Avery Tate Book Novels & Stories

He ordered. “I am glad that my brothers are well father, I feared for them in the battle. What do you intend on doing with uncle?” Elika spoke softly, her voice hesitant and fearful. “I will torture my brother for as long as he is in my custody, which if I am lucky will be a long time. Then daughter I will do what my father never had a chance to and kill him.” Atlas generously shared his thoughts, before turning on his heel and leaving Elika’s room; allowing her mind to wander among her own thoughts.

My God. The candlelight plays across his chest, illuminating a canvas of ink and muscle that makes my mouth go dry. His shoulders are broad enough to block out the rest of the room, tapering down to a waist that speaks of discipline and control. But it's the tattoos that steal my breath— intricate Russian script wrapping around his ribs, disappearing beneath the towel's edge. A hawk spreads its wings across his left pectoral, feathers so detailed I can almost feel them beneath my fingertips. His abs aren't the gym-sculpted perfection Viktor obsesses over. These are working muscles, carved from something harder than vanity. A scar cuts through the ink near his hip— pale against bronze skin— a

we cleaned up the scattered fabric samples. "A nautical nursery," Arthur mused, holding up a swatch with tiny whales. "Do you think the baby will feel pressured to become a marine biologist?" "Better than feeling pressured to solve fictional compost murders," I retorted, folding a blanket. He pretended to be wounded. "My legacy is secure. Speaking of which..." He disappeared into his study and returned with a thick envelope. "It's finished." I stared at it. "The book?" "The book," he confirmed, placing it in my hands with a mixture of pride and terror. "The Compost Murders of Cedar Cove. Be gentle. Or don't. But be honest."

He knew what it was—the insignia of Beocraft. Kevin ambled across the room, browsing through the books on the shelf. Most of the titles and pictures in the books were disturbing. His eyes were drawn to the title of a particular book. Torture technique. The cover page had a disturbing image of a blood-soaked heart being pulled out of a man’s chest by what appeared to be a surgeon. An intense feeling of revulsion grew within him as he stared. Then he noticed a little study table beside the shelf; a lamp and a book sat on top.

"I decided to invest in Tate Industries because they're not as bad as people think. Once I get my hands on it, I can turn the whole company around." Chelsea glared at her brother and said, "Avery Tate is my arch-nemesis. Are you trying to p*ss me off by making money for her?" "Look on the bright side. Don't you think she might just fall in love with me if I help her like this?" "What if she doesn't? Don't get me wrong. You're an outstanding man, but I still think Elliot is more attractive," Chelsea said as admiration washed across her face. "His assertiveness, his indifference, his self-control—-"