Bones Deep

BONES DEEP SHADOWS AND OBSESSIONS DUET BOOK ONE IVY GRAVES Bones Deep Copyright © 2023 Ivy Graves This book is written in British English. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under international and federal copy-right laws. Any unauthorised reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Design: Artscandare Book Cover Design Editor: Nice Girl Naughty Edits Interior Formatting: Ivy Graves Storyline Development Support: Nico Sorrell ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF COUNTRY I acknowledge and pay my respects to the traditional owners of the unceeded land on which I live and write, the peoples of Kombumerri Country and all their descendants past, present and emerging. I further acknowledge and extend that respect to the First Nations and Pasifika region peoples who are reading this book. WARNING This dark romance novel is taboo and was written for open minded adults only. The themes could make you feel uncomfortable or trigger emotional distress. If you need support with your mental health, please contact Lifeline Australia on 13 11 14, or a help line in your local area. POSSIBLE TRIGGERS Extreme graphic sex, graphic torture, murder, sex trafficking, paedophile rings, crime, incest, drug and alcohol use, drink driving, graphic self-harm, rape, kidnapping, stalking, voyeurism, age gap, cult ritual, child abuse (historical), degradation, exhibitionism, BDSM (rope suspension, bondage, impact play, blood play, knife play, breath play, spitting, golden showers and more). This duet is for those who’ve ever felt helpless at the hands of another, and then dreamed of a fantastical revenge. And for those who like large, fancy cocks. CONTENTS Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Knuckles Deep Acknowledgments About the Author Playlist PROLOGUE Past Melbourne - Australia Fight For Me - Barkaa, Electric Fields The Same Deep Water As You - The Cure Desert Rose - Lolo Zouai HAZY I brush raindrops from my lashes and shift my backpack to my other shoulder. Marching to keep warm, I groan as my feet squelch in my lace-up Docs. Gross. Watching the curl of frosty breath rising before me, I wish I was one of those organised people who kept an umbrella in their bag. Those people always seem to have everything they need at just the right time. Thunder ricochets around the clouds, making me jolt just as a red Ford approaches with its headlights on. My blood runs cold. Fuck. It’s them. Of course it is. I bet they’ve been out driving around, searching for me all day. God forbid I thought I could get away with a day off from their bullshit. The sedan splashes a puddle over my legs as it comes to a stop in front of me, my skirt now dripping with mud. “Cunts,” I grumble. Just my luck. The passenger window rolls down a fraction, and Janette Withcott gives me a death stare. “Get in the car, Hazel,” she says, even-tempered. The sour old face glaring at me is pinched as though she’d just smelled her own putrid ass. Her frizzy blonde hair puffs down to her shoulders, and the extra weight she carries shows in her hooded eyelids and generous double chin. She still lives in the eighties, with her frosted makeup, including her hot pink lipstick that grossly offsets against pasty, powdered skin. I dread the sight of her. I’m so sick of this; the relentless torment and abuse. The violation of every inch of my body and mind. I wonder how much more of it I can take before I snap. I’m close, I can feel it. I peer down the rainy street, hoping to see the bus, but it’s nowhere in sight. The rain is falling harder now, leaves and twigs whipping from trees. School buses are notorious no-shows, and I don’t have any cash, which means I have to walk the five kilometres home. And I don’t want to do that. I want to get home as quickly as possible to curl up in bed with my dystopian novel and stay there till tomorrow. Or forever. So, I risk it. Fingers crossed they take me home like any kind, elderly couple would. Swiping a hand across my cheek again, I open the back door of the car just as an uneasy shiver runs over my skin. But this is no kind, elderly couple. “Thanks,” I mumble as I chuck my sodden bag across the back seat and wring my raven hair onto the upholstery. I hope the seat grows mouldy. The car reeks with a foul stench, a mix of B.O. and the putrid scent of human monsters. My eyebrows knit together at memories of what they’ve done to me in the back of this car. Fuck them and the horse they rode in on. I buckle myself in and pray to the gods of whatever that they are having a good day today. “We missed you at ballet and hip-hop classes yesterday. Where were you, Hazel?” “I