Black Barbara Novels & Stories

I cannot sum up the strength to ask any questions so I remain silent admidst the quiet rumble of the plane's engines and his thoughtful gaze. In that moment, I make another vow. I will be back. And I will kill that Russian Enforcer with my bare hands. I will wreck havoc on all he held dear. I feel my soul shed its colour.I feel it become blacker as the plane gains altitude.I feel it harden like steel, until I have to fist my hands over my chest to dull the ache. My name is Luca Blackstone going forth. And God so help anyone with negative affiliations with the Russian mafia that crosses my path. Death is a small mercy they would always beg for.

She was raised in the shadows. He rules the world from the light. But her secret could burn the entire kingdom to the ground. For eighteen years, Nadia Hayes lived like a phantom. Hidden deep inside a secluded cave by her grandmother, she survived on river fish, harsh training, and silent longing. As the last living survivor of the forbidden Blackblood lineage, her existence is a death sentence. Her only crime is the blood in her veins—and her only desire is to know what it feels like to belong. Then, one desperate mistake exposes her secret to the realm. Hunted across enemy territory, Nadia flees to the remnant of her ancestral people, praying for sanctuary. Instead, she finds a clan

Sarah Park walked in with a recorder and a legal pad and nothing else. No camera, no second journalist. She was fifty-one, wore no makeup, and scanned the room before she moved further in. Exits first, then faces, then the table. Same order Diana always used. She stopped when she saw Cross. "Ms. Cross," she said. "I've been trying to reach you for two years." "I know," Cross said. "Sit down." Sarah looked at Nora. Nora nodded once. Sarah sat.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside and the first thing I saw was him. Of course. Chance Black. Sitting at the far end of the bar, back straight, shoulders squared, one hand wrapped around a glass. He was dressed in black again. Always black. Sleeves rolled just high enough to show the edge of a tattoo, hair pushed back from his face, eyes sharp. I froze for half a second. Then I muttered under my breath. “Of course he’s everywhere I go.”

Barbara leaned close to Willow to whisper into her ear, "Marshall likes it when she draws attention to them. Oh, what pleasure it would be to take their attention away from them.” "Interesting” Willow murmured again as she followed behind Barbara and the sales girls into the dressing room. Both Marshall and his fucking Luna were interesting psycho characters. “This one" “No, it's not giving me what I want. Have this one" Barbara shook her head negatively with a frown at the black gown Willow just stepped out in. She handed Willow another gown and steered her in the direction of the changing room despite her protests. "Oh my god! This is it. It's perfect” Barbara gasped at long last when Will

I land on the ground, hurting all the parts of me that are still tender. Both his men are dead on the ground, right next to their cars. It’s just me and Evan, and by the looks of it, Barbara. She steps out of the car, and walks toward us in heels. Her expression is smug, and she looks back and forth between the two of us before remarking, “Isn’t this a sight? How cute is this?” “You bitch!” Evan curses. “If you think you’re going to get away with this, you’re mistaken. I’ll tear you to pieces!”

But in the end, the lure of oblivion proved too strong, and she found herself pushing through the heavy oak doors, her senses immediately assaulted by the familiar scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke. As she scanned the room, her gaze was drawn to a figure seated at the far end of the bar, his presence radiating a quiet allure that captivated her. Fueled by the haze of alcohol and her own vulnerability, Barbara felt her inhibitions crumbling, the weight of her grief momentarily forgotten as she made her way across the room, her steps unsteady but determined.

“But if anyone around here can help, it’s Barbara.” Kane’s face was set in stone. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered. Camille knocked, the sound echoing hollowly against the warped wood. There was no immediate answer, but faint shuffling noises came from within. Moments stretched uncomfortably long before the door creaked open, revealing the woman who to me, appeared more like a witch. Barbara was a hunched woman looking wiry and angular beneath layers of dark, tattered fabric. Her skin was pale and blotchy, like parchment aged unevenly, and her eyes were an unnerving shade of milky gray.

Beside him stood Barbara Alonso, Duncan’s mother. Barbara was dressed in a flawless, cream-colored silk dress, her silver-streaked hair styled perfectly. But her face was unusually tight. There was no warmth in her eyes, no gentle smile like the ones she used to give Amora during the long, lonely afternoons in this mansion.

I level a cool gaze at the black haired Barbie. “Did you see the lady who purchased this?” I ask in my most patronising tone but there’s really no need for that because Barbie looks ready to do whatever I tell her. Good for both of us. I push the paper bag forward. She spares a look at her manicured nails and frowns at the pink colour. “The blackie?” My fingers stop moving, my head snaps to her head. “Excuse me?” “The woman, yeah? The black one,” she says. “She’s so black she could be related to darkness.”