Novels by Rue Ella

CadeI fucking hate birthdays.Always have.The thing is, I don't even know my real birthday. When Beck asked me years ago—back when we first became friends and he was obsessed with knowing everything about me—I just said a random date. August something. He believed me. Even celebrated it.Then he apparently told Quinn, who planned all this.And now here I am, standing in my living room filled with people celebrating a day that means absolutely nothing, for a person who doesn't actually exist.The irony isn't lost on me."Speech! Speech! Speech!" They keep chanting, hands clapping in rhythm.I look around at all of them. The team. Quinn's friends. Beck grinning like an idiot."Thank you," I say flatly.The chanting dies down. People look confused."That's it?" Marcus calls out. "That's your whole speech?""Yeah.""Dude, your girlfriend planned this whole thing and all you can say is thank you?"Riley elbows him hard. "She's not his girlfriend, you idiot."Right. Because they don't kno

CadeCoach tenses. His jaw works like he's chewing on the words before letting them out."John was..." He pauses, staring at the ice like the answers are frozen beneath it. "He was a star. A really good man. Hockey was his priority. His everything, really."I lean against the boards, arms crossed, waiting."He had scouts watching him constantly," Coach continues. "NHL teams fighting over him. Everyone wanted John Hunter on their roster." His voice gets distant, nostalgic. "Kid had a golden future ahead of him. Could've been one of the greats."I listen, feeling irritation crawl up my spine with every word.Because it sounds exactly like me. My stats. My situation. My future.Which makes this whole thing even more fucked up."You know," Coach says, turning to look at me now, "you remind me of him so much. The way you play. Your work ethic. Your raw talent. Sometimes when I watch you on the ice, it's like seeing John all over again."I don't respond. Just keep my face neutral even thoug

CadeI slam the puck into the net with enough force that it ricochets back out and skitters across the ice."Again!" Coach Holloway's voice echoes through the empty rink. "And control your anger, West. Channel it, don't let it control you."I skate back to center ice and line up another shot.Control my anger. Right.Like I'm not currently fantasizing about wrapping my hands around Cole's throat and squeezing until his eyes pop out of his skull.He sent someone to kill me. In my house. With Quinn sleeping in my bed.The puck slams into the net again, this time tearing through the mesh."Donovan!" Coach blows his whistle. "What the hell is wrong with you today?"Everything. Absolutely everything.I skate harder, faster, taking shot after shot. Each one more violent than the last.Cole thinks this is a game. Another sick test. Another way to see how far he can push me before I break.But Quinn was right there. Right fucking there.What if the assassin had decided to kill her first? To m

Cole.My eyes adjust to the darkness beyond the lamplight, scanning for movement.Nothing.But I know what I heard.I stand slowly, silently, and move across the room in the blind spots—the areas where someone hiding wouldn't be able to see me clearly.I reach the wardrobe and position myself to the side of the door.One.Two.Three.I yank it open.Someone explodes out of the wardrobe, swinging at me. Their fist connects with my jaw and I stumble back, cursing.The figure rushes past me toward my bedroom door."Fuck!" I shake my head, tasting blood.I glance back at Quinn. She's still asleep somehow, her face peaceful.Good. I don't need her waking up to this.I don't need any of the guys waking up either.I follow the intruder out into the hallway, watching them take the stairs two at a time.They're fast, but I'm faster.I let them get outside first—better to handle this away from the house—then I chase them down.They're running toward the tree line behind the property, probably h

CadeI'm thirteen years old and the warehouse smells like rust and something rotting.Cole is standing over a man—or what used to be a man. Now he's just a mess of blood and exposed bone and parts that shouldn't be visible."Beautiful, isn't it?" Cole asks, not looking away from his work. He's holding a knife, the blade dripping red onto the concrete floor. "The human body is such a fascinating thing. So fragile. So easily broken."I stare at the body. At the way the head sits at an unnatural angle. At the pool of blood spreading across the floor like spilled paint.I feel nothing.No horror. No disgust. No fear.Just... boredom, maybe. A mild curiosity about how long this is going to take."Cade." Cole's voice pulls my attention. "Come closer."I walk over, my shoes squelching in the blood."What do you feel right now?" he asks, tilting his head like I'm the interesting specimen."Nothing.""Nothing?" He smiles. "Not even a little bit of excitement? Fear? Anything?"I shake my head.

Quinn “Kiss me.”The words leave my mouth on a desperate exhale, a plea wrapped in a breath. My legs fall open for him, an invitation he’s been waiting for. The world outside this little alcove—the distant chatter of the people around us, the risk of being seen—it all dissolves into a dull hum. All I see is Cade. All I feel is the raw, magnetic pull of him.His eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, are impossibly soft. They hold mine for a heartbeat, two, and then he crashes into me. His mouth isn’t gentle. It’s a claiming. A fucking conquest. His tongue pushes past my lips, tasting of whiskey and pure, unadulterated want. I moan into him, my fingers tangling in the thick, dark hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.His hands are everywhere at once. One cups my breast through my thin top, his thumb circling my nipple until it’s a hard, aching peak. He growls against my mouth, a low, visceral sound that goes straight to my cunt.“Need these out,” he rasps, his voice roug