Release date: 30th December 2014
To take back life, one must first face
death...
One man stripped of his freedom, his
morals...his life.
Conditioned in captivity to maim, to kill and
to slaughter, prisoner 818 becomes an unremorseful, unrivaled and unstoppable
fighter in the ring. Violence is all he knows. Death and brutality are the
masters of his fate.
After years of incarceration in an
underground hell, only one thought occupies his mind: revenge...bloody, slow
and violent revenge.
Revenge on the man who lied.
Revenge on the man who wronged him.
Revenge on the man who condemned him and
turned him into this: a rage-fueled killing machine. A monster void of
humanity; a monster filled with hate.
And no one will stand in the way of getting
what he wants.
One woman stripped of her freedom, her
morals...her life.
Kisa Volkova is the only daughter of Kirill ‘The Silencer’ Volkov,
head of the infamous ‘Triad’ bosses
of New York's Russian Bratva. Her life is protected. In reality, it’s a virtual prison. Her
father’s
savage treatment of his rivals and his lucrative and coveted underground
gambling ring—The Dungeon—ensures too many enemies lurk at their door.
She dreams to be set free.
Kisa has known only cruelty and loss in her
short life. As manager of her father’s death match enterprise, only grief and pain
fill her days. Her mafia boss father, in her world, rules absolute. And her
fiancé, Alik Durov, is no
better; the Dungeon’s five-time champion, a stone-cold killer, the treasured son of
her father’s
best friend, and her very own—and
much resented—personal guard.
Unrivaled in both strength and social standing, Alik controls every facet of
Kisa’s
life, dominates her every move; keeps her subdued and dead inside...then one
night changes everything.
While working for her church—the only reprieve in her constant
surveillance—Kisa stumbles across a
tattooed, scarred, but stunningly beautiful homeless man on the streets.
Something about him stirs feelings deep within her; familiar yet impossibly
forbidden desires. He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t communicate with
anyone. He’s a
man beyond saving, and a man she must quickly forget...for both their sakes.
But when weeks later, out of the blue and to
her complete surprise, he’s announced as the replacement fighter in The Dungeon, Kisa
knows she’s in
a whole lot of trouble. He’s built, ripped and lethally unforgiving to his opponents,
leaving fear in his wake and the look of death in his eyes.
Kisa becomes obsessed with him. Yearns for
him. Craves his touch. Needs to possess this mysterious man...this man they
call Raze.
Guns
firing.
Crashes.
Screaming.
Gunshot
after gunshot and the tumult of shouting pounded through the stone ceiling as I
paced the small area of my dank cell. Above me was a stampede, the thunder of
hundreds of feet; prisoners were on the loose. And here I was trapped in this
fucking cell!
I
need to get out. I must get out! I screamed inside
my head as I ran my hand over the metal bars keeping me trapped inside.
Charging
the door of my cell, my right shoulder slammed into the metal. It didn’t even shake.
Wrapping my hands tightly around the bars over the “window,” I scanned the
dimly lit hallway, its flickering dull bulbs swinging back and forth from all
the heavy movement upstairs. This level of the prison, the Gulag as it was known amongst the inmates, was reserved for us
champions, the most prized of the death fighters. The fucking killers, the
murderers, the monsters they’d
created to want nothing but to feel rage and spill blood. We were jailed in the
bowels of this shithole, no chance of escape. Our cells were too far apart to
ever see another fighter except when we were training.
My
breathing became ragged. Bellowing in frustration, I pulled on the steel bars,
my arm joints creaking with the enormous pressure I put them under. My bulging,
drug-created muscles corded with the effort. I roared out a final yell when
they refused to budge.
The
shot they’d
just given me was making my skin crawl and was evoking the need to fight. I was
scheduled to fight later tonight. I felt rage, nothing but rage.
I
needed to kill. It was the only way to stop the rage.
The
first shot had been fired about thirty minutes ago, I guessed. I didn’t
know; time had no meaning in the Gulag.
I
could hear the other fighters shouting, screaming that they’d been released,
could hear the screech of cell doors being wrenched open, the screams of men
dying.
I
was fucking incensed.
I
wanted blood.
And
I needed to fight!
My
blood boiled under my flesh, fiery, searing, preparing me for a fight to the
death. To do what I did best—maim,
slaughter… kill.
Roaring
out, I released the cell bars and once again began pacing the cell. My eyes,
even in the dark, focused on the wall and the name engraved in the stone. Alik
Durov. Underneath was an address. Brooklyn,
New York. Below that, a motive. Revenge. Lastly, there was
a clear instruction. Kill.
I
had no memory of writing it down, no memory of my life before this place. Didn’t know if I ever
had a life outside of these stone walls. My brain had shut down, blocking out
anything but the need to kill, erasing any knowledge of who I was, where I was
from, and why I was in this fucking shithole. But one thing was certain. I had written that name, that address,
that motive, and that instruction. When I stared at those jagged letters carved
permanently on the wall in my line of sight, anger consumed every cell in my
body and I knew, without a doubt, I had to do what the inscription commanded.
But
I had to get out of this place first.
The
sound of the hallway door slamming open echoed off the walls. I rushed to the
bars to see what the fuck was happening. My skin was itching with the need to
break free, to join the fight… to get my revenge.
The
clinking of cell doors opening made my heart race faster. My knuckles cracked
with the intensity of my grip on the bars.
