Dark Romance. ✅ HEA. ✅ Standalone. ✅
Age-Gap Romance. ✅ Captive Romance. ✅ Jynx Monroe? Oh. Ya. ✅


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I wrote the ad to get attention. 

I wanted a hot topic for my paper.

I needed to stand out in the crowd.

A few months later, he showed up.

I may have gotten more than I bargained for.

Because in my fantasy, I never thought he’d stay.

A Dark Romance, Kailee Reese Samuels’ Beautiful Things Evil People Do, is a full length, standalone with a happily ever after. Recommended for mature readers 18+, not suitable for people sensitive on hard to read dark themes. BTEPD is about meeting challenges head on, finding fearless courage within, and embracing love wherever it may lead.


Here is an excerpt I first published in Pen Douglas’ FB Group for the Devil’s Night Party. If you haven’t read it, enjoy!

Chapter 9 The Battlefield

Darkness cloaks the shed as souls slumber without regret. No need to pay attention; look the other way. No want to forgive. No desire left untouched.

His unapologetic nature festers, inherent in his sins.

I uncurl my fingers on the dusty floor as my eyes peer open, just a sliver, a minimalist peek. Filthy clothes enshroud my skin, bruised by his achievements. Owls hoot in the woods, where I long to be, running away—leaves and twigs skirting under bare feet, chilly water rushing in a creek, and no recollection of what happened.

I will forget, if granted—an escape.

Never to look back.

I make deals with God, the Devil, and Saints—

Please save me.

Get me out of this.

I am far too young to die.

The dank and musty dwelling reeks of mildew in a dampened closet. I linger with an unappealing odor. The rusted chains scrape along the crumbling cement floor where he keeps me…treats me…like a wild animal—untamed and savage.

The moonlight catches my eye as the rickety door cracks open. Time to slop his swine trapped within his cage. He notices the untouched lunch tray on the shoddy wooden table as he brings in dinner.

“You didn’t eat,” he mutters, lifting the lid. “You must eat.”

His five-star meals don’t matter when the only place I can rest my head is the floor. “I need a bed.”

He snickers, walking closer and squatting down. His fingers move my straw-like hair from my eyes. “Are we negotiating, pretty girl?”

“Whatever makes you happy.”

“You eating and drinking are my chief concerns,” he says, sitting cross-legged on the ground. I notice his knee, near my nose, and the frays of denim. I have avoided my captor. I don’t want to know how heinous he must be. I want to forget, not remember. Freedom would bring immediate compulsory amnesia, self-induced.

Never to look back.

I study his overpriced ripped jeans and black concert t-shirt from the eighties. In the shadows of the moon, I marvel at his strong jawline, cerulean eyes, and curly chocolate mop. He grins.

The bastard grins.

Straight white teeth, clearly cared for with appointments to dentists and orthodontists. His crisp, clean scent speaks of aromatic woods and musk. “You have money.”

“If you want to know whether a ransom would release you, the answer would be no.”

“What will?”

“Time,” he rapidly replies, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “With you.” I spot an expensive watch with a silver band. “That is the only way you are getting out of this.”

“I need some guarantee that I am not dying.”

His lip twitches. “… Is that all you care about?”

A laugh erupts from my mouth. “Pretty much. Will I get out of this alive, or are you some sociopathic killer?”

His hand drops, and I jolt away, afraid of what his touch will bring. Grazing the back of his fingers over my cheek, he whispers, “I promise one thing—you will live.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I am not a murderer.”

I make a bold assumption. “Rapist?”

He smiles again.

I wish he would stop doing that, gloating like he has the upper hand, which he does. But I am offended, insulted by the idea. “There are worse things in the world than rapists.”

“Like crazy guys who chain up women like beasts,” I scoff as he firmly vices my cheeks between his forefinger and thumb, forcing me to look at him.

“Like sadists.”

My breath quickens. “You’re going to torture me?”

“Does the idea turn you on?”

“No!” I spit, nailing his cheekbone. He releases his grip and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. Spreading the fabric flat, near my face, he removes his watch before running his finger through the spittle, smearing it onto his tongue. His eyes close as he savors my saliva. “You’re…” I stop, unable to form a coherent thought.

“I’m what?” he snorts. “Tell me. Because I’ve heard it all before. Twisted? Maniacal? Deranged?” His brow arches with a suggestive innuendo. “Tell me how you feel because you’re lying.”

“I want a bed!”

He rolls his eyes and smirks. “If I bring you a bed, will you eat?”

It’s a taste of power—raw and alluring. I haven’t lost, and he hasn’t declared victory. His willingness to bargain is akin to swapping secrets on the playing field. He’s rigging the outcome to his favor, assisting my moves, benefitting his long-term strategy, and yet, I whisper, “You want the challenge.”

“It’s part of the fun,” he cackles, peering over me. “But eventually, you will need upkeep.”

“How long will my abduction last?”

“Over the summer,” he informs, dropping clues. “You start school in the fall. I won’t hold you back from your education.”

“Is this your idea of a hot summer romance?”

He licks his lips and smirks. “I don’t romance.”

I sass, “… Fling?”

He chuckles. “Unlikely.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you asked for it,” he informs. “You deserve this. You earned it. Good job!”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You’ll be calling me far worse by August.” He leans over and kisses the top of my head before standing up. I latch onto his sneaker and blink, hoping to play into his perversion. “You should pray you’re in the house by then. The cottonmouths are thick out here.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m not surprised,” he remarks. “Nor do I care. You’re being punished whether you like it or not.”

“I’ll give you head,” I randomly blurt out. “You can have your way with me.”

“I plan on it, honey,” he mutters, staring at me. “But we’re doing this my way. You should be patient. Slow…methodical…disciplined…until you know better than to do what you did. Until you learn that sometimes the serpents in the grass bite back with an intoxicating venom.”

I sniffle as tears flutter in my lashes. “I never wanted this.”

“You did,” he growls, rummaging in the darkness of my soul like a thief. “You asked for this.”

Taking a breath, I toughen my resolve. “What do I have to do to go inside of the house?”

“Prove you’re not feral,” he growls. He is unmoved by my desperation to please—in whatever way he demands.

“What do you want from me?”

A simper lifts from his lips. “It’s not what I want from you. It’s what I am taking…not stealing. I am only borrowing you.”

“For your own selfish needs!” I shout angrily. “Dick!”

“Is that the best you have?” he rebukes as I am unable to avert my eyes from his bold intimidating arrogance. It would greatly help my plight if he were gnarly and jagged-toothed. The difference in behavior versus physical appearance is outstandingly deviant—a deceptive lure I am confident he has used before.

“Do you have a name?”

“Not one you have earned the right to know. If you want these things, you need to behave. Now, release my foot.” I reluctantly let go and clutch my stained fingers around the watch band. I press the cold, hardened steel to my lips and a wave of his scent hits my nose. “Eat,” he commands, pulling the journal out from under the platter. “And write. Document it. All of it.”

Rolling onto my back, I gawk, upside down, at his lean, well-kept physique. He isn’t some podunk nightmare or an uneducated disaster, but a monster to remembera man never to forgetShit. I will never get him out of my head. My lips part as I defiantly hiss, “You’re giving me what you think I want in a fucked-up fairytale.”

“Not at all,” he calmly growls. “I’m giving you more than you ever bargained for—to teach you a lesson.”

“If I pass your test, will I go unharmed, Professor?”

“Do no harm doesn’t exist in my vernacular.”

© 2020 by Kailee Reese Samuels

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