Wicked Love

★★★★★ “Man, this book got me all in my feels! I just felt the punches to my heart throughout this book!”

★★★★★ “It was short, sweet and brilliant. 5 huge stars from me for this wonderful novella! Absolutely loved it.”

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Wicked Love is a journey where trust is tested, truths are revealed, and where genuine love prevails against all odds.

In a twist of fate, soon-to-be eighteen-year-old Grace unexpectedly crosses paths with Joe, a handsome stranger, while she pretends to be somebody else. For one night, Joe, a reformed womanizer, believes love is possible, until Grace vanishes the next morning without leaving her contact information behind. Never did they think they would bump into each other again and in circumstances neither of them has any control over. Their unexpected reunion propels them into a complex and uncharted romance that tests their limits and their inner values as life puts them in situations that pushes them to their break point. 

When Grace runs away from her life, and her home, with one piece of luggage and a broken heart, Joe follows her blindly and proves he’s not the enemy after all. One fateful night puts their lives at risk and tests their love and trust. As they grapple with the challenges of their evolving relationship, Grace and Joe must confront their past and navigate an uncertain future together.

With love on the line, will they find a way to overcome their differences and forge a lasting connection?

Wicked Love is a standalone novel part of the Carter Hills Band Universe.

*Due to mature subject, this book is only suitable for people over 16 years of age.

With my elbows propped up on the cold surface of the worn walnut countertop, I people-watched the patrons surrounding me. Some were in this dive bar to get shit-faced. Others were here for a late-night drink with friends. I was part of the first group. My dad had requested I come home this weekend, and I felt no joy whatsoever meeting with him. Sure, I adored my dad. He was the coolest guy I knew, but his new life’s direction didn’t please me, and I had used up all the arguments I possessed to try to make him see the truth as it was. A part of me feared that he would announce the thing I dreaded the most this weekend. A little liquid courage and a night in a hotel would prevent me from facing the reality tonight. Tomorrow could wait. For now.

The air smelled of cigarettes and cheap beer. As if the smoke over the years had welded with the paint and furniture and never dissipated. Good old days.

Rock music from the seventies played in the background, not loud enough to be distracting but soft enough to be white noise.

I hadn’t come to Dick’s Hole often in my life. The name of the bar was the first telltale sign of its crappiness. Everything around me looked dirty and old as fuck. As if it came from another era. If depression could be a place, no doubt it’d be Dick’s Hole on Fourth Avenue in a small Pennsylvania town, a thirty-mile drive from my hometown of Silverville.

Mix-and-match wooden chairs that appeared as if about to die of exhaustion, uneven, round wooden tables, a dusty jukebox that had probably not seen a quarter in ages, and ripped black vinyl stools lining the bar filled the place. Most people in here were old enough to be my grandparents, just missing a few teeth. I used to spend time in Dick’s Hole when I was in high school because they never checked IDs, and my friends and I could get drunk for cheap.

A girl with long bleached blonde hair sat in a corner, three empty beer bottles aligned on the table before her. She looked as much out of place here as I did.

She peeled the label of the bottle in her hand, seemingly lost in her thoughts, her eyes haunted.

I took in the black lines around her eyes and the dark shadows coloring her eyelids. Her top was a cut-off vintage band T-shirt that exposed her midriff, and she accessorized it with a mini black leather skirt and knee-high boots. She looked nothing like the girls I hooked up with, but there was just something about her. An air of sadness clinging to her features—a distinctive vulnerability—that made me want to know more. To uncover her truths and her secrets.

For some reason, I couldn’t seem to look away from her. In my head, I imagined what her story could be. Had she been dumped? Or had she just learned her dog ran away? Or maybe she lived with evil stepsisters and needed a night of reprieve?

She turned my way, and I noticed how pretty she looked. High cheekbones, straight nose, pillowy lips. Too bad she felt like she had to hide under the black armor as if it protected her from the world.

I savored my whiskey while scrolling on my phone until a notification of low battery popped up on the screen. Fucking great.

I got up, careful to not touch anything, and weaved around the tables toward the restroom. A man and a woman in their late fifties were making out—full tongue and groping hands—by the restroom door. In the point two seconds I looked their way, I swore I saw both their tonsils as they were about to eat each other out without an ounce of discretion.

Glad they could get some.

I’d been a monk lately. Since I started my new job in New York, I had the opportunity to fuck as much as I liked, yet I kept pushing away all the women showing an interest in me.

Perhaps I needed that. A reprieve. After fucking my way through college, my dick needed a more than deserved vacation.

Behind me, people started cheering, and I turned around, wondering what the commotion was about.

Hurrying back to my stool, I noticed the girl, who had been nursing a drink alone, standing on the bar and guzzling vodka straight from the bottle. I noticed a butterfly tattoo peeking out from under the waistband of her skirt.

“Chug. Chug. Chug.” Everyone chanted as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She threw both arms in the air and did a victory dance. Tipsy, she lost her footing, and most patrons were either too dumb or too drunk to notice.

I hurried over and caught her, honeymoon style, before she hit the floor.

“My hero,” she singsonged.

“I’m nobody’s hero.”

She looped her arms around my neck. “I beg to differ. You’re mine.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I think I am dead.” She stared into my eyes and nodded as if to convince herself.

“You look pretty alive to me. Sloshed. But alive.”

“You look like an angel. A troublesome angel, but—” She studied my face, squinting. “A badass angel. One who can’t behave but loves every minute of it.” A hiccup. She placed a hand over her mouth, her cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. “Sorry. What was I saying...? Oh yes, that you are beautiful.”

I snorted. “Beautiful? Maybe you’re more drunk than I thought.”

“Men are allowed to be beautiful too. We’re not in nineteen sixty anymore. Just say thank you.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re sure I’m alive? I feel cold.”

I looked at her, not sure how she had succeeded in fascinating me in just a minute. I trained my eyes on her figure. With her in my arms, I had a great view of her cleavage, the band T-shirt she was wearing unable to cover the swell of her breasts and the black lace of her bra. My body tensed in the best of ways, and I grinned. “To me, you feel hot.”

“Oh, you are a smooth talker,” she gushed, batting her eyelashes, her gaze following my line of vision as I admired her voluptuous curves. “Are you ogling me?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“And you have no shame. That’s refreshing. I think I’m in love,” she declared, slurring her words.

“Good for you. I prefer love to war, don’t you?” I chuckled, not drunk enough to engage in her line of conversation. “Well, when tomorrow comes, you may change your mind.”

- False Promises
- BlindSided (Heart Song duet book #1)
- Sweet Agony
- Cruel Destiny (Second Tear duet book #1)
- Beautiful Salvation (Second Tear duet book #2)
- Wild Encounter (BreathLess duet book #1)
- Brittle Scars (BreathLess duet book #2)
- Last Hope
- Midnight Sparks
- Fallen Legend (Lonesome Heart duet book #1)
- Rising Star (Lonesome Heart duet book #2)
- SnowBound (Two of Us duet book #1)

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