When I read romantic I expect to find some love oriented action between hero and heroine.
Here there’s emotion, there’s love, but it is not a romantic type of emotion and love!
The book is all about abuse, torture, killing, obsession.
The heroine, Morgan, is a survivor from a very, very awful sexual slavery. If you ever thought, imagined the worst things done to a person, she suffered it. Rape, physical and psychological torture, beatings, degradation, drugs… she was subjected to all. And it was described…
So, if you cannot stomach this, do not read this book!
But if you can, do read it!
Not because it was enjoyable, but because she did manage to overcome it! And this book describes how, what she suffered, how she manages her family, her fears, her life! It is all very realistic. I could understand the why of her actions.
The romantic part of the story is minimal. The hero, Linc, is great! He’s a covert operative who specializes in rescuing girls from sexual slavery. He rescues Morgan and she gets attached to him. First because he’s her saviour. After, but so very slowly that you almost missed it, her feeling changes into something more. His feeling are just the same: slowly growing. Only at the very end these feeling are revealed. Nothing happens before: no kissing, no making out – nothing at all! And this is why the story is so very realistic!
The villain of the story is seriously creepy!!! SERIOUSLY!!!
His obsession with Morgan/Dusk is so deeply wrong and sick!
I hated him with vengeance! I wanted to do to him everything he did to the girls and some more! I was gritting my teeth so strong was my desire to hurt him!
He’s a sorry excuse for a human being. He should have been eliminated at birth!
That such a monster walks this Earth and prosper is a frightening thought!
And, most frightening of all is the fact that I’m sure such person filth exists!
I was sooooo happy how Teresa’s father dealt with him at the end!!! Even if he was a Camorra’s boss!!!
A very difficult book to read, but I’m happy I read it!
If you liked Christy Reece’s Last chance Rescue; Cynthia Eden’s Deadly, than I think you will enjoy this book, even if those two series do have romantic/sexual moments that here are missing. But be warned, the emotional part was much stronger here!
I'm adding some quotes, but please, do not open the spoiler, because they're very stong... *shudder*
Then she heard a bloodcurdling scream behind her. Without warning, Mikhail whirled her around.
Simon kept screaming. One man sat on his legs, another on his chest, holding his arms straight out from his body. Luther held a cleaver and it dripped blood. Simon’s screams ricocheted around the room. And then she blinked and saw…
A hand lay away from the wrist. The bloody cleaver.
She swayed. “Oh, God.”
Bile rose up the back of her throat.
Mikhail pushed her away from him as her stomach heaved all over the floor. She heard Simon’s pleas, begging, screaming. She closed her eyes, her stomach heaving again. This time she heard the thud, the bone-chilling yell. And knew.
The other hand.
Vescilly kicked the woman and she moaned. And still she strained against her restraints. Did she know what was coming? Courageous people fascinated him. Why did some fight so hard up to the very end, almost shocked they hadn’t won, while others seemed to wither and weaken?
Vescilly’s knife flashed again and clothing ripped, blood streamed in the wake of the knife.
Not very smart. If Vescilly wanted to have her, he should have restrained the kurva on the bed, not a damn chair.
Mikhail would have. Why waste a lay, and one so succulently sweet.
She was laughing along with her friend and both looked happy. Damn woman. What right did she have to be happy? Had he told her, allowed her to be happy?
He fisted his hand. He’d offered her everything . . . everything! And she’d turned from him, scorned him. He’d tried to teach her, and she’d sworn she wouldn’t escape. Never. She’d said.
But she had. Escaped to cut her hair, to laugh, to live . . . without him.
Anger beat hot and fast in him, thickening his blood, tempting him.
Dusk . . .
Dusk . . .
His . . .
“I’ve dreamt of you. Shall I tell you, my girl, what I’ve dreamt of?” That mouth smiled, but it held no humor. “Perhaps I won’t tell you.” Again he chuckled and leaned back, calmly pulling his gun free, his right thumb rubbing along the barrel. His eyes never left the camera. “I always liked to keep you guessing, Dusk. Keep you on your toes. You were so much more . . . ” Mikhail’s eyes narrowed.
“Enjoyable. Biddable. Controllable.” He drew the last word out. “And so damn fuckable.”
Her stomach rolled, and tears stung the backs of her eyes.
“My dreams of you,” he said, pausing, still caressing the gun, “are what I’m going to do to you when I finally have you back where you belong.”
She couldn’t look away. Could only sit frozen and listen. It was as if the last year and a half never happened. She was still Dusk. Still at Mikhail’s mercy.
“And I will have you again, my special girl. Doubt it not.” He sighed. “I believed you. You, Dusk. Out of them all, you knew the true . . . ” He pursed his narrow lips. “Lengths I would pursue to make certain my girls stayed where I put them. You must have forgotten Cheb. That lovely September evening. The basement.” He leaned closer to the camera, the gun held loosely in his hand. The gun he’d shoved into the back of her skull.
Morgan pressed back against the chair she occupied. All she saw, all she heard, was Mikhail.
“The hole. Did you forget the hole, my dear?” He smiled a full smile now, straight white teeth. “I can still see you in it. Still hear you whimpering, moaning, begging to be let out. Do you remember the rest, Dusk?” This time he looked down at the gun he held, caressing the trigger, then back to the camera. “Naked and kneeling before me. Do you remember? Apparently I should have ended it all with you that night.” He smiled.
The night in the cemetery.
“Oh, I bet you remember now, if you ever forgot. That night was the one that broke you . . . completely.” He breathed deep. “I could always smell your fear. It was beautiful. The way your eyes would widen, the way your pulse would increase and pound in that long neck, the way your breaths would quicken and your collarbone would pout until a man wanted to do nothing more than run his tongue over it. To taste the terror.”