Pop Smoke Lyrics

“I, Alpha Arthur Grant, reject you, Phineas Wells. You were never my mate; you were just a placeholder for a King.” The words didn't just break Phineas’s heart; they shattered his soul. Standing in the center of the pack gala, clutching a hidden sonogram in his pocket, Phineas watched as his husband of three years handed him divorce papers in front of the very people he had served, healed, and protected. Behind Arthur stood Phineas’s own younger brother, Clement, wearing a smug smile of betrayal. They didn't just want Phineas gone—they wanted him erased. Thrown into the freezing rain of the Dead Lands, pregnant and broken, Phineas expects to die. Instead, he finds a nightmare far more seductive. Enter Lucian Aurelius. A Mafia Kingpin with a wolf of pure shadow and a heart of ice. He doesn’t offer Phineas love; he offers a cage of gold and a contract written in blood. Lucian is the ultimate Black Flag—possessive, obsessive, and dangerous. He monitors Phineas’s heartbeat, tracks his every breath, and whispers terrifying promises of protection that feel exactly like imprisonment. But as Phineas’s life is reduced to a "Scattered and Shattered" mess, the "Sunshine" Omega dies, and something colder is born in the dark. While Arthur’s pack begins to crumble and Lucian’s obsession turns into a lethal addiction, Phineas stops crying. He begins to watch. He begins to learn. He realizes that a monster’s greatest weakness is the thing he claims to own. In a world of fated mates and brutal betrayals, Phineas will play the "Helpless Omega" one last time. He will make them crawl. He will make them bleed. And when the smoke clears, the two Alphas who broke him will realize the terrifying truth:

Parting his lips, Jordan placed the burning cigarette on his mouth and stood up from his seat before walking towards his shelves containing all his important documents related business, but soon there a light tug on his arm stopped his actions. It was her, he knew it cause no one other than her had the audacity to enter and exit his cabin without his permission. His wife, Hattiea. Or maybe the woman pretending to be his wife? Jordan's dark eyes landed on the culprit immediately with darkness but as soon as he found her behind him close to him... He got lost for a moment or so... The proximity rose slight tension between them. Raising her fingers up, Hattiea pulled the burning cigarette out from his mouth which was still resting on his lips. Her delicate fingers brushed his chin and lips softly. Following by the smoke, he released his minty breath in slight awe, her breath taking face was so close to his face. They both never came so close to one another actually. Even though it had been quite of time getting married with one another, they minded their boundaries well. As it was not any marriage of love for them but a marriage full of compromises. Hattiea's eyes soon travelled up from his lips back to his eyes, which were still staring at her ditching their shame. "It's dangerous for your health." Hattiea exclaimed hinting his smoking habit, while looking right into his eyes. Her hazel eyes were blank yet they held millions of emotions. "So are you!" Jordan's smoky breath caressed her face. The deepness of his voice solely made Hattiea's heart race million times faster. It was true... she was dangerous for him. Way too dangerous to handle.

In Alabama’s rot-soaked bayous, Drucilla Drakes survives by three rules: silence, scars, and never letting Louise—her Bible-thumping captor—catch her hoping. But when a schoolyard ambush leaves her bleeding beneath a stranger’s leather jacket, invisibility becomes a death sentence. Enter Dragon Morales: New Orleans’ most notorious runaway, a cartel prince turned outlaw mechanic with grease-stained hands and a death wish. He doesn’t save people—he survives them. Yet in Dru’s lashed flesh and hellfire gaze, he sees his own shattered reflection. Their bond is gasoline and matches. Dragon’s father—Colombia’s cartel kingpin—hunts them relentlessly. Louise, armed with voodoo rites and the chaos-hungry loa Marinette, vows to break Dru. Their only allies? The Lou Nwa, a bayou biker gang trading in bullets and black magic, and Papa Legba, the crossroads spirit who offers Dru a lethal bargain: *“Her soul or yours.”* Fleeing through the Deep South’s cursed underbelly, they dodge cartel hitmen, haunted swamps, and safehouses reeking of betrayal. Dark magic seeps into old wounds; family secrets tighten like nooses. Dragon swears he’s too ruined to love. Dru knows she’s too shattered to trust. But in the bayou’s choking heat, desire is a grenade they can’t outrun. This isn’t a fairytale. It’s switchblade kisses and saintly curses—a collision of fire and ruin where protectors become predators. Dru doesn’t need saving; she needs an inferno. And Dragon? He’s got a lighter and nothing left to burn. Will they raze the South to ashes, or become the sacrifice the crossroads demands? One truth remains: in the bayou, even survival leaves scars. **Warning:** No princes here. Just bayou smoke, blood-soaked magic, and the kind of love that devours.

