Pretty Sinner: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Oligarchs Book 3) Read online

  Pretty Sinner

  A Dark Mafia Romance

  B. B. Hamel

  Contents

  Get your free book!

  Trigger Warning

  1. Penny

  2. Alice

  3. Penny

  4. Kaspar

  5. Penny

  6. Alice

  7. Penny

  8. Penny

  9. Penny

  10. Kaspar

  11. Alice

  12. Penny

  13. Penny

  14. Penny

  15. Alice

  16. Kaspar

  17. Penny

  18. Penny

  19. Penny

  20. Alice

  21. Penny

  22. Alice

  23. Kaspar

  24. Penny

  25. Penny

  26. Kaspar

  27. Penny

  28. Penny

  29. Penny

  30. Kaspar

  31. Penny

  32. Penny

  Epilogue: Erin

  Preview: Black Promises

  Also by B. B. Hamel

  Copyright © 2021 by B. B. Hamel

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by Coverluv Book Designs

  Get your free book!

  Sign up for my exclusive readers-only newsletter and find out about hot releases, giveaways, free books, and more.

  Plus, get a free starter nove and other awesome bonus material! >> Click here

  Trigger Warning

  This book contains graphic descriptions of sexual content, explicit violence, and past trauma. These scenes were written to create a more vivid, in-depth experience, but may be triggering for some readers.

  Read at your own risk.

  1

  Penny

  Present Day

  An Island

  A slender girl placed a fresh sparkling water next to my beach chair and I wondered how many times I’d have to hit her in the face with the glass before she died.

  Not that murdering Kaspar’s servants would help, but I was tempted.

  “Do you need anything else, Miss Penny?”

  She smiled sweetly. She was one of the few staff members that went out of her way to be nice to me.

  I’d still choke her if it meant freedom.

  “No, thank you.”

  She gave me a slight bow then walked off. It was strange how comfortable I was with being served—being given whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

  It was dangerous.

  It made me soft, content.

  Desire could be just as deadly as poison.

  But desire sated? That was even worse.

  When the serving girl was gone, I got out of my chair and stretched lazily. I let my light cover-up fall down to the sand as I walked toward the clear blue ocean waves. My bathing suit was white—Kaspar said he liked me in white—and slightly too small. Not that it mattered: I was alone as far as I could see, and the jungle forest pressed up against the beach nearby, pristine trees and lush bushes and beautifully blossomed wild flowers in a profusion of oranges and pinks.

  It was paradise.

  I was ready to die to get away from it.

  I tipped my toes into the warm Caribbean water. At least, I assumed it was the Caribbean—I didn’t know of any other place with such a beautiful landscape. Nobody at the compound would tell me where we were, and every time I asked Kaspar, he told me not to worry.

  Not that I had many chances to ask him. In the week since I woke up in an unfamiliar bed surrounded by unfamiliar furniture and a view of the ocean out my fourth-floor window, I saw Kaspar exactly three times.

  And each time, he said the same thing: I was his captive; I was his woman; I would never go home again.

  I was determined to prove him wrong.

  The water felt incredible as I dipped myself into it. The waves lapped against my thighs then crashed onto my chest. I went deeper, further out, fighting against the undertow then succumbing to its pull. I began to swim, a slow freestyle crawl, angling to the left toward what I assumed was a small port town.

  I could just make out some docks, fishing boats, and a few small structures.

  There, I hoped some local would take pity on me.

  I looked back at the private beach. The serving girl stood in the sand speaking rapidly into a walkie, gesturing for me to come back.

  I should’ve killed her while I had the chance.

  But I never was as strong as my siblings.

  Mother always told me I’d end up dead if I didn’t grow a thicker skin. Chika tried to give me lessons in that weird martial arts she was so good at, but I broke my wrist trying a complicated punch and refused to go back.

  Fighting, killing, struggle, even though that was all I knew, I never took to it, not like Darren or Erin.

  I was a Servant. I was born to strife and anger and death. I watched my older sister plunge off a roof. I could still hear the sound of her falling: silence and wind.

  My breath became labored as I swam toward the docks. They didn’t seem to get any bigger, and after about twenty minutes of kicking and stroking, I began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I made a horrible mistake.

  Here’s the thing about the ocean. It’s really hard to judge distance. On land, there are references: trees, hills, cars, people, whatever. You can guess how far away something is based on how big or small everything else looked.

  But on the ocean, there was nothing. Distance was meaningless. Objects that were miles and miles away seemed like a ten-minute trip at most.

  As I swam, choking on salt water and my own frustration, I began to accept that I’d made a classic error, and would probably drown because of it.

