Publication Date: April 3, 2017
Genres: Adult, Erotic, Romantic Suspense, Organized Crime
As the son of an Irish mobster, Connor O’Neil spent his boyhood hiding from the horrors of his own home. His one reprieve was a girl he knew only as Evelyn, but even she was taken away. As a man, Connor is determined to stay away from his father’s business. With Sean, participation is not a request, but a demand. The truth is, Connor might be more like the evil he’s trying to hide away from than he would like to admit.
And he’s already spent years trying to cover the scars left over from the pain.
A chance encounter puts the lost girl from his past back on his path, and he no longer has a choice but to face the darkness he’s been ignoring for years.
Evelyn. Sasha. Slave.
She doesn’t really know who she is anymore.
Or maybe she does, and she doesn’t want to tell.
She isn’t the same as she once was—now a thing to be kept and maintained, shuffled from owner to owner until it was her time to go. She only became Connor’s because he took her when he knew she wasn’t his to take.
Except she isn’t Connor’s at all …
And he can’t keep her hidden forever.
~Inflict is a Standalone Romance with graphic depictions of violence, sexual scenes, dark elements and a HEA. It is not recommended for those under the age of 18.
“You’re almost late,” Sean noted.
Connor took his usual seat in the corner, not bothering to greet his father as all the man’s underlings would with a proper handshake, or even a kiss to his hand. He didn’t give a feck for those sorts of pleasantries, and he wasn’t like all of his father’s underlings, anyway.
“Almost isn’t late, though, is it?” Connor asked.
Lachlan scoffed from his high back leather chair, positioned across from Sean’s desk. “You’re in a mood this morning.”
Sean waved a hand high. “He’s always in a mood.”
“Only on Tuesdays,” Connor replied dryly.
With a heavy sigh, his father leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers in front of his face. “My apologies. Does my interest in your life affect your doodling time?”
Connor bristled. He didn’t give his father the response Sean was probably looking for either, when he said, “Warm this morning, isn’t it?”
“Better warm than cold. Do you want an inch of feckin’ snow on the ground or what?”
Deflection done, Connor mused.
“Rain would be nice,” Lachlan said.
“Cac,” Sean barked. “Rain makes my bones hurt.”
“My head is starting to hurt,” Connor put in before he could think better of it.
Sean grunted, passing his son a sharp look that used to terrify him when he was a young lad, but did nothing now that he was an adult. “Don’t irritate me today. I have things to do later, and I don’t want to be in a mood because of your nonsense.”
So be it …
Connor knew better than to poke at the monster his father was hiding, but the bit that didn’t give a shite about Sean’s predilections to violence, found the challenge in his father’s words.
That was probably half the problem with Connor.
He just didn’t know when to quit.
“Why do you bother calling me down here every week, anyway?” Connor asked. “I know it isn’t because you like seeing my face.”
Sean’s features blanked. “Can’t a father depend on a visit from his son?”
Not this father.
And certainly not this father’s son.
“This isn’t a visit, it’s a requirement. One I don’t care for.”
Lachlan cleared his throat, and resituated himself on the chair. “Come on, now, Connor. Be nice.”
Sean waved a hand. “Quiet, Lachlan. Connor is just … being Connor.”
The only emotion Connor had ever been able to count on where Sean was concerned, was irritation. Other than that, he was sure the man felt absolutely nothing. He was a living, walking, breathing chunk of feckin’ ice that never melted, not even in the dead heat of the summer.
He’d taken beating after beating from his father, and never once saw more than a sneer cross the man’s lips while he did it—certainly not anger, or even disappointment. He’d seen his father bury men he thought Sean might consider to be close friends, and not show an ounce of sadness for the loss. And on that vein, he’d watched Sean put bullets between the eyes of men he’d commended or praised one day, and then discarded the next, without a moment’s worth of hesitation.
Sean felt nothing.
He cared for no one.
His father had only wanted one thing where Connor was concerned, and that was for his son to be, act, behave, react, and see life around them in the same way Sean did.
Perhaps in some ways, Sean had succeeded in those goals. Connor was more like his father than he was willing to admit. He had that same taste for blood. He was prone to violence just as easily, and as viciously as his father. Not for the same reasons Sean liked it, though. Connor knew how simple it was to get what he wanted, when he could make someone else hurt for it.
And while Connor shared his father’s general disinterest, distrust, and uncaring attitude for people and life, he knew the truth was clear. There were more than enough differences between he and his father to keep them distant from one another.
Sean didn’t feel. Connor did, even if his father had conditioned the natural reactions of emotions out of him, for the most part.
Sean sighed, appearing almost bored with the entire conversation. “We can’t have even one pleasant conversation, can we, lad?”
Connor shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to three young sons, one cat, and two dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, snuggling cat, barking dogs, and a hubby calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something … when she can find the time.
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