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  Vengeful Love: Deception

  By Laura Carter

  The next installment of the darkly suspenseful and sinfully sexy Vengeful Love series.

  How far would you go for the one you love?

  Would you keep a deadly secret?

  Would you risk everything?

  I would. And I did. Because living without Gregory Ryans is unthinkable.

  But I can’t keep living a lie. He can’t see that the only way to be free is to reveal the truth.

  I’m ready to put my faith in the law, but he’s doing what he does best: buying a contingency plan.

  He tells me I’m his light, his one bright spot in all the darkness that surrounds him. But his past is creeping forward from the shadows, and the secrets he’s guarded with his life are destroying him.

  There are some things money can’t buy.

  If he won’t let me in, I’m not sure my love is enough to save us.

  Dear Reader,

  Maybe the term antihero isn’t a new one, but it does seem to be something that’s been getting a lot of buzz in the past year or so in the romance world. But what is an antihero? In my mind, the antihero is one who has to be redeemed, providing a delicious platform for character growth and emotional conflict. But even though he’s an antihero, perhaps doing morally questionable things we can’t always approve of, he still proves his love and devotion to the heroine, providing us as readers with the opportunity to enjoy seeing a real bad boy get his happy ending.

  I love a great antihero, and this April I’m pleased to introduce you to Haithem, from Didn’t I Warn You by Amber Bardan. Mysterious, foreign, gorgeous, Haithem has a secret, and it’s one he’ll kill to protect until he accomplishes the goal he’s set out to achieve. Lucky for Angelina, he chooses not to kill her...but he does kidnap her, holding her against her will, using her body against her. And when he ultimately becomes incredibly possessive of her... Haithem offers Angelina a chance to feel again. But can she love the devil who’s destroying her, even as he keeps her prisoner?

  Mr. Sexy Bazillionaire CEO Gregory Ryans might not be an antihero, but that doesn’t make him any less compelling. The second installment of Laura Carter’s darkly sexy Vengeful Love trilogy, Vengeful Love: Deception, is packed with tension. Adrift in the aftermath of a murder, each desperate to protect the other, Scarlett and Gregory are faced with a harsh truth: there are some things money can’t buy.

  Jen Doyle debuts with her contemporary romance, Calling It. After a car accident nearly ends his career and with paparazzi surrounding his Chicago penthouse, professional baseball player Nate Hawkins can only think of one place to go: home. But when he finds his old apartment occupied by a half-naked woman wielding a baseball bat, he’s not sure what to think...except that maybe his luck has finally changed for the better.

  Also with a contemporary sports romance release this month is Elizabeth Harmon and Getting It Back. If you’re a sucker for a second-chance romance, this one will be right up your alley with a former top men’s figure-skating champion who’s willing to risk everything for a comeback—except a new start with the only woman he’s ever loved.

  Mia Kay keeps things suspenseful. In her romantic suspense Hard Silence, an FBI profiler chasing an interstate serial killer never expects his love life and his professional life to collide. But he gets more than he bargained for when he falls for the lovely, secretive ranch owner—who just might hold the key to his investigation.

  Move a little mystery into your life! In Permanently Booked by Lisa Q. Mathews, May-December sleuthing duo Summer Smythe and Dorothy Westin are back on the case after the murder of a dedicated librarian. To lure the killer out of hiding, they revamp the once-dull Hibiscus Pointe Book Club—and discover someone’s added more than wine, cheese and book talk to the agenda.

  If antiheroes are something you’re looking for more of, we hope you’ll check out Didn’t I Warn You. And maybe take a peek back at Joely Sue Burkhart’s One Cut Deeper and Two Cuts Darker. Coming in July, don’t miss badass biker Dare as he takes on his feisty heroine in Jade Chandler’s new erotic motorcycle club series, The Jericho Brotherhood.

  Coming next month: The fantastic conclusion to the Vengeful Love trilogy, male/male new-adult fare to make you happy, make you sigh and make you wish the authors would write faster, and an erotic new series from Anna del Mar.

  As always, until next month here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Excerpt from Vengeful Love: Black Diamonds by Laura Carter

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Laura Carter

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Gregory

  My Omega tells me it’s been less than one minute since I last watched the second hand tick round. Two twenty-three. It’s been almost three hours since it happened, less than three hours since I watched what I’ve craved for almost three decades unfold. He’s dead. The biggest demon in my life has finally been condemned to the pit of flames he deserves. But it’s not what I imagined. When I’ve thought of this day, I’ve thought that killing him would break the black clouds that have cast a shadow over my existence. Now my black clouds have been replaced with torment.

  What have I dragged this sweet girl into? Fuck.

