John Bridger and his team are betrayed by their teammate Steve during a heist, which results in his death. Charlie convinces Bridger's daughter to join the team and seek revenge for her father's death
John Bridger and his team are betrayed by their teammate Steve during a heist, which results in his death. Charlie convinces Bridger's daughter to join the team and seek revenge for her father's death
The clang of the prison gate echoed through the sterile courtyard, a harsh counterpoint to the chirping of unseen birds. Sunlight, sharp and unforgiving, sliced through the grimy air, momentarily blinding Charlie Croker as he stepped out of the concrete cocoon that had been his home for the past five years. The world outside, once a familiar playground of adrenaline and calculated risks, now felt alien. The ceaseless hum of traffic, the cacophony of car horns, the vibrant tapestry of human activity – it all assaulted his senses like a relentless barrage.
He squinted, adjusting to the sudden brightness. Lines, etched deeper by years of frustration and suppressed rage, fanned out from his eyes. His once-youthful face, hardened by prison life, bore the stoic mask of a man who had stared into the abyss and found only his own reflection staring back. The swagger he once possessed was replaced by a coiled tension, a panther caged but not tamed.
A beat-up pickup truck, its faded paint job a mirror to Charlie's mood, idled at the curb. Behind the wheel sat John Bridger, the man who had been more than just a partner; he'd been a mentor, a father figure in a world devoid of genuine affection. John looked older, frailer, with a cough that rattled his chest like a dying engine. The years had left their mark on both of them, but in John's eyes, a spark of defiance still flickered, a testament to the thrill-seeker who lurked beneath the weathered exterior.
"Took you long enough," John rasped, his voice gravelly with disuse. "Thought you might've gotten used to the place."
A ghost of a smile, tinged with bitterness, played on Charlie's lips. "Nah, the food's still lousy." It was a feeble attempt at humor, a bridge built out of nostalgia towards the shared experiences that had once bound them. The silence that followed stretched, thick with unspoken words and unspoken memories.
John fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, offering one to Charlie. He took it, the familiar rasp of the paper a comforting reminder of the world he'd left behind. John lit their cigarettes, the flickering flame momentarily illuminating the worry etched on his face.
"Listen, Charlie," John began, his voice low and urgent. "Got a proposition for you. One last job."
Charlie inhaled deeply, the smoke stinging his throat. The offer hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and potential dangers. He knew John – knew his penchant for grand schemes that often teetered on the edge of disaster. Five years in prison had dulled his edge, but not his instincts.
"Let's hear it," he said finally, his voice a low rumble. "But make it good, John. I don't have many of these left."
John leaned forward, his gaze intense. "The San Marco Vault," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Full of gold bars recently liberated from the clutches of some trigger-happy Italians. A nice little retirement fund for the both of us."
Charlie eyed John, skepticism etched on his features. "Sounds ambitious, John. How ambitious are we talking?"
John unfolded a map, laying it out on the worn dashboard. It depicted the labyrinthine layout of a Venetian palazzo, its canals shimmering under a midnight moon. In the center, a red circle pulsed with an intensity that sent chills down Charlie's spine. The Venetian Dream – a heist whispered about in hushed tones within the criminal underworld, a daring operation that separated the legends from the fools.
John's cough wracked his body, his face pale and drawn. As the coughing subsided, his eyes met Charlie's, a desperate plea shimmering in their depths. "This is it, Charlie. One last score. A chance to set things right."
Charlie studied the map, his mind a whirlwind of calculations, potential escape routes, and the ever-present awareness of the risks involved. Five years in the joint had dulled his edge, but his instincts were beginning to stir, the familiar thrill of the game coursing through his veins. He couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just about the gold, that a deeper motive lay hidden beneath the surface of John's desperation.
"Alright, John," he finally said, his voice firm. "Let's hear the plan."
And so, under the harsh light of freedom, Charlie Croker found himself drawn back into the world he'd sworn to leave behind. The Venetian Dream shimmered before him, a glittering mirage that promised salvation and redemption. But the path to that dream was paved with danger, and the ghosts of the past were waiting to be confronted. The first chapter in a story of retribution had begun.
