Reckless Devil

RECKLESS DEVIL Sons Of Valentino Book 4 KYLIE KENT Contents Untitled Please Stalk Me 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 Epilogue Remorseless Devilette Also by Kylie Kent Acknowledgments About Kylie Kent Copyright ©2023 by Kylie Kent Ebook: 978-1-922816-42-9 Paperback: 978-1-922816-70-2 Cover illustration by Sammi Bee Designs Editing services provided by Kat Pagan – https://www.facebook.com/PaganProofreading This book contains scenes of sexual acts and profanity If any of these are triggers for you, you should consider skipping this read. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Please Stalk Me Come and check out my website and join my mailing list to stay up to date and gain access to bonus materials. Website & Newsletter: https://www.kyliekent.com/ If you want early access to everything, yes everything come and join my Patreon Group Kylie Kent Patreon Want to be involved in discussions and have access to tons of give-aways? Join my readers group on Facebook Kylie’s Steam Room Facebook: @kyliekent2020 Instagram Follow: @author_kylie_kent_ Prologue “You’ll never amount to anything, girl. You’re useless. Absolutely fucking useless,” my father yells at me, right before the back of his hand connects with my cheek. “Ahh, I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry,” I cry. I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for. Over the years, I’ve just learned that it’s easier to try to get back into his good graces than it is to argue my innocence. I’m not sure if it’s the apology or my tears that work, but for the first time in all of my sixteen years, my father turns around and walks out the front door of our trailer. I don’t move, terrified of what he might do should he change his mind, come back inside, and see I’m not still on the floor where he left me. My fate tonight would be much worse. I lie there and close my eyes, praying I don’t hear the unmistakable thumping of his footsteps. My mom’s face appears behind my closed lids, and her voice flits through my mind. “Get up and run, Katarina. Run and never stop. Get up now!” “Shut up,” I whisper. How dare she tell me to run. If she thought running was the answer, then why didn’t she do it herself? “I hate you for leaving me here,” I sob, tears falling down my cheeks. I wish my mother ran, took me away from this man. Away from my own father. Instead, she left without me. And, at this point, I’d prefer to have gone with her. Death would be so much better than this. My mother was the very definition of a broken woman. I was eight years old when she decided to put an end to her suffering. I was also eight years old when my own suffering truly began. The day my father found my mother in the bathtub, each of her wrists sliced open, blood everywhere… well, that’s the day he chose me as his next punching bag. I remember it well. It’s hard to forget your father dragging you into the bathroom by the hair, yelling at you and telling you that it’s your fault your mother just killed herself. After all this time, he still reminds me at least once a week that she’s gone because I was a useless waste of space she couldn’t stomach to be around. For years, I believed him. I truly thought my mother killed herself because of me. I blamed myself, hated myself. And when I was fourteen, I attempted to follow in her footsteps. I almost succeeded. I would have… if my best friend Zane hadn’t found me and called 9-1-1. He saved my life that day, in more ways than one. It wasn’t until I saw the blood running down my arm that what I was doing sank in. And I realized I didn’t really want to die. I just wanted to be away from him. I wanted to stop hurting. Since then, with the help of Zane and the school guidance counselor, I’ve learned to accept that I wasn’t to blame for my mom’s suicide. They say no one is to blame, but they’re wrong. He’s to blame, my father, and one day I will make sure he faces the consequences of his actions. At least I like to dream that I’ll have the strength, the courage, to overpower him. But that day is not today. So, instead, I keep my eyes closed and do my best to block out my mom’s voice. * * * “Katy, wake up.” I swat at the hand that’s shaking my shoulder. “No, I don’t want to.” “Come on, it’s serious. You gotta get up, Katy. It’s your dad… He’s… he’s dead.” My best friend’s words have my eyes snapping open and my body bolting upright. “What do you mean he’s dead, Zane? You can’t joke about something like that,” I say, leaving off the part about not wanting him to get my hopes up, only to have them deflated when my father walks back into the trailer. “He’s gone, Katy. I’m sorry. His car hit a tree head-on. He’s gone,” Zane repeats. “He can’t ever hurt you again.” I thought relief would wash over me.