Stolen Heir by Sophie Lark

Stolen Heir

Stolen Heir by Sophie Lark (Brutal Birthright #2)
English | 2020| Romance | ePUB | 3.1 MB

Sophie Lark Sophie lives with her husband, two boys, and baby girl in the Rocky Mountain west. She writes intense, intelligent romance, with heroines who are strong and capable, and men who will do anything to capture their hearts.

They Murdered My Father, So I Stole Their Daughter…
She’s my captive, my little ballerina who dances only for me.
Nessa is sweet and innocent. She doesn’t deserve any of this. But that’s how our world works – the wolves eat the lambs, no matter how gentle they may be.
I’ll use her to get my revenge. Unless I give in to my hunger first…

I chase after him, impatient and a little reckless. It’s been forty-one days since Anna died. Each one has been an agony of emptiness. Missing the only person who meant anything to me. The only spot of brightness in my shit life.

I watch Iwan walking ahead of me, trim in his black leather jacket. He’s not an ugly man. In fact, most women would probably consider him handsome—dark hair, constant five o’clock shadow, square jaw. Eyes just a little too close together. With his money and connections, I’m sure he never lacks for female attention.

I’ve watched him enter and leave nightclubs with girls on his arm. Brothels, too. He didn’t attack my sister for sex. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to torment her.

Iwan cuts through an alleyway, then enters the back of a derelict building, via an unlocked metal door. I lurk in the alley to see if he’ll reemerge. He does not.

I should wait. That’s what I’ve been doing.

But I’m tired of waiting. This ends tonight.

I crack open the door and slip inside. It’s dark in the warehouse. I hear the distant dripping sound of a leaky roof. It smells dank and moldy. The air is at least ten degrees colder than outside.

The warehouse is full of the skeletal remains of rusted equipment. It might have been a textile factory once, or light assembly. It’s difficult to tell in the gloom. I don’t see Iwan anywhere.

Nor do I see the person who hits me from behind.

Blinding pain explodes in the back of my skull. I fall forward onto my hands and knees. The light snaps on, and I realize I’m surrounded by a half-dozen men. Iwan is at the forefront, still carrying his duffle bag. He drops it on the ground next to him.

I’m hauled to my feet by two other men, my arms pinned behind my back. They search me roughly, finding the gun. They hand it to Iwan.

“Were you planning to shoot me in the back with this?” he snarls.

Holding the gun by the barrel, he cracks me across the jaw with the stock. The pain is explosive. I taste blood in my mouth. One of my teeth feels loose.

I’m probably about to die. Yet I don’t feel afraid. I’m probably about to die. All I can feel is rage that I won’t be able to kill Iwan first.

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