The Villain (Boston Belles, #2)(122)
A look that disarmed me.
A look that told me I might not be the bad cop in the household, after all.
“Excuse me,” Persephone sing-songed from her place on the bed, waving at me. “My apologies for interrupting, but is there any way I could see my own son, too?”
I laughed, walking over to her. Astor was still screaming and throwing his little fists at me. He had surprisingly long fingernails for a newborn, but they looked thin and brittle. I lowered him to her chest, which was only partly covered by her hospital gown.
The mother and the baby stared at each other, and the world around them stopped on its axis. Astor got very quiet and very serious. Persephone sucked in a breath, and I stopped breathing, the pressure of the attack easing down.
“Hello, little angel.” She smiled down at him.
He stared at her, mesmerized.
I know the feeling, son.
I stood back and watched them.
My own little family.
A perfect thing in this imperfect world.
Knowing I might’ve passed Astor the very thing that life had cursed me with because it was hereditary.
Knowing that, in all probability, my father had it, too.
And vowing to make sure Astor would never get locked in a church confession booth with his demons.
That he, too, would one day be able to bask in the light.
The End.
This book was definitely a ride to write. It took a lot from me mentally and physically. I don’t think I would have been able to write it without my support group. So here goes: To my beta readers: Tijuana Turner (who is also my momager and my fairy godmother), Vanessa Villegas, Lana Kart, Amy Halter, and Chelsea Humphrey. Thank you for your valuable input and your dedication to this story. You definitely made working on it so much fun.
To my editing team, Cate Hogan, Mara White, Paige Maroney Smith and Jenny Sim. Your attention to detail and dedication to the written word and the quality of the story in front of you never ceases to amaze me. I am forever grateful to have you by my side.
To my wiz cover designer, Letitia Hasser, who has yet to divorce me—thanks for that. I appreciate your patience, your hard work and your overwhelming talent so, so much. You’re stuck with me forever! And also to Stacey Blake of Champagne Formatting, another personal favorite who is always there for me and always delivers!
To my agent, Kimberly Brower, at Brower Literary, for being one of my most amazing supporters, and to my KICK-ASS street team, who are much more than a street team: Avivit, Vanessa, Lulu, Ratula, Sheena, Sarah Plocker, Sarah Grim Sentz, Chele, Jacquie, Ariadna, Yamina, Nadine, Nina, Leeann, Samantha, Stacey, Summer, Isa, Sher, Lisa, Tanaka, Marta, Keri, Rebecca, Betty and Lin. If you see reoccurring names each release, it’s because they’re my ride or die.
And to my best friends in the whole entire world, Charleigh Rose, Ava Harrison, Parker S. Huntington, Tijuana Turner, and Vanessa Villegas. Thank you for being my support system. Always.
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Sinners of Saint:
Defy (#0.1)
Vicious (#1)
Ruckus (#2)
Scandalous (#3)
Bane (#4)
All Saints High:
Pretty Reckless (#1)
Broken Knight (#2)
Angry God (#3)
Boston Belles:
The Hunter (#1)
The Villain (#2)
The Monster (#3)
The Rake (#4)
Standalones:
Tyed
Sparrow
Blood to Dust
Midnight Blue
Dirty Headlines
In the Unlikely Event
The Kiss Thief
Playing with Fire
Excerpt from The Kiss Thief
Before you go, here’s a small excerpt of The Kiss Thief. If you enjoyed Cillian Fitzpatrick, you are going to love Wolfe Keaton…
WHAT SUCKED THE MOST WAS that I, Francesca Rossi, had my entire future locked inside an unremarkable old wooden box.
Since the day I’d been made aware of it—at six years old—I knew that whatever waited for me inside was going to either kill or save me. So it was no wonder that yesterday at dawn, when the sun kissed the sky, I decided to rush fate and open it.
I wasn’t supposed to know where my mother kept the key.
I wasn’t supposed to know where my father kept the box.
But the thing about sitting at home all day and grooming yourself to death so you could meet your parents’ next-to-impossible standards? You have time—in spades.
“Hold still, Francesca, or I’ll prick you with the needle,” Veronica whined underneath me.
My eyes ran across the yellow note for the hundredth time as my mother’s stylist helped me get into my dress as if I was an invalid. I inked the words to memory, locking them in a drawer in my brain no one else had access to.
Excitement blasted through my veins like a jazzy tune, my eyes zinging with determination in the mirror in front of me. I folded the piece of paper with shaky fingers and shoved it into the cleavage under my unlaced corset.
I started pacing in the room again, too animated to stand still, making Mama’s hairdresser and stylist bark at me as they chased me around the dressing room comically.