And it was her mother that she worried for now – while she was locked up in dank chambers of an evening after the performances were over. She’d thought Sebastienne was just another sleaze – another pervert – but she never thought he’d be capable of anything on this level of fucked up activities.

She’d never pictured herself sold to the highest bidder.

She’d never pictured herself exposed – and broken – like she felt.

She’d never pictured herself so fucking desperate that she could ever trust him, that despite his bulk, and those scars – not just the ones in his flesh, but those really dark and haunting shadows behind his eyes, that despite the fact that he worked for fucking Frenchie the Toad – that she’d somehow see in his eyes a means of escape. That she’d be that desperate that she had no other hope left but to cling to it – to ride out the storm and see where it took her.

Because no one comes out of Tourniquet without some shadows on their soul.