Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
...Until a worse one decided she was his.
Melissa Hart clawed her way back to Westbeach with a bakery full of dark humour and a strict no-bikers rule, determined to prove she could rebuild what was stolen from her. Melissa thrives on control. But when Hella Ward rolls into town as VP of the Woodsmen MC's mother charter, her carefully constructed boundaries collapse in the most humiliating way possible—literally crashing into him, and straight onto his lap.
Hella doesn't do soft, and he sure as hell doesn't do commitment. After escaping a corrupt society that plucks kids off the street, he learned at a young age not to trust easily. But when violence spills over in the Westbeach chapter, he takes one less thing they need to worry about, Melissa.
She doesn't go down without a fight, but Hella? Fighting is what he does best. He doesn't know it yet, but this might be the one battle he doesn't win...
My Sweet Cyanide is book one in The Dark Outlaw Series by Amo Jones. A dark enemies to lovers MC romance that will test your limits, destroy the lines between love and hate, and prove that sometimes, the ones who feel nothing are the ones worth saving
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
Melissa
Bass pounds the walls of 672 Avenue as I clutch my cup of piss-cheap beer. Rugby boys flex in one corner, muscles twitching under their shirts like they’re auditioning for a calendar no one would buy.
What a fucking disappointment.
I shove my glasses up with my middle finger—a silent fuck-you. Nobody ever notices me. I’m fine with that.
Being from a small town, you learn to appreciate not being noticed. It means no one is talking shit about you behind your back.
That week.
I down what remains of the bitter liquid. Time to bail. I tried, I failed, and I don’t care because I’m comfortable being the class nerd and going through life without a collection of Uni blackout stories.
I head for the kitchen, ready to ditch, when a solid mass of meat slams into me. Or I slam into him. Same difference.
“Sorry,” I mumble, eyes trained on the sticky floor.
“No problem. Need a refill?”
My head jerks up, shock rippling through me at being acknowledged. Eddy Woolbrock. Pretty blond hair. Jawline dusted with designer stubble. Eyes that inspire girls to write bad poetry. His family are high-roller hot-shots who think they run the country. They probably do. Never really cared enough to explore his existence further.
My throat tightens. “Yeah, I was about to—”
“—get another?” His mouth curls up.
I shouldn’t. I know better.
Even if his sudden focus on a girl who drowns herself in oversized hoodies and hides behind reading glasses that swallow half her face makes my pulse skip.
I have ADHD, so it won’t last—yup. It’s gone. “No, thanks.”
Side-stepping away from him, I’m ready to run back to my little coastal town in the Coromandel Peninsula when he catches me by the arm.
“Just one?” He tries puppy eyes that I’m sure work on many girls. “Hey, look, you’re room-mates with Billie, right?” He asks, as if that means anything. “She and I grew up together, I’m chill. Come!”
“Uh, yeah, but—”
His fingers grip my elbow, guiding me through the crowd and into the kitchen, where three other guys stand around laughing.
I know their faces from campus. Legacy kids whose trust funds guarantee they’ll never need this degree, never need to work, never need anything but their last names.
Eddy thrusts a fresh cup into my palm. “Cheers.”
I raise mine to his. Guess I’m fucking staying. “Cheers.”
The microwave clock glares: 10:15.
Blink.
10:24.
The world spins sideways, reality bending wrong.
My legs turn to water, just... gone, as I lurch toward the stairs.
I need to get out. Out. Now.
Arms catch me before I crash, but they’re not to rescue. They’re to take.
“Whoa, you alright?” Eddy’s voice slithers from underwater, distorted and wrong.
“I barely drank anything!” I try to force someone away, but hit air. “I’m confused.”
“Confused about what?” His grip locks down, dragging me up the stairs.
Bodies press against walls, tangled together, their sounds wet and animal. Each step feels miles away, my feet barely connecting with the floor.
“My legs… they’re numb.” Fuck, Melissa. What the hell is wrong with you?
A bedroom door shimmers into existence, then vanishes as darkness swallows us whole with a click.
“Why’s it so dark?” My words drag, slurring into mush no matter how hard I fight.
“Shhhh.” His breath coats my neck with stale beer and greasy pizza.
Gravity gives way and my knees hit the ground. I pitch forward, but hands snag me, fingers digging into my arms before flinging me backward onto a mattress.
My skull bounces, my hair splaying across sheets that smell of sweat and other strangers.
“No,” I whimper, but it’s weak.
Useless.
Nothing.
“Please, what’s happening?”
Light floods the room, blinding. I squint against the burn, making out three figures leaning against the wall. Their red cups act as a salute. A toast to the slaughter.
“Cheers, geek.” A voice, not Eddy’s, slices through the haze, cold and mocking.
He crawls over me in slow motion, fingers digging into my thigh to drag me down the bed like roadkill.
“No!” I try to scream, but it’s a shattered whisper.
Useless.
Nothing.
Darkness chews at my consciousness, spitting out fragments as time passes.
The sound of a headboard slamming against the wall.
Thud, thud, thud.
His hot breath when he sucks on my neck, leaving a snail trail of saliva.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls, driving into me with forced thrusts.
I want to scream that I’ve never been touched, that he’s stealing something I’d never be able to get back. But my tongue lies dead in my mouth, just like the rest of me.
Darkness fades in and out, tears streaming down the side of my face.
Hands. Everywhere. Too many to just be Eddy. Hands that aren’t human, just things—claws, vices, violations. Voices dissolve into static, a radio tuned to hell. By the fourth set, I’m not Melissa anymore. I’m something else.
Something broken.
Something dirty.
Nothing.
Walls bleed into shadows, the mattress hardening to a coffin. Dirt crumbles over me as their laughter echoes, a chant I’ll hear every time I close my eyes.