Pure Vengeance: A Dark Revenge Romance Anthology
Felicity Brandon, Madden Kole, Maesha Stone, Raisa Greywood, Yolanda Olson
Published by: GTB Publishing LLC
Publication date: November 5th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
They’ll have their vengeance—and their pleasure, too.
Revenge is like ice cream. Best served cold, and in bed.
And nobody serves up revenge like the villains in these stories.
Because there is no better way to exact your revenge than to make your target crave your touch. To make them beg you for their pleasure, to drive them to the brink of madness as they scream your name.
To make them believe you might actually love them…
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Individual blurbs:
Captive Vengeance by Measha Stone:
What Claire has been through just broke my heart.
All along in the world now. With nothing on her mind except vengeance.
Anton is the head of his mafia family. He’s powerful, very wealthy and extremely dangerous.
He’s cunning and without mercy. And he doesn’t take kindly to anyone wanted to kill him.
So starts a game of who will win the battle of wills.
Claire with a heart full of pain and vengeance.
Or Anton who makes examples of those who wrong him.
Caged Bride by Raisa Greywood:
Revenge is best served where it will hurt the most, and I know just where to strike.
Everything that once belonged to my bitterest enemy is now mine.
Except for one last thing.
His daughter.
Natasha Ashland might have worn pristine white to our wedding, but by the time I finish visiting the sins of the father upon her curvaceous body, no one will remember her as anything but my filthy little pet.
Seized by Felicity Brandon:
His little girl.
Out of jail and with his life in tatters,
Mark Lawes is hellbent on retaliation.
Hannah Bowman thinks she’s free,
But she doesn’t know what’s about to hit her.
The monster from her past is back to devour her.
One tantalizing bite at a time.
Seized is a sequel story in the bestselling The Rule of Lawes series.
Playing His Game by Yolanda Olson:
He’s a painted picture, the devil of my soul.
I can’t get Noah out of my mind. Not since it happened.
The devil is a musician, and Noah plays me like a fiddle.
His fingers, his soft caress.
The Blood.
It all ties together to form this tousle-haired dark-eyed beauty that is my stepbrother.
He’s dangerous, and I won’t catch feelings
Adrian is taking this too far. It doesn’t have to be as deep as he thinks it is.
He thinks far too much for a football player.
I think far too much about him.
I need to cut him off, let him go.
Move on.
But those piercing eyes dive into my soul and tear me apart every time.
Author Bios:
USA Today Bestselling Author Measha Stone is a lover of all things erotic and fun who writes kinky romantic suspense and dark romance novels. She won the 2018 Golden Flogger award in two categories, Best Advanced BDSM and Best Anthology. She’s hit #1 on Amazon in multiple categories in the U.S. and the U.K. When she’s not typing away on her computer, she can be found nestled up with a cup of tea and her kindle.
Yolanda Olson is a USA Today Bestselling and award-winning author. Born and raised in Bridgeport, CT where she currently resides, she usually spends her time watching her favorite channel, Investigation Discovery. Occasionally, she takes a break to write books and test the limits of her mind. Also an avid horror movie fan, she likes to incorporate dark elements into the majority of her books.
Raisa Greywood: USA Today bestselling author of fabulously filthy smut, empty nester, and cat snuggler. Raisa has worked as a teacher, an actuary (her husband called her a bookie—which isn’t too far from the truth), mother, and scout leader. She’s happily married to her husband of almost thirty years, and is now enjoying semi-retirement writing the books she always wanted to read with kick-ass heroines and sexy, sexy men.
Felicity Brandon: USA Today bestselling writer of dark romance. Felicity loves the edgier side of life, and writes heat, emotion and the type of scintillating chemistry that leaves you breathless.
Excerpts:
Caged Bride by Raisa Greywood [Excerpt 1]:
Although it didn’t happen often, I could admit when I was wrong—not that I’d tell my sister that.
I stripped off my tie and jacket, then rolled the sleeves of my dress shirt to my elbows. After kicking my shoes into a corner, I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to think about what I’d observed.
There was no way Natasha’s behavior was faked. She was truly astonished and delighted by something so small as a private dressing room and acted like she’d never seen a bathroom before.
