Why Does The Tattletale Strangler Have Scary Hands?

[Book 4] 18+ MATURE Damon is a sadistic psychopath who has managed to control his dangerous urges through bdsm under Marcus Carlisle's close watch. Mason is a transgender masochist who finds Damon unbelievably sexy and wants to submit to him in every way. Can Mason trust Damon to be his Dominant?

His voice dropped lower. “You saw the news, didn’t you? The little warning on the LED TV?” Her eyes flickered. “…Yes, sir.” “Then why didn’t you turn back?” Her mouth opened, but no words came out. “And you saw they’ve never shown my face on the news.” He tapped his temple, eyes glinting. “But now you’re staring right at me. You know exactly what I look like. You think I’ll let you walk away?” “No! Please!” Isabella’s voice cracked, tears falling. “I promise with my mother’s grave—I’ll never speak of this! Please, just spare me!” Alessandro smirked, lifting his gun. “People like you swear. People like you also betray. Let’s see…” Her whole body locked. “No, no, please—” The gun fired. Isabella screamed. But when she opened her eyes, the bullet hole smoked in the wooden floor beside her. Her chest heaved. Her hands shook. She collapsed onto the ground, sobbing. Alessandro leaned back, laughing softly. Then—something in her snapped. She pushed herself up on trembling legs. “You want to kill me? Then fucking do it!” His brows lifted. “What the fuck is wrong with you gangsters?” she yelled, her voice shaking. “Do I look like someone who can hurt you? You almost made me wet my pants out there with your bullets. Do you think that’s funny?” One of his men growled, stepping forward, hand raised. “How dare you talk to the boss like that—” “Stop,” Alessandro ordered sharply, raising his hand without taking his eyes off her. Isabella’s chest heaved. “You think taking lives is funny?” She beat her chest with her fist. “Fine. I’m going to walk out that door right now. Shoot me if you want.”

I'm undressed and bound to a testing table when my family comes to pick me up. A thick, sharp needle pierces into my neck. A drug is administered into my blood, and the pain almost makes me lose consciousness. Behind me, I can feel a man's cold hands stroking my skin amorously. Before me, several people are staring at me. They point at me and treat me like an educational instrument. I tremble in fear and curl up on the testing table in pain. Three years ago, my brother sent me to Mykorra's war zone to stand up for Yvette Sanders. Those were the three most insulting and torturous years of my life. They burned away my hope for kinship but not my desire for survival. As the hands roam lower on my body, I bite my lip so hard that I almost draw blood. As the hands start to go overboard, someone knocks on the door. "Wendy Sanders, your brother is here for you."

Eight years into our marriage, my husband was as childish as ever. He loved playing pranks on me, constantly leaving gag gifts around the house. I would just smile, toss them into the storage closet and think nothing of it. A few days later, while deep-cleaning the house, I remembered his latest box and decided to throw it out. But the moment I lifted the lid, a foul, putrid stench hit me. Inside the box lay a severed human hand. Terrified, I collapsed to the floor, my fingers trembling as I dialed 911. When the DNA results came back, the detective's expression was a twisted mix of confusion and horror. "Ma'am, the DNA extracted from the severed limb..." he stammered. "It belongs to Michael Miller."

“I will choke you to death till you beg for me to stop but I won’t. I will make you pour out all the water left in your body with my tongue”. In a sudden and tense encounter, I found myself desperately seeking answers from him. But his silence only fueled my frustration. With emotions boiling over, I couldn't contain my anger, clenching my fist as I shot him a piercing look. Undeterred, I pressed on, demanding a response, my annoyance growing palpable. However, his explosive reaction caught me off guard, as he silenced me with a fierce command, his grip on my face sending shivers down my spine. The chilling intensity of his eyes left me paralyzed, consumed by fear. I realized I had provoked a dangerous force, a man exuding an aura of unapproachable defiance. Tears welled up as his grip tightened, and my helplessness only deepened. The emotional storm between us unveiled a side to him that was ruthless and merciless, living up to the ominous title he bore. With a final, venomous word, he tore away a bandage and stormed out, leaving me to grapple with the unsettling encounter that had just unfolded.

"Look at me," Draven commands, his hand coming up to grip my chin. His leather glove is cold against my skin, forcing me to look up into the shadow of his hood. "I don't lie to you. He wraps his traps in silk and silver, but it’s still a trap." "Then show me," I challenge, tears of frustration pricking my eyes. I reach up, my fingers gripping the edge of his hood. "If you want me to believe you over a man who has given me everything, show me your face, Draven. No more masks. No more shadows. Let me see who is talking to me." He goes completely still. For a long, agonizing beat, the only sound is the distant chime of the Cathedral clock striking one. Slowly, his hand comes up over mine. He doesn't push me away. Instead, his fingers wrap around mine, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he pulls the hood back. The breath catches in my throat. ………..Damian claims he’s here to salvage her from a billionaire's trap of illicit blood diamonds. Lisa’s mind tells her he's a dangerous kidnapper who just destroyed her future. But the moment he drags her away from the high-society lights of Antwerp and into his luxurious mountain,everything gets messy.