“Get me the fuck
out!” I growled as I heard heavy footsteps
approach my cell. My cheek pressed hard on cold metal as I stretched to see who
was coming, my hands rocking the cell door until blood began to ooze from the
constantly splitting skin on my fingers.
“Go! Go!” a male voice ordered a prisoner, and I
heard a man running away. “They’ve been
overpowered. Head for the east gate.”
They’ve been overpowered.
Hearing these words spoken out loud, I lost it. Wildfire pulsed through my
veins. Running to the back of my cell, I charged the door, my shoulder
dislocating with the force.
Seizing
my right hand, I popped my shoulder back in place. “GET ME THE FUCK OUT!” I
bellowed, my voice sounding as sharp as razors.
The
light above my cell flickered off, plunging me into darkness, but it didn’t
matter. I could hear everything, I’d learned to embrace the dark.
Thudding on the stone floor made its way toward me. My roaring and bellowing
increased.
Suddenly,
the footsteps stopped and I could hear the sound of heavy breathing outside my
cell.
“Get. Me. The. Fuck.
Out,” I warned. I caught a nervous flicker
of movement to my right.
Two
men.
Two
men were pussying out of facing me head on.
“It’s him,” one of them whispered as my jaw ticked
in annoyance. “It’s 818.”
“I won’t tell you again.
Get me the fuck out, or when I find you, I’ll snap your spines,” I threatened in a
low voice, as the bars creaked louder with the pulsating power of my anger.
The
men still didn’t move. I could smell their fear and
it just fucked me off even more.
“Get him out!” a voice ordered from behind and,
suddenly, the familiar face of 362 came into view—my greatest rival but the man I spoke to and respected
most.
362
grabbed a key and unlocked my door, his broad chest bare, black sweatpants
covering his legs and his long black hair hanging down his back. He swung the
door open and met me toe to toe at the entrance. His brown eyes bored into mine
as my chest pumped with adrenaline. Then he smirked and slapped me on the arm,
laughing. Shaking my head, I sized up the two men who blocked my way and then I
smiled. I could kill the two weak fuckers in seconds. Snap their necks before
they could fucking blink.
The
smell of piss filled my nostrils as the two men stood frozen, wide eyes fixed
on me. Then the tension of the moment was shattered when a gunshot rang out
from upstairs.
Raze is a dark, twisted about revenge and finding love. Raze is a tormented fighter, accused of a crime he didn't commit. Sent to live in a prison where he was conditioned to be the fighter he is today. Kisa is stuck in her own prison. Living a confined life with Alik. She stays because she has to but dreams of her freedom. When Raze and Kisa meet, they are the keys for setting each other free. Through determination and love, they will find the life they are craving.
I loved the dynamics of the characters and the grittiness of the story. It added so much to it and pulled you in, rooting for Raze even though he seems unsavable. Raze proves that even the darkest creatures deserve a chance.
Cole knows how to write a tale that will take you to the darkest depths but bring you out on the other side. Her books are unconventional. They are not your standard love stories. The characters all have a depth to them that make them multidimensional.
I enjoyed reading this book. It is out of my comfort zone. Highly recommended to those looking for something different and good to read.
4 out of 5 Stars!!!
Amazon & USA Today Best
Selling Author, Tillie Cole, is a Northern girl through and through. She
originates from a place called Teesside on that little but awesomely sunny
(okay I exaggerate) Isle called Great Britain. She was brought up surrounded by
her English rose mother -- a farmer's daughter, her crazy Scottish father, a
savagely sarcastic sister and a multitude of rescue animals and horses.
Being a scary blend of Scottish
and English, Tillie embraces both cultures; her English heritage through her
love of HP sauce and freshly made Yorkshire Puddings, and her Scottish which is
mostly demonstrated by her frighteningly foul-mouthed episodes of pure rage and
her much loved dirty jokes.
Having been born and raised as a
Teesside Smoggie, Tillie, at age nineteen, moved forty miles north to the
'Toon', Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, where she attended Newcastle University and
graduated with a Bachelor of Arts honours degree in Religious Studies. She
returned two years later to complete a Post-Graduate Certificate in Teaching
High School Social Studies. Tillie, regards Newcastle to be a home from home
and enjoyed the Newcastle Geordie way of life for seven 'proper mint' and
'lush' years.
One summers day, after finishing
reading her thousandth book on her much loved and treasured Kindle, Tillie
turned to her husband and declared, "D'you know, I have a great idea for a
story. I could write a book." Several months later, after repeating the
same tired line at the close of another completed story, she was scolded by her
husband to shut up talking about writing a novel and "just bloody do
it!" For the first time in eleven years, Tillie actually took his advice
(he is still trying to get over the shock) and immediately set off on a crazy
journey, delving deep into her fertile imagination.
Tillie, ever since, has written
from the heart. She combines her passion for anything camp and glittery with
her love of humour and dark brooding men (most often muscled and tattooed – they’re
her weakness!). She also has a serious side (believe it or not!) and loves to
immerse herself in the complex study of World Religions, History and Cultural
Studies and creates fantasy stories that enable her to thread serious issues
and topics into her writing -- yep, there's more to this girl than profanity and
sparkles!
After six years of teaching high
school Social Studies and following her Professional Rugby Player husband
around Europe, they have finally given up their nomadic way of life and settled
in Calgary, Alberta where Tillie spends most of her days (and many a late
night) lost in a writing euphoria or pursuing a dazzling career as a
barrel-racing, tasselled-chap wearing, Stetson-sporting cowgirl... Ye-haw!