  Which might not be so bad. I didn’t want to die, of course, and dropping under the water from exhaustion seemed like a horrible way to go, but at least I’d be with Livvie again. I missed her so much my chest hurt, and sometimes at night I could still hear her voice and feel her breath against my neck. When we were younger, we used to share a bed, because otherwise the Servant mansion seemed like an enormous edifice to the power of our family, and that was too crushing to face alone.

  Then Livvie went and killed herself, and I had to survive without her.

  Poor Livvie. I missed her so fiercely, even in the middle of the freaking ocean.

  I heard something after an hour. My arms were exhausted. My back hurt. My legs were like jelly. My pace was pathetic and I was pretty sure my shoulders and back were burned raw from the sun. I sputtered and spit and looked back—

  Only to spot a jet ski coming toward me.

  I groaned and tried to swim faster, but it was no use.

  The jet ski quieted to a hum as it drifted up beside me.

  Kaspar looked down from his perch and tilted his head to the side.

  I hated that look. It was blank and empty while at the same time being utterly judgmental and hateful. I knew him well enough to know nothing he did was an accident, and he cultivated this crazy, detached persona, but Kaspar was far from uncaring.

  He cared more than anyone I’d ever met.

  “Out for a swim?” he asked casually.

  “I thought it might be nice. Good day for it.” I floated on my back, catching my breath.

  “You should come back. There are sharks in these waters.”

  “I know. I’m looking at one.�
��

  He laughed. His eyes sparkled. He was a handsome man despite everything—despite how much I hated him. Pale blue eyes, sandy-blond hair, he looked like a Viking king or warlord or something like that. His shoulders and chest were covered in muscles, and his hands were big enough to grip and smash a coconut with ease. He had striking, severe features, and every girl I’d ever known that met him commented on how incredibly beautiful he was—while also being entirely disconcerting.

  Kaspar Baskin, the beast of the Oligarchs. I hated him so much I couldn’t breathe.

  Or maybe that was the salt water and the long swim.

  “Come on, get on.”

  “I’ll swim back.”

  “Penny.” He said my name like a warning. “Climb on or I’ll drag you on.”

  “I don’t think you will.” I splashed at him. “Gonna get your hands dirty for once.”

  His lips quirked, head tilted. I was baiting him and he knew it.

  “All right then, we’ll do this the fun way.” He stood then dove off the jet ski, slicing into the water like a knife.

  I tried to swim away but he was so much bigger and faster. He grabbed my ankle and yanked, pulling me under. Air sputtered in big bubbles from my lungs as he held me below the surface. My eyes opened, the salt stinging and painful, and he was grinning at me before he pulled me back up.

  I gasped and struggled. “You piece of shit. What’s wrong with you?”

  He grabbed my hair tight and yanked my head back. “You know I’m not going to kill you. No use in having a dead wife.”

  “I’m not your wife.”

  He pulled harder. I gasped in pain as he kissed my neck. “You will be.”

  “No.” I shoved him away and wrenched my hair free.

  He caught me. He dunked me again. And this time, when I came up, he unlaced my top and ripped it off.

  I slapped him twice before he caught my wrist. His eyes stared at my bare chest as I desperately kicked to stay above water while covering myself with my free arm. He grinned wickedly and released me, shoving me away and lazily floating, my bikini top bobbing on the surface a few yards toward the jet ski.

  “Here’s what I’m thinking, my treasure.” He watched me carefully, still smiling, but there was no humor in his eyes. I worked hard to tread water while covering my breasts. “I can either give you back that top and let you return willingly, or I can strip you down and drag you back as a prize. I’ll parade you around my compound and let the staff see that gorgeous body of yours. Of course, I’ll have to kill the men, and some of the women, but your humiliation will be worth it. Which do you choose, darling?”

  I hated him. God, how I hated him.

  Because I knew he’d do it.

  Kaspar was sick. Something was broken in him, the same thing that was broken in all of the Oligarchs, my brother Darren included. Their lives had twisted them into monsters, into beasts, and they obeyed baser instincts.

  Dignity, freedom, human life, none of it mattered.

  Only raw power and control.

  “Give me back the top.”

  He laughed and tossed it over. I tied it on the best I could.

  I wasn’t stupid. I knew when it was time to fight and when it was time to run away, and right now struggling harder would only get people killed.

  Kaspar wasn’t kidding when he said he’d murder half the staff for seeing me naked—even if it was his fault.

  I swam to the jet ski. He watched me with unrestrained lust and excitement—his eyes roamed my body, from my toes to my lips and lingered on every inch between. I felt so watched and measured and wanted, and it disgusted me.

  Kaspar was obsessed. I’d say he was obsessed with me, but I wasn’t so sure. His obsession manifested in an unbridled, unrestrained stalkerish need to have me for his own, but I didn’t think it had much to do with me in particular. I thought I could be any girl, only he chose me, and that was how it had to be.

