Broken: Twisted Souls, #1

By Jade Swallow

She's a serial killer on a mission, and he's her next target. But things get complicated when she begins falling for him...

Grace

The day I turned eighteen, my life changed. Taken hostage by my mother's kidnapper, I'm forced to carry out a series of planned murders for a psychotic billionaire. My job is simple—kill three men in exchange for my mother's freedom.

It was easy until I met him.

Alex Carter is a rich playboy with the face of an angel. He also happens to be my next target and the ticket to my freedom. It was supposed to be a straightforward kill, except, the closer we get, the more I crave him. He isn't like the manipulative men in my life. Every time I try to push him away, he comes closer, slipping through the cracks of my broken soul, until he's made it deep into my heart.

I want to keep going even though I know that this forbidden attraction could destroy my life.

I can't like him. I can't want him.

Because there is only one way this can end—in this death.

Alex

I knew she was the one the moment I saw her.

Grace Anderson is sexy as hell, but it is her hidden darkness that haunts me. When I find her sneaking around my room one evening, I seize the opportunity to ask her out.

Soon, we're steaming up the campus, raising the temperature of every room we enter. But as we get closer, I realize that she's not what she seems. There are deep scars on her soul, hidden depths in her personality that pull me in despite my better judgment.

I want to keep her, protect her, love her. Except, there are things she doesn't know about me. She doesn't know that my friends' mysterious deaths weren't an accident, she doesn't know that I'm looking into it, and she doesn't know that someone is trying to kill me.

And I might be closer to my killer than I think.

Broken is Book 1 in the Twisted Souls Trilogy and ends on a cliffhanger. It is a suspenseful instalove NA erotic romance with more steam than plot. If you like scorchingly hot books with a hint of darkness, one-click to go on this hot, wild ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.S Publishing
• Release date: May 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224652747

Jade Swallow

Author of steamy, age gap romances. Loves reading and writing about all kinks.

Book preview

ONE

GRACE

The best part about killing a drug addict is that you don’t have to hide the weapon. 

It’s 2 am. I’m standing outside Room No. 23 of Club Inferno, adjusting my employee name tag that reads: Grace Anderson. 

My phone pulses in my back pocket like a ticking time bomb. I know he’s watching me. Studying my every move. Making sure I don’t back out. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here, committing these murders. But I must do this for the sake of my mother. Only I can make sure she lives. 

Pink and blue lights rain down on my determined face, sliding over the black vest that’s part of my employee uniform. I have packets of powdered meth—Harry’s favorite drug— on a tray. It took me a few months to earn the nightclub owner’s trust, but my hard work has finally paid off. He’s trusted me with his precious VIP client.  

I tap on the door gently before swinging it open. I know that it is empty except for my target because I watched his friends leave through the CCTV footage that Peter, my friend, hacked. There are a few drunk people moving around the hallway, but the camera pointing at my face has been scrambled. 

I step in confidently, ignoring the thudding of my heart.

Murder is a lot like performing on stage. The nerves never go away. Singers who tell you they don’t get stage fright are lying. For as long as you perform, fear is inevitable. I didn’t kill three people because I was fearless. I killed them because I practiced and prepared well. And because I knew it had to be done. 

Good evening, sir. I carry the silver tray to Harry’s table. He is alone tonight, as I knew he’d be. His best friend, Royce, was here a few minutes ago, drinking with a few girls he brought from college. Once he managed to get one of them drunk, he left with her. 

Who…are you? Never seen you around before. Harry Compton Jr. glances at me through his hollow, green eyes, trying to remember where he has seen me. He hasn’t. I hide my tracks well. 

His blond hair is a mess, his face paper thin, his eyes dark and hollow thanks to all the drugs he’d been doing. The meth might be keeping him alive, but he looks like a zombie. 

When I signed up to be part of Mr. X’s revenge plan, I didn’t think about anything except my mother. My ill, ailing mother who had vanished the night after my stepfather’s death.  

Then, he called me— her kidnapper and my master. I heard her voice begging me to save her. I tried to reach out, but he took the phone away and said I wouldn’t be able to see her again until I did something for him. 

Three murders. That was his price. 

He knew how sick my mother was, how messed up my family was, and how desperate all that made me. He took me hostage and tortured me until I agreed to his sick scheme. I fought, I cried, but in the end, I made my choice. 

Once you’re done, I’ll give you enough money to pay for your mother’s treatment. But if you fail, you’ll never see her again, he told me the day he let me out. 

That’s why I’m here. To make sure she lives. As a bonus, Mr. X will put me through college. I don’t know who he is, but I know what he wants. Three deaths. Three boys whose fathers owe him a blood debt. And, he wants me to make those deaths look like an accident, so that I can go to college when this is done, not prison. What’s worse, I must use my real name, not a fake identity. It’s a risky endeavor, and he knows it, which is why I must be perfect. 

I am new. I just started…it’s been a few weeks. My scalp itches with sweat, but I ignore it, focusing on the rhythmic pounding of my heart. Harry reaches for the packets and begins bumping meth, ignoring my monologue on my employment history. 

Whatever. He brushes his fingers carelessly, as he takes what I brought him. I pour him a glass of alcohol, helping him wash it down. 

