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    His to Ruin
    His to Ruin
    His to Ruin
    Ebook115 pages1 hour

    His to Ruin

    By Winter Sloane

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    About this ebook

    Sasha: My father, the head of the Petrovic family, locked me up in a thirty-floor glass tower with one hell of a view. He tells me it's for my own good, it's to keep me safe from his enemies. What he’s really done is clipped my wings and put me in a prison of his own making.

    Nikolai: I break. I take. I’m no one’s prince and I exist to collect a debt long over due. Stealing my enemy’s most treasured possession is all I've ever dreamt of. But I can’t break what’s already been ruined. This broken princess has a way of getting under my skin and stirring life into a heart that’s already dead. She’s lethal but she’s also about to find out that once I set my sights on something, I never back down.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEvernight Publishing
    Release dateFeb 19, 2018
    ISBN9781773395883
    His to Ruin

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      Book preview

      His to Ruin - Winter Sloane

      Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

      www.evernightpublishing.com

      Copyright© 2018 Winter Sloane

      ISBN: 978-1-77339-588-3

      Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

      Editor: Karyn White

      ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

      WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

      This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      DEDICATION

      To my readers, I hope you enjoy Nik and Sasha’s story as much as I loved writing it. To Evernight, for giving my story a home.

      HIS TO RUIN

      Winter Sloane

      Copyright © 2018

      Chapter One

      Nikolai Lazovsky took out his father’s old revolver from his gear bag, swung open the chamber, and checked the bullets inside. Only six shots and he’d make sure each shot counted. He wouldn’t start with the skull of his enemy though. Too easy and a quick death was too good for him.

      Nikolai had other toys tucked away in the bag, sub-machine guns and grenades, knives of varying lengths, if he wanted to go up against an opponent up close and personal, but using his old man’s gun seemed fucking symbolic.

      Maxim Petrovich had shoved the same gun to the side of his father’s head ten years ago, shooting Yuri Lazovsky at such close range that, even fast forward to the present, Nikolai could still remember the spray of brain matter and blood on his face. He rubbed at the invisible spot on his scarred cheek.

      Nikolai closed the gun chamber, setting it down. Touching the same weapon of murder that ended his father's life always soothed his nerves, even a little. Then he lit a cigarette to calm his racing heart.

      Nope. It fucking didn’t do a thing. His hands itched to grip a weapon, to reduce some poor miserable dirt-bag into a screaming canvas of flesh.

      Nikolai shoved all thoughts of bloodlust away. He’d taken time off from his work as a freelance contract killer for this hunt. No use getting careless and making a mistake, not when he’d waited an entire fucking decade to execute his vengeance.

      Putting out his stick on the nearby ashtray, he rose from the table. A quick glance towards his laptop told him the bugs an inside man had planted still functioned. It proved a waste of money. Most of the time, it picked up nothing but music, as if nothing but a ghost lived inside the walls he spied on. Nikolai knew better.

      Grabbing his binoculars, Nikolai walked towards the window of his hotel room, the one that had a perfect view of Petrovich Tower. He angled the binoculars to the topmost floor, the penthouse suite, to catch a glimpse of his future prize.

      Nikolai checked his wristwatch. This time of the day, she was usually leaning against the balcony, peering at the traffic beneath her, like some goddamn princess in her tower of steel and glass. Maxim thought he had everything covered, that no one could breach his security defenses and obtain the prize he took great pains to keep hidden.

      Too bad Nikolai wasn’t just anyone. He’d racked up plenty of kill counts and dirtied his hands a hundred times over just for today. Practice, before the real thing. There she was, the short and curvy beauty who was about to become his.

      From this angle, she looked like a tiny doll, except dolls didn’t have such expressive eyes. A certain naivety and innocence still clung to her, which made his conquest all the sweeter.

      His dick dug into the zipper of his jeans. Anticipation raced down his spine as he adjusted the binoculars to get better up-close shot of her. In three days, Nikolai would no longer need to look at his little doll from afar. He could do with her as he liked.

      Fucking perfect.

      Then she looked right at him, as if she knew she had a secret watcher, a monster in human skin stalking her from afar. All in Nikolai’s imagination of course, because she couldn’t possibly see him. Maxim’s little princess probably looked down on everyone else. She thought she was untouchable, but Nikolai was about to change all that.

      He devoured her silently, from the way her curves clung to her silk robe, to the thick black hair that fell down her back in waves, and her heart-shaped face. Fuck, those lips would look amazing wrapped around his dick. She’d look perfect, on her knees, awaiting his next command.

      What would Maxim think, seeing his princess in the hands of a monster like him? The Bratva boss thought his little angel was safe and secure in the fortress he’d built. The greedy son-of-a-bitch thought he was untouchable, that no one could lay a dent on the walls of his kingdom.

      Well, Nikolai was about to shatter those walls and make sure they all came crashing down on Maxim Petrovich’s head.

      ****

      Goosebumps rose across both of Sasha’s arms as she stood on the balcony. She didn’t know why this was her favorite spot. It didn’t have a view of the city’s outline, like the windows in the living room, just an old hotel across the street.

      This wasn’t the first time this week she’d felt someone watching her. That was absurd though because according to her father, the penthouse’s security system was top notch. Besides, two of her father’s best men were always on rotation outside the front door of her prison.

      She would have preferred to linger there a little longer, watching the throngs of people on the street below, going about their everyday lives. When she’d been younger, she used to imagine what it be like, being someone else’s daughter, girlfriend, or sister, but she no longer did. It hurt too much, thinking about things she couldn’t have.

      Shivering, she headed back inside, but Sasha still couldn’t shake off the feeling of being watched. Probably all a figment of her imagination, and yet it thrilled her to fantasize about some stranger, watching her from afar, his intentions unknown.

      Sasha let out a bitter little laugh and padded back inside. God, she was sick of looking at the same furniture every single time, tired of the heavy silence each time she walked from one room to the next. Sasha turned on the music, blasting it so she didn’t feel that isolated.

      Classical music filled the entire apartment, Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries because that had been her mother’s favorite, then hers. She ran her fingers over the covers of the vinyl records on the living room shelf. No one used these anymore, only her father if he wanted nostalgia. Her father didn’t allow other music in the house. He said it was to preserve the memory of Sasha’s mother.

      First, it was music, then the rest of the house. Nothing in this prison belonged to Sasha. A polite knock came from the door, and one of her father’s men, Abram, poked his head in, shoulder holster getting caught in the door.

      Everything okay here, princess? he asked, needing to yell, because of the soaring notes.

      Princess, the same nickname her father used. She hated that word.

      Fine. Sasha gave him a perfectly acceptable monosyllabic answer.

      Abram stared at her a little longer than necessary, and she shivered, realizing her robe remained open. Her heart started to beat a little faster. Feeling self-conscious, she closed it. Many times, she debated tempting one of her father’s men to come inside, just to test their loyalty, to see her

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