  I rub my hands over my tired face. I can’t sit in this grey, windowless box not knowing where Scarlett is. She should’ve stayed clear of me when she had the chance. I should’ve been fair and stayed clear of her. But I couldn’t. I sought her out like a magnet stalks metal. Those devastating green eyes, the way they turn hazel in a certain light like nothing else I’ve seen. That unbelievable body, curved where it should be, that fucking amazing arse and tits you just want to cup, her perfectly toned, flat stomach. Her skin feels like silk and once you’ve touched her and tasted her, there’s no going back. No other woman could ever be good enough. And she’s smart. Too fucking smart for her own good sometimes, and tougher than she thinks. But not in the bedroom. There, she gives herself to me completely, utterly and I’m desperate to have her all the fucking time. That giggle. I can’t help smiling now as I lean forward over the steel table in front of me. That giggle is so sweet, so innocent. Even when she’s laughing at something only she finds funny—that happens a lot—I can’t help but laugh because it’s such a beautiful fucking sound.

  I’ve broken her, corrupted her. Since the day she met me, I’ve turned her world into darkness. I’ve dragged her down to my level.

  I stand from my metal chair, kicking it back against the mirrored wall and pace the concrete floor, my hands deep in the pockets of my dinner trousers. Where is she? What are they doing to her? She won’t break. She’s stronger than that. I know it but does s
he?

  I’m going to fix this. If it’s the last thing I ever do. I’ll fix this.

  The most peculiar pressure builds behind my eyes and makes them sting. I can’t stand the thought of her trapped in a room like this. She’ll be cold. She’ll be intimidated.

  “Fuck! Get a fucking hold of yourself!” I chastise myself through gritted teeth. I need to see her. I need to hold her and make her understand that she’s safe. God, that face, that look in her eyes; she was terrified.

  There’s a short tap on the door before it opens and a tall man wearing a cheap brown suit walks in. An off-white shirt hugs his middle-aged spread just above the waistline, part covered by a questionable mustard tie. The cardboard coffee cup in his hand is held as tightly as a full cardboard cup can be held. He’s followed by a short woman with her hair in a mousey-brown bun, wearing a black trouser suit and flat, dull leather shoes. She’s scowling, her brows almost meeting in the middle. She holds one hand on her hip, exposing the gold police badge on her belt.

  “Gregory Ryans?”

  “Yes,” I say, holding out my hand on instinct.

  The man shakes my hand. “I’m Detective Inspector Barnes and this is my colleague—”

  The woman holds out her hand. “Trina. I’m Trina.”

  She’s a woman out to deny that this is a man’s world but I can tell she’s battling with her inner female.

  I’ve affected her. Another woman who sees only my looks. Like most women, like all women before Scarlett Heath swanned into my life in her fitted suits with her white-collar sass. She’s the only woman who’s ever been interested in what’s behind my money, face and clothes. A story I can’t tell her.

  It’s unlike Trina to be affected by a man, Barnes’s reaction tells me that. It’s also obvious that these two people don’t see eye to eye.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I say. “Albeit in the very worst of circumstances.”

  Trina flashes a wide, coy smile which she quickly replaces with straight lips.

  “Take a seat,” Barnes says, gesturing to the chair that came to rest flush up against the mirrored wall. “You’re a Safa.”

  Rolling up the sleeves of my bloodstained shirt, I take a seat. His thoughts are written all over his face—South African, angry, volatile. And not afraid of guns. A jury would love the stereotype.

  “Do you need someone to look at that?” Barnes asks, pointing to my cut shirt and the slashed skin at my ribs beneath.

  “It’s been patched up but thank you. Fortunately, it’s not as deep as it seems from the mess.”

  Barnes nods and pats the old cassette recorder on top of the table. “I’ll be recording your statement. We’ll start with some basic questions, name, date of birth, that sort of thing, then we’ll get to it. Okay?”

  I nod, waiting. Barnes hits Record and the wheels of the cassette whir into action. His index finger strokes his grey-black beard before he leans back and hangs an elbow over his seat.

  “D.I. Barnes accompanied by Katrina Martin. Two thirty-one a.m., Sunday, eight November. Please state your full name and date of birth for the record.”

  “Gregory James Ryans. Nine October, nineteen eighty-five.”

  “And your address please, Mr. Ryans.”

  “One, the Shard, London.”

  “Alright. We were called to your apartment this evening, Mr. Ryans, by a member of your Security team, Kenneth Trent. When we arrived we found two men had been shot, one wounded but alive, the other dead. You were injured and a lady was unharmed. Two other men had arrived, one of whom was Kenneth Trent, both men claim they arrived to the scene after the injuries took place. Does that match your understanding?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay. So tell me in your own words what happened tonight. How did you come to be in your apartment and injured?”

  “We’d been to a party hosted by my mother at her house in Cobham. It’s an annual thing. My mother’s a handbag designer, she throws the party every year around fireworks night.”

  “Cobham, Surrey?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when you say ‘we,’ who do you mean?”

  The image of Scarlett comes to my mind, walking down the stairs, immaculate in her black gown, diamonds glimmering around her delicate neck. Her eyes never left mine as she smiled that mesmerising smile, until she reached me. I had to remind myself to breathe. My eyes close as I think of the kiss that followed, her soft lips against mine.