Gabriela learned her boyfriend had been two-timing her and writing her off as a brainless bimbo, so she drowned her heartache in reckless adventure. One sultry blackout night she tumbled into bed with a stranger, then slunk away at dawn, convinced she'd succumbed to a notorious playboy. She prayed she'd never see him again. Yet the man beneath those sheets was actually Wesley, the decisive, ice-cool, unshakeable CEO who signed her paychecks. Assuming her heart was elsewhere, Wesley returned to the office cloaked in calm, but every polite smile masked a dark surge of possessive jealousy.
I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.
Trigger/Content Warning: This story contains mature themes and explicit content intended for adult audiences(18+). Reader discretion is advised. It includes elements such as BDSM dynamics, explicit sexual content, toxic family relationships, occasional violence and strong language. This is not a fluffy romance. It is intense, raw and messy, and explores the darker side of desire. ***** "Take off your dress, Meadow." "Why?" "Because your ex is watching," he said, leaning back into his seat. "And I want him to see what he lost." ••••*••••*••••* Meadow Russell was supposed to get married to the love of her life in Vegas. Instead, she walked in on her twin sister riding her fiance. One drink at the bar turned to ten. One drunken mistake turned into reality. And one stranger's offer turned into a contract that she signed with shaking hands and a diamond ring. Alaric Ashford is the devil in a tailored Tom Ford suit. Billionaire CEO, brutal, possessive. A man born into an empire of blood and steel. He also suffers from a neurological condition-he can't feel. Not objects, not pain, not even human touch. Until Meadow touches him, and he feels everything. And now he owns her. On paper and in his bed. She wants him to ruin her. Take what no one else could have. He wants control, obedience... revenge. But what starts as a transaction slowly turns into something Meadow never saw coming. Obsession, secrets that were never meant to surface, and a pain from the past that threatens to break everything. Alaric doesn't share what's his. Not his company. Not his wife. And definitely not his vengeance.
Aurora woke up to the sterile chill of her king-sized bed in Sterling Thorne's penthouse. Today was the day her husband would finally throw her out like garbage. Sterling walked in, tossed divorce papers at her, and demanded her signature, eager to announce his "eligible bachelor" status to the world. In her past life, the sight of those papers had broken her, leaving her begging for a second chance. Sterling's sneering voice, calling her a "trailer park girl" undeserving of his name, had once cut deeper than any blade. He had always used her humble beginnings to keep her small, to make her grateful for the crumbs of his attention. She had lived a gilded cage, believing she was nothing without him, until her life flatlined in a hospital bed, watching him give a press conference about his "grief." But this time, she felt no sting, no tears. Only a cold, clear understanding of the mediocre man who stood on a pedestal she had painstakingly built with her own genius. Aurora signed the papers, her name a declaration of independence. She grabbed her old, phoenix-stickered laptop, ready to walk out. Sterling Thorne was about to find out exactly how expensive "free" could be.
Mature content "Open your legs, princess." "Why?" "Because I'm going to eat this pussy until you're crying and begging me to fuck you." She shivered. "And then?" "Then I'll flip you over, slide my cock in, and ruin you until you're dripping down your thighs and moaning my name like a prayer." Violet never imagined she'd become nothing more than a substitute in her four-year relationship. But ever since his childhood sweetheart returned, she's been the second choice. The final blow was when two of them fell into the pool, he didn't hesitate, he saved her instead. Left to drown, Violet was pulled from the water by a mysterious stranger, who now wants nothing more than to have her in his bed. Too bad that stranger turns out to be her boyfriend's father, Hades Sinclair.
For eight years, Cecilia Moore was the perfect Luna, loyal, and unmarked. Until the day she found her Alpha mate with a younger, purebred she-wolf in his bed. In a world ruled by bloodlines and mating bonds, Cecilia was always the outsider. But now, she's done playing by wolf rules. She smiles as she hands Xavier the quarterly financials-divorce papers clipped neatly beneath the final page. "You're angry?" he growls. "Angry enough to commit murder," she replies, voice cold as frost. A silent war brews under the roof they once called home. Xavier thinks he still holds the power-but Cecilia has already begun her quiet rebellion. With every cold glance and calculated step, she's preparing to disappear from his world-as the mate he never deserved. And when he finally understands the strength of the heart he broke... It may be far too late to win it back.
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