Jschlatt Guns

"You whore!" A masculine voice. "You philanderer!" A feminine voice. "I'll kill you in this house!" He bellowed as he charged straight to the woman and started beating her up. The little boy stood at the door and watched his parents go about their daily routine, tears spilled from his eyes. He stood in the shadows, just watching and crying. If he speaks out loud, they'll remember him and his father will beat him also. No one remembers him. Not unless they want to beat him too. Then he saw the blow, heard the awful sound. The blow that made a difference. The blow that made that day stand out from every other day. His mom stopped screaming, she laid there on the floor, staring into nothingness. Dead. "Gia." His dad paused mid-beating. No answer. "Gianna!" He patted her white arms turned red from being beaten. Terror filled the little boy's system, a sound escaped his mouth, drawing the man's attention. "Oops. I've forgotten about you." He said to the little boy. "Mom's dead..." The little boy said in a tiny voice. The man looked down at the lifeless white woman, "Seems like it." He looked at the boy with an eye filled with menace. "You'll pretend you didn't see a thing. You'll......" The siren rang outside. The police had arrived. A neighbour had alerted them when he heard the noise. He watched as the policemen pointed their guns at his father. He watched as they took his father away. He remained hidden, his blue eyes returning to the woman who laid on the floor, with eyes as blue as his. She was staring right at him. Finally, she sees him. Only in death, did she really see him. Something died in that little boy that day. Replaced with bitterness.

My head threw back. I stared at the lamp above us as I carelessly screamed his name. “Stop. Stop.” “Why?” I could feel his blazing gaze on me. “Give me a break.” “Ten seconds.” He went to the fridge and came back with a bowl of somewhat chocolate syrup. I watched him pick up the spoon, scoop the syrup, and pour it onto my br*ast. “God, it’s cold.” I giggled. The moment the sticky syrup rolled down my n*pple, I began panting, biting my lip as it felt delicious. My cl*t began pulsing. “You’re so dirty.” “You are my dirty, dirty wild dreams.” “Clean it off, Gabriel.” “With pleasure.” *** Estelle Bladwyn has a certain type of guy— a little older with a little less demanding job and knows his way in bed. When she bumps into a hot thirty-ish man on her not-so-romantic-getaway on an island, he does check two on her checklist, and exactly what she wants for that moment. One thing that doesn’t set right— their growing attraction is overwhelming, and her life is already complicated. But who can deny someone like Linden, who held you captive with his eyes, caged you in his arms, and still promised you a good time? Gabe Linden is getting old and still single and done with hookups and doing favors. When some big guns like Moses Braddson, a man he looks up to, he just can’t say no to. The only problem is he hasn’t taken the job yet— he knows he’s already failing it. Looking into her celadon blue eyes, he sees right into her soul. There’s no way he’s letting her go, even by means of breaking his number one rule— The beautiful billionaire is his to keep.

Amelie DaVinci never expected to be stolen from the altar. One moment, she was walking down the aisle. The next, her stepbrothers stormed in, guns drawn, tearing her from the life she never wanted. Luca, the cold and ruthless leader, plays mind games that blur the line between cruelty and seduction. Matteo teases her with whispered promises of pleasure and pain. And Nico, the silent one. As a mafia war ignites and betrayals cut deep, Amelie faces an impossible choice—fight back or surrender to the dark temptation of the men who refuse to let her go. Escape is impossible. Betrayal is inevitable. And surrendering to the darkness might be her only way to survive. Amelie knew she shouldn’t be anywhere near them. But here she was, trapped between Luca and Matteo, with Nico watching from the armchair. Matteo’s fingers brushed against her waist. “You know,” he murmured, “you keep running, but you always end up right back here. With us.” Amelie swallowed hard. “This is a mistake.” Luca hummed in amusement. “Then why haven’t you stopped us?” His fingers wrapped around a loose strand of her hair, tugging lightly. “Or better yet, why haven’t you stopped yourself?” She shivered. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, but it lacked conviction. Nico finally moved, his gaze locking on hers. “Then walk away,” he said. “If that’s what you really want.” Amelie’s breath hitched. Her body betrayed her, leaning slightly into Luca’s touch, into Matteo’s warmth. Matteo tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “That’s what I thought.” His lips hovered over hers. “We’re not the ones keeping you here, Amelie. You are.” This was dangerous. It was reckless. But she knew she was already theirs.

"Say it," Tenz growled, yanking her hips against the hood of his blacked-out car, his hand wrapped around her throat like a necklace made of danger. Kyoline's breath shuddered as his mouth traced her jaw, his fingers sliding under the hem of her leather skirt, teasing, threatening. "Say you're mine, or I'll make you say it with your teeth clenched and your legs shaking," he hissed, dragging his tongue along her collarbone. She smirked through the haze of lust and war. "I'm not yours, Tenz... I'm just letting you play with me until someone better comes to steal me." "Someone like who?" he spat. A cold voice answered from behind the shadows. "Like me," Isaac said. And just like that... the chaos began. --- Kyoline Diego was born of blood, betrayal, and gunfire. A mafia princess with ash in her veins and a Glock in her purse. Her childhood ended the day her father-a respected Made Man-was assassinated. Left for dead, she crawled from the ruins with nothing but vengeance and two younger siblings she'd kill for. Now eighteen and jaded, Kyoline bartends for mob rats by night, runs guns for a price, and slays in gold heels by morning. Love? It's not on the agenda. Survival is. Enter Tenz Jersey-her inked-up, lie-laced mafia beau. The man who f*cks like a god and lies like a sermon. He gives her fire, chaos, and a reason to breathe. He also gives her bruises she wears like medals and promises that vanish like smoke. She tells herself he's enough. Until Isaac. Cold. Calculating. Beautiful in a way that feels like a bullet wound. He shoves her into an unmarked SUV, claims he's NYPD, feeds her lies and cannoli-then laughs while she figures out he's actually the most lethal hitman.....