On the day my dad, the Don of the Capone family, comes to the orphanage to take me home, I show up in a tactical helmet and a bulletproof vest. "I'm not going home with you. You're definitely doing this to trick me into getting married to a perverted old geezer in a marriage alliance. I bet my adopted sister has made preparations to start fake-crying anytime by loading up on her eyedrops." My dad is amused, to say the least. "Why would any of that happen? Silvia is nothing but welcoming you to our home! Also, our family isn't a lowly organization that deals with human trafficking." But I refuse to believe my dad at all. On the way home, I keep typing something on my phone. My mom, the Donna, leans over curiously. "Are you writing a diary entry?" "Nope. I'm writing tips on 'How to Survive the Mafia.'" 1) My food will definitely be poisoned. 2) If I get close to a staircase, I'll definitely get pushed down the stairs. 3) I'll get framed for something that I've never done before. My parents swear to me that none of the things I've written will ever happen. They tell me that my adopted sister, Silvia Capone, has a great personality, and things are amicable in the family. However, everything changes when Silvia brings me a glass of juice before lunchtime and insists on watching me drink it. Instead, I dump the juice into a nearby vase of flowers. Just as my parents are about to scold me for wasting the juice, smoke begins drifting from the flowers inside the vase. Then, they start wilting rapidly. I calmly leave a bright red checkmark behind the "poison" tip. As my parents stare at the dead flowers, they can feel color draining from their faces. "You should send the juice to a chem lab for analysis."

“Don’t you ever resist me again,” he breathed, his words brushing my skin like fire. One hand held my wrists captive above my head; the other traced the line of my throat, caging me against the wall. I looked up at him. My tormentor, my weakness, and the man I craved like sin itself. --- A fire stole her childhood. A contract stole her freedom. Now, a man dressed in a suit that costs more than her life is about to steal her heart. And possibly destroy what’s left of her soul. Evie remembers nothing before the fire, only the smell of smoke, the sound of screams, and a name she can’t forget. Years later, her life is a cycle of debt, slavery, and forced silence. She works herself to the bone while living in the shadow of her perfect cousin, never realizing she was born into a secret far darker than her life. Until the night she’s traded — like property to repay an old family debt — to a man no one dares to speak about. A man whose reputation bleeds power, cruelty, and blood. But instead of chains, he offers her a deal. Marry him, obey him. And never ask questions. Just business. But every time he touches her, the line between fear and longing blurs. His presence unearths flashes of her past, and memories that burn her alive. Because her husband is not who he seems. And the fire that destroyed her life didn’t happen by accident. As their marriage turns into a war of control and desire, Evie finds herself caught between the man who owns her and the truth that could set her free. But freedom comes with a great price. And love is the priciest thing she's ever had.

She froze, breath caught, facing the storm in his delinquent brown eyes. He leaned over her, hands gripping the rail, boxing her in. The air was thick, too heavy to breathe. Her gaze locked on his unwilling, yet unable, to look away. The closer he leaned, the harder her heart pounded. She bit her lip, nerves twitching. No matter how far she ran, he always found her. “Why do you keep chasing me?” she asked, barely above a whisper. Her voice trembled, as if volume might shatter her. He didn’t answer. Silence roared between them. His cold and expressionless never left her face. “Do you like me?” she pressed, ignoring the disinterest in his eyes. She needed something. He gave a soft tut, then brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, twirling it lazily. The touch was light, but his closeness made her pulse race. “‘Like’ is a bit heavy, Tinkerbell,” he murmured, voice low and indifferent. The nickname slipped out like smoke, mocking, yet oddly tender. He leaned in, close enough for her to feel his heat. Close enough to unravel her. But his eyes stayed dark. Empty. She swallowed hard, unsure what hid behind them. “It’s strange,” he added, voice softer now. “But you’re the first woman I’ve ever aknowledged as a lady, Snow White.” — She was the good girl. Quiet. Overlooked. Her life, a shadow. No warmth. No safety. For a moment, she thought she’d found love, someone who saw her. Someone worth clinging to. But he broke her. When he left, he took her love and her self-worth. She hated herself after that. Then she started to rebuild. And that’s when Zachary Gonzalez appeared. Mysterious. Magnetic. Dangerous. Everything she shouldn’t want.

“Five years. Sixty months. One thousand eight hundred and eighty-seven nights! That’s what you owe me, Angela. Did you think I would let you slip away so easily when your debt still binds you to me?” His cold voice dripped with fury and desperation hit her core directly as she let out a tensed gasp but held his gaze with bravery. “You rejected me, remember? I am not that broken girl anymore, Gideon. I don’t belong to you. I’m engaged now.” A low dark chuckle rumbled through his chest. In a swift motion, He pinned her against the icy wall of the underground garage, his presence overwhelming. “Engaged? Your thick arousal is spreading around the cold walls of this underground garage like smoke, little human. Should I remind you whose name your body still whispers? I bet he is not even close to making your heart race the way I do let alone turning you on!” Gideon’s husky voice with his fingers brushing her bare thigh was making her insane. Dammit, why do I feel these tingling sensations from his touch? Born human, Angela Clampitt had endured a lifetime of cruelty before being offered as a substitute bride to the infamous Alpha, Gideon Woodbead, to bear his heir. Twisted lies and family conspiracies made him reject her without mercy. To escape the council’s punishment, she fled the pack to live a normal human life. But fate dragged her back after five years and this time her Alpha husband who wouldn’t let her go. Now secrets threaten to surface, including the child she hid and the truth of her identity. In betrayal, passion, vengeance and awakening power, a forsaken human bride will rise as a destined Queen. Dive into the spicy, intense fated love story.

