Kiera_Obsidian07

"My life was red... until him" - Sloane Kingston

They took too much from me and left me for dead. They should have made sure I stayed that way.

I have trained too long and too hard to stop now. But I never saw him coming. And now, I can't let him go.

Christian Allister is the star that my dark, depraved soul craves. He keeps me from succumbing to the darkness.

Revenge is best served cold, and I am here to collect the debts owed to me.

The whole world is searching for a 'monster' on a killing spree, not a girl hopelessly falling for a man.

They will never see me coming until my nails are plunged into the hearts of every name on my list.

But will Christian ever believe me, the girl thought dead by the world, when he finds out my secret?

Author: Hello everyone! Let's dive deeper in the story and find out what will happen in this story of Sloane and Christian when Sloane will find out that Christian is former FBI agent and has to return to solve the murder cases. Murders attempted my her!

Trigger Warnings: This book contains violent scenes, mentions of sexual harassment, murders. Read on your own risk.

This book also contains mature scenes. Only 18+  allowed. I will mention the chapter names with [M].

Dedication:- This is for the ones who lost their voice. This is for the ones who wish they could be Sloane Kingston. This is for the ones who fight every single day to forget. You’re not alone.

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Humbly,

~Kiera

Sin: Return of Sloane Kingston

Let me know which stars you prefer. The ones above you, or the ones I make you see.

My heart raced as Christian's fingers deftly chopped vegetables on the kitchen island. Who knew he could do so much with his fingers? I tried to shake my head, banishing memories of our time in bed. As if he knew what I was thinking, he smirked at me, and my blush deepened.

The rhythmic thud of the knife against the wooden board echoed through the room, a counterpoint to the sizzle of garlic in the pan. The scent of sautéed onions and herbs filled the air, intoxicating and heady.

Christian's broad shoulders flexed as he moved. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and a bead of sweat trailed down the side of his neck. I couldn't tear my gaze away. Christian was a masterpiece—a dangerous one, like a priceless painting hanging in a dimly lit gallery.

Cooking