  He climbed up and started the engine again. I held on to him as he drove back to the beach. His body was hard and dangerous, and I knew he could kill me if he wanted. Nothing bad would happen—though Erin might be annoyed, and Darren would be angry, but none of that mattered to Kaspar.

  I was at his mercy.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in the salt spray. I leaned my face against his bare skin and tried to remember the first time we met. It felt like forever ago: I was a freshman at Blackwoods College and he was a senior. He looked at me then the way he still looked at me now, like he wanted to shove my face in the dirt and fuck me right then and there.

  I didn’t think much of him that first time. He was handsome and popular and rich, and every girl on campus wanted a piece of him, but I knew Oligarchs already, and I was smart enough to stay away.

  Unfortunately, he had other plans.

  We returned to the beach. The staff took the jet ski and rode it toward his private dock while he dragged me past my chair, along the pool, and into the hotel-like sprawling maze of empty rooms and opulent furniture.

  He took me to my room. It was well appointed with a separate lounging area and lavish details like Italian marble floors and Egyptian cotton sheets. I was used to luxury, and would’ve rather slept in a barn than anywhere Kaspar could get at me.

  I stormed into the bedroom, still dripping wet. I didn’t care if I ruined his fancy rugs. He followed, keeping his distance. I tried to slam the door of the bathroom on him, but he wouldn’t let me. I grabbed a towel and began to dry off.

  He watched, taking me in.

  I hated the way he stared, like he couldn’t get enough of my body. I felt naked in my tiny white bikini—I might as well have been for all it covered.

  “You hate it here, don’t you?” He spoke quietly and simply.

  I stopped and looked at him. “Yes, I do.”

  “You won’t ever be happy here.”

  “Not with you, I won’t.”

  He seemed to brush past that. “I thought bringing you somewhere nice and comfortable would ease you into this life, but now I wonder if that was a mistake. You’ve been pampered for too long.”

  “You don’t know me.” Which wasn’t true. Kaspar knew me better than anyone, despite what I wanted.

  “I’ve been easy on you, baby girl. I can be much worse.” He took a few steps into the bathroom, but stopped. “I’ve been kind to you so far. I’ve been nice and easy. All I ask is for your hand in marriage, and you know I’ll give you anything you want in return. I’ll make you happy. But you keep resisting.”

  I could tell he wanted to close the distance between us. I backed away toward the massive tub and stared at him, trying to keep my breathing under control. If Kaspar wanted to break my neck and toss my body out a window, he could do it with zero repercussions, and he knew it. He’d killed before, and he’d kill again, and I didn’t want to become another one of his victims.

  Except the alternative seemed worse.

  I could give in and marry him. I could become the wife he desperately wanted, and then what?

  I’d be trapped in this nightmare with a demon that worshiped me.

  “I’m not going to marry you,” I said and tensed myself for a reaction.

  He only nodded his head. “I think it’s time to go somewhere else. I’ve been keeping you from my plans, but maybe that’s a mistake. You need to understand what I am if you’re going to be my wife.”

  “I don’t want to be your anything.”

  “Pack your clothes. I’ll have the staff bring up some luggage.”

  He turned to leave.

  I stormed after him.

  “What don’t you understand, Kaspar? I don’t love you. I’m never going to love you. Darren’s going to find you and kill you and—”

  Kaspar turned faster than I thought possible and grabbed my hips, yanking me against him. I gasped as he kissed me and I struggled against his massive body, my breasts smashed against his muscular chest, his lips bearing down on mine like a mountain, invading, crushing, d
estroying.

  He released me a second later and I stumbled backwards, breathing hard.

  “Pack your bags,” he said, and left.

  I watched him go. I touched my lips—and my fingers came back bloody.

  2

  Alice

  Eight Years Ago

  Blackwoods College

  Everything about Penny Servant was a total bore.

  Her clothes. Her taste in music. The way she wore her hair. Her incessant need to study for her stupid tests.

  She was a freaking history major. What the hell kind of useless crap was that?

  What did the daughter of an Oligarch need with freaking history?

  God, I hated her, and hated being her happy-go-lucky roommate.

  Which made killing her that much easier.

  “What are you reading?” Penny peered at me from across the room. She was lying her in bed with her feet up on the wall. I hated how she never wore socks. She had such gross feet.

  “It’s a novel called The Devil in the White City. Ever heard of it?”

  She shook her head. “Another one of your murder books?”

  I sat up straight and glared at her. “It’s not just some murder book. It’s about one of the best killers of all time. Dr. H. H. Holmes confessed to at least twenty-seven killings, and it’s suspected he killed upwards of two hundred people.”

  Penny sighed and rolled her eyes. “You’re obsessed.”