Dark Deviant

Dark Deviant VENGEFUL VILLAINS: BOOK FIVE KRISTEN LUCIANI Contents Important Note To Readers 1. Larysa 2. Danil 3. Danil 4. Larysa 5. Danil 6. Larysa 7. Danil 8. Larysa 9. Danil 10. Larysa 11. Danil 12. Larysa 13. Danil 14. Larysa 15. Danil 16. Larysa 17. Danil 18. Larysa 19. Danil 20. Larysa 21. Danil 22. Danil 23. Larysa 24. Danil 25. Larysa 26. Danil 27. Danil 28. Larysa 29. Danil 30. Larysa 31. Larysa 32. Larysa 33. Danil 34. Larysa 35. Danil 36. Larysa 37. Danil 38. Larysa 39. Larysa Epilogue Meet Kristen Dark Deviant © 2023 by Kristen Luciani This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles, and lyrics mentioned in this novel are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders. All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed, or used in any manner whatsoever, via the Internet, electronic, or print, without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For more information, or information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact Kristen Luciani at [email protected]. Cover Design: Book Cover Couture Editing: Allusion Graphics Photo Credit: Wander Aguiar Created with Vellum Important Note To Readers This is a dark romance that contains very triggering situations such as graphic violence and gore, graphic murder, graphic language, dub con, kidnapping, and explicit sexual situations, including anal sex, meant for an 18+ audience. Chapter 1 Larysa The sudden and sharp vibration coming from under my pillow jolts me awake. I crack open my eyes then slam them shut before I can clear my fuzzy vision. A burning sensation follows. Everything aches. My mouth is drier than a camel’s asshole during a sandstorm, and I can barely swallow. The phone. My alarm. I slide my fingers under the pillow and stab buttons on the side of my phone until the buzzing sound stops. A few deep breaths later, when I’m somewhat confident that I’m not going to hurl all over the thick white comforter, I slowly roll onto my back and try again to open my eyes. I tilt my head backward to see what’s behind me since my brain is thick with cobwebs. Jumbled pieces of the puzzle start to fit together as I take in the décor that barely got a glance last night before I fell into this bed. Deep red and ivory jacquard curtains hang on the wall behind the king-size bed. Large brass light sconces hang on either side. This suite is way different than the simple gold room I’d booked for myself at the Fairmont Kiev so I’d have a place to crash after I drowned my sorrows in way too many cocktails at the bar. I scrub a hand down the front of my face, my aching brain trying hard to weave together the events that led me into this bed, not the one in the room I’d reserved. Flashbacks of me walking…or actually, stumbling, inside the suite, teetering in my high heels and clutching that damn white envelope, wallpaper my mind. Bile rises in my throat. I clap a hand over my mouth before making an attempt to choke it down. I force my eyes toward the large picture window that overlooks the city. Gauze white curtains cover the glass. More jacquard hangs in thick sections on either side of the window. Suddenly, a flood of splintered images of me being fucked hard against that window last night pop between my ears like bullets. I should have kept my mouth shut and enjoyed my cherry nastoyanka alone. But after the grieving comes the avoidance, a distraction of the most sinful kind. It was the kind of distraction I desperately needed when I found out that The Juilliard School in New York City flatly denied me entry to their revered institution. My temples throb like a relentless, banging gong. The massive pain between my ears screams for relief, relief I figured I’d have gotten with alcohol down at the hotel bar here at the Fairmont Kiev last night. I did get some, for a few hours. But then things kind of went down a dangerously slippery slope, landing me in a bubble of erotic bliss filled with mind-bending and body-sizzling filthy hot sex with an angry, but devilishly sexy, stranger. “Thank you for your interest, but we regret to inform you that you have not been selected as a candidate for the Bachelor of Music program. We appreciate your interest and wish you well in your future musical endeavors.” All the vodka in the world couldn’t numb the pain before Adonis himself entered the bar. Even being fucked six ways from Sunday couldn’t block out the pain of reading those words, hearing them spoken in my mind, over and over again. The grimace that twisted the stranger’s lips, his tight jaw, and his stiff spine screamed volumes, but I was too drunk to care by that point. The bleeping “fuck off” sign on his forehead was more of a challenge to my drunk brain than a warning. And I ignored it the second he sank into the stool next to me and ordered a double of Stolichnaya vodka. “You know, drinking straight vodka here in Ukraine is believed to be indecent,” I say, swaying into him. “You’re obviously a tourist.” He turns. I gasp at the fire glittering in his dark eyes. They’re so piercing, I almost feel the jab when he narrows his eyes into a harsh glare. “And you’re obviously drunk.” I hold up my glass. “Obviously.” “You think getting hammered in a bar by yourself is decent?” I flash what I hope