Wicked Ties

Published by: eXtasy Books

Author : Juliana Poda

ISBN :978-1-4874-3840-1

Page :270

Word Count :89381

Publication Date :2024-12-20

Series : #

Heat Level :

Available Formats : Wicked Ties (epub) , Wicked Ties (mobi) , Wicked Ties (pdf) , Wicked Ties (prc)

Category : Contemporary Romance , Romantic Suspense and Mystery , Romance , What's New

Product Code: 978-1-4874-3840-1

Qty

$6.99

0 reviews
Write a review

Katarina’s life is a vibrant tapestry of color and culture in the heart of Rio de Janeiro—until her estranged American father pulls her into a world of shadows and secrets. Forced to leave behind everything she knows, she arrives in the U.S. with an uneasy feeling that her father is hiding something sinister. But it's not just the mysteries of her father’s past that captivate her; it’s the darkly handsome man who seems to be watching her from the shadows.

As Katarina delves deeper into her father’s life, she encounters a web of deception that leads her straight into the arms of a unexpected protector. He’s a man with his own secrets, but there's an undeniable chemistry that sparks between them, igniting a passion she never expected. While navigating the treacherous waters of her father’s dangerous world, Katarina discovers that her heart is as resilient as her spirit.

Together, they uncover chilling truths that threaten to unravel everything, forcing Katarina to confront her own strength and desire. In a high-stakes game of trust and betrayal, she must choose between the safety of her past and the intoxicating allure of a future filled with passion, danger, and love. Will she be able to embrace her newfound courage and fight for the life—and love—she deserves?

In Wicked Ties, where dark romance meets the underworld, loyalty shatters and secrets entwine. As Katarina navigates a treacherous maze of mafia ties and occult shadows, she must confront her haunting past to forge her own fate.

In the bleak midnight of soulless men, where whispers of dread stir again, lies a covenant sealed in shadow’s embrace, A macabre dance of power and disgrace.

The Summoner calls, with voice so sly, invoking evil that never may die, from depths unknown, beneath the veiled sky, where innocence is lost and the damned shall cry.

“Come forth, come forth,” the dark ones plead, To the monster they feed, on which they greed, with silver and gold, they buy their fame, In the currency of souls, they stake their claim.

The girls, mere shadows under his thrall, led astray by promises, into the abyss they fall, To the beast, the fiend, that collects their breath, The Summoner delivers, agent of death. Who is the monster, who is the man? Both play their parts, as since time began, In the labyrinth of evil, twisted and stark, The heart of a man grows ever dark.

Beneath the cloak of night’s cold swell, the deeds unfold, too heinous to tell, and as they chant for Satan’s cruel reign, It’s they who are monsters, in humanity’s bane.

In this mire of sin, where the lost souls dwell, The Summoner and the beast in darkness gel, one conjures evil, the other, consumes, Together they weave mankind’s dire dooms.

So ponder, dear reader, as you step into the abyss,

Between the summoner and the demon, whose grip is amiss?

For in the depths of this tangled spell, Lies a truth far darker than words dare to tell. In every heart, where shadows creep,

The seeds of destruction run bitter and deep.

Chapter Two: The Fire Within—Katarina—Prologue

Life was goldened up until the age of six. I was this ball of energy, always on the move. Even then, I could feel this undercurrent of tension—like a silent storm brewing between my mom and my aunts, my dad’s sisters. They were the ones who chose to stand by my mom after I came into the picture. Although American, they held Brazilian citizenship, too, blurring the lines of where our loyalties supposedly lie.

I grew up as the poster child for happiness, living those carefree, sun-drenched days to the fullest—well, at least until I hit the ripe old age of six. My memories are splashed with vivid colors from summers spent at my aunts’ place in Cabo Frio, Brazil. I adored their pool, the friendly neighbors, and the sheer freedom of pedaling my bike down winding streets, exploring, running wild, and soaking up the sheer joy of just being a kid.

As for my dad, well, my mom kept her lips sealed tight about him. Bits and pieces slipped through the cracks—like the fact he was American—but whenever his name came up, the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Let’s just say my folks weren’t exactly poster children for responsible adulthood. They weren’t young, but, man, they hadn’t quite figured out life, leaving me to shoulder the fallout.

Mom? She did her best…until, suddenly, she didn’t. To be fair, slapping a label on her as either a “good” or “bad” mom felt like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. I was just a kid, after all—hardly qualified to pass judgment on her parenting chops.

At six, it hit me like a lightning bolt: I was pretty much navigating life solo. My home base was with my mom, sure, but she was always wrapped up in her latest romance, none of whom were exactly prize catches. She was on a quest, you see, hunting for that sense of belonging she figured could only come from a partner. Now, I’m not about throwing shade at her life choices, but even through my kid-lens, it seemed like a shaky foundation for bringing up a youngster.

I look back now and realize how much my mother’s trauma with my father shaped our relationship. She saw too much of him in me, and that made her pull away, almost as if she wished I wasn’t there at all. So I moved to my aunts’ house. Don’t get me wrong—I had access to everything, the best of the best, more opportunities than I could count. But being like me meant I had to constantly prove I wasn’t my mother, drunk and distant, and definitely not my father, whoever he really was. All I knew was that he was someone I should never aspire to be.

I push myself to the limits, desperate to be loved, but the love I find is always conditional. It’s the kind of love that only exists if I follow the rules—be a good girl, stay quiet, smile, stay skinny. I spend too much of my life trying to be all those things, and the pressure takes a toll on my mind. We’re not made to push ourselves to the point of exhaustion, but I’m challenged to do just that—never rest, always focus, be perfect, and make sure no one ever knows how I truly feel. It’s one of the worst choices I could ever make.

As a teenager, that insecurity was like a fire in my chest, burning so fiercely that I could barely think of anything else. I wanted so desperately to be wanted, to be loved. That desire consumed me, driving me to make decisions that I can hardly believe now. One day, in the throes of self-loathing and desperation, I did the unthinkable—I started to purge. At first, it felt like I had discovered a secret weapon, a way to finally take control of my life. But what I didn’t realize was that this so-called control was just an illusion, a mirage that would lead me deeper into the desert of self-destruction.