It was more than odd, and raised questions I couldn’t afford to have answered. Aside from that, her naivete didn’t matter. She was simply a means to an end.
However, I could give her one thing. I’d give her the wedding night she’d deserve if I wasn’t me, and she wasn’t Steve Ashland’s daughter. I’d just have to remind myself to treat her like a cherished bride instead of the instrument of my revenge—at least for tonight.
She’d find no succor here. Not from me or Saoirse, or from any of my staff. I’d give her one night of joy before ripping it all away, and I wouldn’t allow myself to feel a single bit of guilt.
It would hurt her even more when I introduced her to her new life, which played into my future plans perfectly.
The shower cut off, and a scant few moments later, Natasha opened the door and crept from the bathroom as if she expected me to bite her. My dick hardened at the thought of nipping her tender skin.
“Thanks,” she murmured as she approached the bed where I sat waiting for her. “I… um… I tried to leave plenty of hot water for you.”
“It’s fine.” I patted the mattress next to me. “Come. Sit with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
My cock throbbed at her address, and I swallowed a groan. Fuck. I was beginning to have dangerous thoughts already, and I’d known Natasha less than a day.
She would have been so perfect if not for…
Everything.
Damn Saoirse for being right.
Natasha sat on the edge of the bed with her knees pressed together and her hands on her lap—the very picture of a nervous virgin.
Maybe the rumors of her promiscuity had been wrong too, but even that wasn’t going to stop me. In fact, it would make the outcome even better if I took Steve’s precious little girl’s virginity.
After getting my head on straight, I said, “I know you provided a health screening, but I have one too if you want to see it.”
“No, that’s okay.” She peered up at me through her lashes. “I… um… I also got a birth control shot. If you’d rather start a family right away, it’ll wear off in a few months.”
Stupid, trusting little bitch.
With that one comment, I hardened my resolve. There was no way in hell I’d breed her and risk bringing another Ashland into the world. Once I thought I could speak without strangling her, I said, “That’s a good choice. We’ll wait until we’re ready.”
Deciding to get it over with, I turned to face her, then cupped her cheek in my hand and kissed her. Strangely, she hadn’t taken off her makeup, but I didn’t care. She tasted just as sweet as I remembered from our wedding, but I missed her citrus and vanilla perfume.
Her cute little whimpers enflamed me as she clutched at my shirt. In a desperate attempt to remain in control, I said, “Stand up and take off that robe. I want to see my wife.”
Caged Bride by Raisa Greywood [Excerpt 2]:
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…” I tried to come up with a date, then added, “I don’t know. Maybe a month since my last confession.”
The confessional was dark and comforting like the closet I used to hide in when I was a kid and my father was on one of his rampages.
These days, I did my best work in the dark.
I heard the priest sigh from the other side of the confessional as the cloying scent of wax and incense filled my lungs. I imagined him squirming on his hard, wooden seat, his virgin cock erect as he listened to the sins of his parishioners.
Adultery, cheating on taxes, little white lies and bigger, blacker ones…
For a moment, I considered asking him to share their sins. He wouldn’t, any more than he’d share mine, and I wasn’t his confessor.
Hell, I didn’t even know why I was here. I wasn’t Catholic. I wasn’t sure I believed in God in the first place, and I didn’t want or need absolution.
Maybe I just needed someone to listen. The rules for confession were different than those for therapy. I probably needed both.
“How many since the last time, child?”
“Three.” I didn’t bother asking what he’d meant. This priest and I… We had an understanding.
“And?”
“Two kept their twelve-year-old foster daughter in a cage and pimped her out.” My lips curved into a vicious smile, and I remembered the succulent taste of blood on my tongue, coppery and metallic. “The other tried to take something that wasn’t freely given.”
If people weren’t in such a hurry to take advantage of innocents, maybe they wouldn’t end up, you know, dead. Totally not my fault. God could take his confessions and choke on them. I preferred more permanent solutions. Honestly, I was performing a community service. Or maybe I was cleaning out the gene pool.
Whatever.
I wasn’t a complete bitch though. The men who saw me into a cab when I tried to honeytrap them got to keep breathing. Every one who got to walk away gave me a sense of hope.
The priest was silent for a few seconds, then pushed a rolled-up piece of paper through the grate separating us. “Call the number. They have use for your unique…skills.”