A giddy sense of excitement travels up my spine when he swallows. He’s chasing the high that is going to get him killed. I did my research on him before I came up with my plan. A well-known drug abuser, Harry’s meth addiction has daddy dearest spending millions trying to hush up his son’s vice. Nobody is going to be surprised when he dies of a drug overdose. Maybe his family will even be relieved. They’ll just think he bumped some low-quality meth at a party. I know the pretentious Harry Compton Sr. will do anything to make sure his son’s name stays out of the papers, including burying the whole truth. Which means, I’m going to get away with all of this. 

The drug sinks into Harry’s system, acting speedily. His lethargic, irritable form turns energetic, but not for too long. I quickly move to his side and pour more alcohol into his empty glass. He drinks it up, moving my plan along nicely. 

Harry likes the intense high meth gives him, how it makes him feel powerful and invincible when he’s just a spineless coward. 

Horrible flashbacks from the past hit me hard, taking over my composed mind.

The sound of tires skidding. The sound of glass breaking. My mother’s shrieks. Her bruises. 

She lived a hard life, trying to protect me from my volatile stepdad. I thought it’d never end until I came home one night to find him passed out. Dead from suicide. 

I thought my nightmare was over, but then I discovered Mom was gone. 

That was when he came to me. He knew who I was, and what I was capable of.

Give me three years of your life in exchange for your mother’s, he said. I’ll make it worth your while. 

I had no choice. I was eighteen, an adult by society’s standards, but really only a child. My conscience couldn’t bear the guilt of losing my mother too. Mom had lived a hard life, working day and night, and putting up with an abusive husband. She deserved some peace and comfort. I wanted her far away from the villain who had kidnapped her. The thing was, I had no idea where she was. I tried to find her, but it was like she’d been wiped off the face of the earth. I knew absolutely nothing about Mr. X except what he wanted. 

In the end, I took on his mad revenge plan, determined to find my mom. Being close to him was the only way to get clues. Every once in a while, he’d show me mom’s face. She didn’t have any bruises, but she’d lost weight. The thought of him starving her made me angry, but I was going to find him someday. He’d be my final victim. He just didn’t know it yet. 

That’s why I remain still as I watch Harry choke down the toxic Fentanyl-alcohol cocktail that I’ve created with such care. He moves around restlessly, awaiting the high that he so badly craves. Too bad, I have other things planned for tonight. 

He begins to pace, movements growing excited. The drug must be working. However, before the high hits, the poison does. Harry sinks to his knees, foaming at the mouth.

Wh-at is…going on? 

I watch wordlessly as my target chokes on his Fentanyl-alcohol cocktail. All are very mainstream and above board. No carving out body parts, crazy kidnappings, or radioactive poisons. Just another accidental drug overdose in the big city. I put a lot of thought into this one and decided to go with the easiest method at the end. As Leonardo da Vinci says: Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication. 

His glassy eyes turn to me violently as he grips the red, tufted couch, trying to stand up. But his body is working against him. 

You… His fingers grip the edge of the low table, trying to rise. Get someone! Call 911 right now! 

Sorry, sir, I can’t do that. I remain standing where I am. 

I breathe in and out, making all this feel as natural as possible. 

Harry Compton Jr. is the third person I’ve ever killed. But he won’t be the last. I’ve spent years planning his death, months preparing for it, and the climax is here, at last. There’s no way I’m ruining it. Watching them die is the best part. I might be doing this to save my mother, but there’s a sick, twisted part of me that derives pleasure from hurting someone. A little part that enjoys the power I have over someone else. 

He glares at the ceiling, trying to figure out if someone else is watching us. There are no CCTV cameras in the private rooms because nobody wants footage of themselves breaking ten different laws in the span of five minutes. 

After a little more thrashing around and screaming, Harry seems to catch on. 

Who the fucking hell are you and what did you do to me? A roar rips through the soundproof room. He’s screaming, his claws lunging for my clothing. I take a step away, evading his grasp. 

Looks like the meth isn’t working.

This isn’t meth. You did this! You put something into it! He hisses. Tell me what you did to me right fucking now! 

If I were you, I’d save my energy. My voice is hollow and low. 

What? You know me, don’t you? He blinks. How?  

There are a lot of things I know, Harry. I maintain a safe distance from him, watching him writhe like a worm, his mouth foaming. For example, I know that a nightclub employee last year didn’t die of an accidental overdose. And I know your father isn’t the upstanding businessman he pretends to be.

His spasms grow more violent, eyes bulging from their sockets. His thin frame appears almost skeletal, dressed in a designer tee and leather jacket. I don’t go near him or touch him. I am going to have to clean up this mess, anyway. 

The thudding beat of EDM bleeds into the walls. 

But you got away with that, didn’t you?

I wrote this script on my way here. Maybe I should be kind and tell him why he’s dying, but I can’t afford to tell my victims the truth. Mr. X has strictly warned me against it if I want to stay out of prison. 

Harry’s pallid eyelids swell to bursting, his helpless fingers reaching out in vanity. 

Goodbye. 

His responses grow slower. He mumbles a few more pointless words before his body deserts him. I’m there to witness it all—every second of his downfall. 

He stops struggling. His hand falls still over the red tufted couch, his face landing on velvet. 

Harry goes out like a candle on a stormy night. 

With even breaths, I glimpse his limp form lying on the couch. 

It’s so quiet. So peaceful. Complete. 

This must be how performers feel after a successful concert—jubilant. On an ecstatic high no drug can ever produce. Drowning in a silent space that lies beyond the thundering applause. 

The