  “Mr. Ryans?”

  “Sorry, it’s been a long night. Scarlett Heath. I was at the party with Scarlett Heath and my driver.”

  “Jackson?”

  He knows him. I nod.

  “For the tape please.”

  “Yes, Jackson is my driver.”

  “We spoke to Geoffrey Jackson and he called himself your bodyguard,” Trina adds. “Why would you need a bodyguard?”

  Clearing my throat, I turn on my best impression of modesty. “I’m a very wealthy man. Wealth can breed enemies, whether you’re a good man or not.”

  “Mmm-hmm, and are you? Are you a good man, Mr. Ryans?”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ryans,” Barnes interjects whilst shooting Trina a glare. “You were at your mother’s party, go on.”

  I rub a hand through my hair, pressing my fingertips firmly into my scalp. I need to concentrate. I need to get this right. God, I need to know where she is. I need to see her.

  “We left the party after eleven sometime, just as the fireworks were starting, maybe closer to midnight.”

  Trina snorts, an awful, butch sound. “You left the firework party before the fireworks started?”

  I’d be irritated by her but I’m consumed by the memory of that dance and the desire Scarlett and I both had, the need we had to get home. I was desperate to feel Scarlett’s skin on mine, to satisfy my growling erection inside her.

  “Yes.” I throw a brief and knowing look at Barnes.

  He continues his questions. “Scarlett Heath is your...girlfriend?”

  He startles me. I clear my throat again. “We know each other romantically.”

  Trina rolls her eyes. She’s annoyed. Her flushes and smiles are replaced with a moody pout.

  “Where did you go when you left the party?”

  “Jackson drove us to my apartment. When we got to the car park at the Shard, we noticed that the tyres of my Mercedes had been slashed. I grabbed Scarlett.” There was no gun, I remind myself. “Jackson led the way to the lift vestibule. The door into the lift had been tampered with.”

  “We need to check the CCTV,” Trina states, making a note in a small, ring-bound notepad with a really cheap plastic pen. Why don’t people grasp that a pen speaks volumes about a person?

  “That’s been done, Trina. It’s clear.” Barnes flicks his eyes to me. He knows the tapes were cleaned and probably knows they weren’t the only evidence meddled with. I get the feeling he’s more than just familiar with Jackson too. Let’s see how this pans out.

  “You say the door was tampered with?” Barnes asks.

  “Forced open. We took the lift to my floor and when we got out, the door to the apartment was open. Ajar. Jackson kicked it and was shot as soon as he stepped into the apartment. I think I told Scarlett to look after him, I can’t remember exactly but that’s what she did. I knew the intruder had a gun and I knew I could only match that with a gun, so I went to the safe and took Jackson’s Glock from it.”

  Trina jumps in. “Where exactly is the safe?”

  “In my office.”

  “Where’s that?”

  I know what she’s getting at; sweat starts to form on my palms but I don’t show my nerves. I’ve spent my life hiding emotions, it’s second nature. “The second f
loor. Upstairs.”

  “Mmmhmm. So you, in your frantic state, had time to run upstairs, obtain a gun and come back down. In the meantime the attacker just, what, hid?”

  Bitch. “With all due respect, Katrina, I don’t know what he did. I was upstairs.”

  Barnes’s lips begin to tip but he puts a closed fist to his mouth until he’s composed. “Go on, Mr. Ryans. You came back downstairs with the gun.”

  “Yes. Then I went to find him. There are two rooms off the lounge, a bathroom and a gym. I went into the bathroom where I thought sound was coming from. He came at me, ran at me. We tussled and the mirror broke. He picked up a shard of glass and ripped it into my side.” I raise my arm and remind them both of my injury. “We kept fighting, somehow we ended up in the gym room. I tried to kick the guns out of reach but only managed one before he pulled a chain around my neck. I struggled, we were thrashing around, I fell to the floor in the lounge and he was pulling on the chain. I couldn’t breathe and I could feel myself slipping, things going dark and blurred. He was killing me. Then I saw the gun I’d kicked, on the floor, just within my reach. Things started to go black. I snatched the gun, and just shot it at him. I didn’t aim for his head but that’s where the bullet wound up. I was shocked, stunned. I didn’t know what to do. I crawled to Jackson and Scarlett and that’s when the security guys came in.”

  I’ve done it. It’s out there. Now Scarlett just has to keep to the story. I pull my hands through my hair and let my head hang, relieved that my statement is on the record and it’s the story I intended to tell.

  “Who was the man you killed, Mr. Ryans?” Trina’s tone is clipped, offensive.

  I sigh. It’s still going.

  “He was my biological father.”

  “And why would your own father want to kill you?”

  My dislike of this woman is increasing at a rate of knots. My temper is building. I turn my fist in the palm of my other hand on my lap. “I bought his company to sell it off.”

  “Forgive my naivety, Mr. Ryans, I’m not a businesswoman but surely buying companies happens all the time and people don’t kill each other over it.”