“No genuflection to the teenaged mother of a tortured prophet?”
He laughed softly. “That’s an interesting and not entirely inaccurate description of Mary, but no.”
I unfolded the paper and frowned at the number. It wasn’t American, but I couldn’t place the country code. “Who are they?”
“Call the number, Reaper.”
“Reaper?”
“Isn’t that what you are?”
I considered the word and found it sweet on my lips. It was the taste of divinity candy and retribution.
“I suppose so.” I rose and gathered Dante’s leash. “I’ll see you next month.”
“No, you won’t.”
Seized by Felicity Brandon:
“What can I get you?” The bartender leaned closer to be heard over the rhythmic thud of the club’s bass line.
Mirroring the gesture, Hannah raised her voice. “Three gin and tonics, please.”
“Got it.” He nodded, turning to organize the drinks, and Hannah’s attention flitted back to her friends.
Shannon and Milly were seated at a nearby table and appeared to be engrossed in conversation. Hannah smiled as she watched them. She’d forever be grateful for their love and support. They, along with ample therapy, had pulled her out of the darkest pit of her life and empowered her to start thinking about a future again. For the first time in years, she was ready to contemplate a new relationship. Given what Hannah had been through, that was nothing short of miraculous.
“Here.” The bartender’s voice caught her attention as he pushed the drinks across the bar. “Anything else?” he prompted.
“That’s all, thanks.” She reached into her purse for her credit card and thrust it in his direction. Tall and dark-haired, he might have been a decent candidate for her to ‘move forward’ with, but it was damn near impossible to strike up a spontaneous conversation in a club this loud.
Anyhow, I’m not desperate. She smirked. I deserve to take my time and find the right one.
“Thank you.” Handing back her card, the bartender’s gaze speared her. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll bring the drinks over to you.”
“Oh, thank you.” Taken by surprise at his generosity, she slipped her card back into her purse and watched as he loaded their gins onto a tray. The club wasn’t heaving, but there were enough patrons waiting to be served that she hadn’t expected the offer.
Maybe he likes the look of me, too.
The thought was encouraging as her focus followed him around the side of the bar. It lingered too long on his tight-looking backside before her brain instructed her feet to catch up with him. Tottering forward on her heels, she almost bumped straight into another person who was waiting in the line behind her.
“I’m sorry!” She steadied herself as her attention rose to greet the face of the stranger she’d inadvertently careened into, but as she acknowledged his knowing expression, her heart nearly stopped beating altogether.
“Hello, Hannah.” His lips stretched into a shrewd smirk. “I was wondering when you’d notice me.”
“Lawes!” She spat out his name, leaping away from him as though she’d been stung.
It had been more than five years since she’d last set eyes on him, but he didn’t look much older than she remembered, and despite her best efforts, she did remember him. Hannah could never forget the face of the man who’d captured her.
Vivid flashbacks burst into her head of the things he’d done—the cages, the leashes, and the sheer cruelty he and his partner had inflicted on not only Hannah but on other women under the guise of their dental practice. Her breath was labored as she fought for air, attempting to steel herself.
How the hell was he there?
He was in prison, wasn’t he? The last Hannah had heard, he and his sick partner in crime were both detained at His Majesty’s pleasure.
“Hannah?”
Hannah spun at the gentler voice, its resonance barely audible over the bassy strum. She was stunned to find Shannon standing beside her.
“Are you all right?” Concern flickered in Shannon’s brown eyes. “The bartender brought the drinks over, but you seemed to be in a trance over here.”
Trance?
“He’s here!” Hannah’s voice trembled as she recalled the hard look in Lawes’ eyes. It was that same dark expression she’d witnessed so many times before.
Too many times.
“Who’s here?” Shannon grabbed her hand. “You’re cold, Han. Maybe we should get you home?”
“No, I…” Hannah flung an arm out in Lawes’ direction. “This is one of the guys who abducted me. He’s back!”
The old, familiar tension from those bad days clawed at Hannah’s throat, threatening to cut off her air supply. Lawes had found her! Somehow, he was out of prison, and he’d managed to track her down. He—
“Honey.” Shannon squeezed Hannah’s fingers, and moving closer, she whispered into her ear. “There’s no one there.”