*Smut After her mate's brutal rejection, healing prodigy Sandra surrenders to a dangerously seductive stranger in a dark alley, only to discover he's her uncle Marcus. Trapped by blackmail in his isolated house, forbidden desire ignites between lessons. But Marcus harbors a deadly secret about her father's death. ----------------- “Fuck, Sandra,” he growled, thumb brushing over my nipple through the fabric until it stiffened, aching. “Vanessa’s right upstairs. If she hears us—” “I don’t care,” I panted, rocking up against him, chasing that thick pressure. “Make me forget today. Just tonight. Please.” I’m going straight to hell,” he muttered, then closed the gap. His mouth took mine slow this time, deliberate, like he was memorizing the taste of me. I sighed into it, hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders. He tasted like black coffee and smoke and sin, and I wanted more. He tugged me closer, one hand fisting in my hair, the other splayed low on my back, pressing me against him. Heat flared low in my belly, spreading fast. I shifted, trying to ease the ache between my thighs, and he groaned against my lips, grip tightening. His tongue traced the seam of my mouth; I opened for him instantly, meeting him stroke for stroke until we were both breathing hard. He tilted my head back, lips moving down my throat, teeth grazing the frantic beat of my pulse. I gasped, nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders. “We should stop,” he rasped against my skin, but his hand was already pushing under my thin tank top, calloused palm gliding up my ribs. “We should,” I agreed breathlessly, then dragged his mouth back to mine, kissing him deeper, hungrier.

Elena had once believed that silence could mean safety. That a gentle hand and a warm cup of tea placed quietly on her desk every morning could be a form of love. Lucien was never cruel—not in the obvious ways. He remembered how she liked her eggs, noticed when she swapped her perfume, and sent flowers on days he knew she wouldn’t expect them. He raised her like one would raise a pet—softly, without question. And Elena, foolish in the way only the very lonely can be, mistook his quiet affection for devotion. She told herself he was reserved. Mysterious. That love didn’t always wear its heart on its sleeve. But when the old flame returned—the one who spoke his language without needing to try—Elena saw it. The difference. He looked at her like a man who had found his lost religion. And Elena? She had simply been convenient. No tears, no scene. Just papers on the breakfast table, beside the eggs he cooked perfectly. She didn’t accuse or beg. She only asked for freedom. He didn’t sign. He chuckled. A soft, dismissive sound. “A cat raised indoors doesn’t know how to survive on the street, Elena. You’ll come back." But she didn’t. She disappeared, like smoke—except she didn’t vanish, not really. She lived. She wore colour again. Laughed at bad jokes. Let strange men hand her coffee and ask for her number. Lucien? He watched. He watched her become someone without him. And it drove him mad. The night he cornered her outside the gallery, rain in his hair and desperation in his eyes, he looked like a man undone. "Elena," he breathed, "please. Look at me. Just once." She did. Calm as ever, and her love already gone.

Delilah thought she married the perfect man. Charming. Respectable. Devoted. But then she discovered the man she trusted was a fraud — cheating behind her back, controlling her every move, and secretly stealing from the people who once believed in him. Her marriage wasn’t love. It was a trap. And when she lost the child she was carrying, alone, abandoned, and broken in a cold hospital bed, everything shattered. That’s when he returned. Thorne Weston. The estranged, adopted brother her husband never spoke of. The boy who once made her college life hell — cruel words, wicked smirks and relentless taunts. He's her tormentor. Her shadow. The one who looked at her like he wanted to ruin her… and maybe always did. He disappeared after graduation. Vanished. Forgotten. But now he’s back — colder, richer, and far more dangerous. And he’s watching her. And when she breaks down in the hospital, barely breathing through grief, he corners her in the shadows and makes her an offer that freezes her blood — and sets her body ablaze. “You want revenge? I want you. Be mine… and I’ll destroy him for you.” She should scream. She should hate him. But hate doesn’t explain the fire curling in her belly every time he whispers her name. Hate doesn’t make her knees tremble when he steps too close, smelling of smoke, leather, and sin. And hate isn’t what makes her crave the rough, twisted salvation only he can give. Because Thorne Weston is no longer a cruel boy with a chip on his shoulder. He’s a man forged in violence. Obsessed. Possessive. Unhinged. And he doesn’t just want her — he owns her. Body. Soul. And every shattered piece her husband left behind.