By: Sybil Bartel
Cover Photo by: Michael Stokes Photography (http://michaelstokes.net/)
Cover art by: CT Cover Creations (http://www.ctcovercreations.com/)
Cover Model: Kyle Clarke(https://www.facebook.com/KyleClarkeFitness/)
Ex Danish Military Special Forces, built like a legend, and uncompromising in every way—Neil Christensen didn’t walk into my life. The Viking-sized warrior crashed it like a hurricane.
The moment he showed up at my strip club, my life fell to shit. South Florida’s most ruthless motorcycle gang, the cops, the Feds—they all wanted something I didn’t have—something the Viking took from me.
I thought I could run but the motorcycle gang caught me. Now the only thing that stood between me and an unmarked gravewas a warrior I didn’t trust.
I wasn’t afraid to die. But I was terrified of weathering the storm. Because when a Viking decides to unleash his fury, no one was going to come out unscathed.
Warning: This book contains alpha heroes, offensive language, violence and sexual situations. Mature audiences only. 18+
Two fingers grasped my chin and tilted my face up. “You think you are unsafe with me?”
His eyes weren’t blue or gray, they were a storm and I was caught in it without shelter. “Yes,” I whispered.
Nothing in his impenetrable expression changed. “Do you want to leave?”
His eyes held mine as he tilted his head. “You are lying.”
I tried to step back but his giant hand settled on my hip and a shot of awareness went straight between my legs. “No, I’m not.” I jerked my chin away and pulled my bottom lip into my mouth.
His fingers dug into my hip. “You licked your lips, your thighs pressed together, your pulse sped up and you blinked. You are lying.” His voice deepened. “If you want to leave, I will let you. Luna will take you somewhere safe. But do not lie to me. I do not tolerate dishonesty.”
I grasped at the flaw in his thinking. “Tolerate? Like the world is yours to command? Like you can make anyone tell you the truth?” Truth was relative. Always. I’d learned that the second I’d gotten pregnant at nineteen and Jason left me for the first time.
“You are not anyone.”
I lost it. “Then who the hell am I to you?”
Viking kissed me.
Except it wasn’t a kiss.
Soul crushing, bone melting, bring me to my knees, he didn’t kiss me, he possessed me. His tongue didn’t slide into my mouth. His lips didn’t crash over mine. He didn’t cup my face and show me he wanted me. No. This Viking warrior who’d been chained up and strangled gripped two handfuls of my hair and anchored himself to me.
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About the Author
Sybil Bartel grew up in Northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She dreamt of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew her into the world of storytelling. She loves the New Adult genre, but any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes her swoon.
Sybil now resides in Southern Florida and while she doesn’t get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she isn’twriting or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, herbrilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer…
Here are ten things you probably really want to know about Sybil.
She grew up a faculty brat. She can swear like a sailor. She loves men in uniform. She hates being told what to do. She can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks her out. Her favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—she can’t decide. She has a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on her for driving directions, ever. And she has a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell her husband.