“What?” Hannah twisted around to the place Lawes had been standing, anticipating his pitiless smile, but to her incredulity, he was gone. “Where’s he gone?” The adrenaline rushing through her system was making it difficult to think. “He was right there.”
“Come on.” Tugging her toward the table, Shannon urged Hannah back to the relative sanctuary and ushered her onto the seat beside Milly. “Let’s get you home.”
Captive Vengeance by Measha Stone:
Images of my younger brother float into the mix and my fingers curl into my palms. He was barely twenty-three when he was killed. Our parents died when I was a freshman in college. It’s been just Michael and me for the last seven years.
And now it’s just me.
Because of Anton DeMarci.
I roll my shoulders back and force in a deep breath.
Again, I feel for the gun in my purse, reassuring myself I haven’t lost it.
It’s an old pistol my father had buried in his closet. It works !ne, and I’ve been practicing with it. I’m a good shot.
One more steadying breath and I head back into the restaurant. I try to keep my eyes from wandering to the back room, but I can’t help but turn when Anton’s deep voice strikes me.
“Send over the contracts.” He’s on the phone, one hand pressed against his other ear to keep the noise of the restaurant from distracting him. “I’m leaving here in five minutes. I’ll call you later when I’ve had a chance to look them over.”
Five minutes?
I hurry back to my table and try to wave down a waitress for my check. I should have more time.
But the restaurant is slammed, and my waitress is elbow deep in a larger party a few tables away, taking another drink order. Frantically, I rustle through my purse, grabbing enough bills to cover my untouched pork loin and two glasses of merlot. Adding more for a generous tip, I toss them all down on the table and hurry out of the restaurant.
To keep from looking too out of place, I had chosen a black dress with a "owing skirt. Expecting to do some running tonight, I swapped the heels I usually wear with this outfit for a pair of black ballet flats.
After a quick dance around an old couple walking into the restaurant as I try to get out, I hurry down the front steps and jog to the side lot.
His car is already fired up, waiting for him.
I barely manage to get behind the thick bushes along the exterior of the building before the headlights flicker on.
Shit.
Shoving my hand into my purse, I fumble around for the pistol. The purse falls from my shoulder and hits the ground.
Fuck!
The side door opens.
“Yeah. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” His voice carries to where I am and my blood runs cold. Quickly, I snatch up the pistol and pull back the hammer.
His phone rings again, and he stops on the top step to answer.
His lips are moving, but all I can hear is my heart slamming into my eardrums. I’m going to kill him.
My stomach rolls again.
For Michael.
I grip the pistol the way my father showed me when I was younger.
This man is a criminal.
An animal.
He’s a killer.
He deserves to die.
I raise the pistol, aiming for his head.
One bullet should do it if my shot is good.
Inching up to the edge of the bush, a branch breaks.
It’s enough to draw his attention.
He turns toward me.
I take in a deep breath.
Blow out.
And pull the trigger.
Playing His Game by Yolanda Olson:
It doesn’t take long to walk, but I have to walk past Alpha Omega Phi’s house. I see a couple of the jocks hanging out front, but I don’t see Adrian. He prefers people call him Ace; that’s his football nickname.
He will always be Adrian to me. Nothing will ever change that.
I hurry along, not wanting to engage with any of them.
They consider us the enemy. The opposite side. Their arch nemesis. I don’t have time for that bullshit.
I reach the radio station and walk in, going to the window of the booth and giving Alan a thumbs-up. I wait for him to sign o" before I get in and line up my opening songs. It’s simple enough, just using the station software to do it. Once the three songs Alan has lined up are done, I come onto the mic.
“Thank you, Alan. That was the Power Hour with Alan Goldberg. You’re with DJ Nova Noah now, and I’ll be taking you through the next two hours with the afternoon request special. So message in those requests on our WhatsApp line, and we’ll line up some good jams. First, here is the Traveling Wilburys with Handle with Care.”
I press play as I queue up some ads. It’s simple enough to do, and I check the WhatsApp line as the requests pour in. I mark the ones I’m going to play and start searching for the songs.
I settle back and I imagine what song I’d play for Adrian. I think I will secretly line up Three Days Grace. I Hate Everything About You. A special just for him.
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