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Out of her six siblings, Sienna-Rose Watson has it the worst. She’s always getting in trouble with her controlling mother and abusive father. So, she’s working two jobs, trying to earn enough to escape her toxic home. Damien Black is a mafia king and a ruthless monster. When he sees Sienna-Rose, he knows he has to have her. She looks like an angel, and he might just be the actual devil… But could it somehow be a match made in Heaven?

Age Rating: 18+ (Domestic abuse, Violence, Graphic Sex)

Warning: this book contains material that may be considered upsetting or disturbing.Reader discretion is advised.

Note: This story is the author’s original version and does not have sound.

 

Him & I by Marie Rose is now available to read on the Galatea app! Read the first two chapters below, or download Galatea for the full experience.

 


 

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Read the full uncensored books on the Galatea iOS app!

1

Summary

Out of her six siblings, Sienna-Rose Watson has it the worst. She’s always getting in trouble with her controlling mother and abusive father. So, she’s working two jobs, trying to earn enough to escape her toxic home. Damien Black is a mafia king and a ruthless monster. When he sees Sienna-Rose, he knows he has to have her. She looks like an angel, and he might just be the actual devil… But could it somehow be a match made in Heaven?

Age Rating: 18+ (Domestic abuse, Violence, Graphic Sex)

Warning: this book contains material that may be considered upsetting or disturbing.Reader discretion is advised.

Original Author: Marie Rose

Note: This story is the author's original version and does not have sound.

SIENNA-ROSE

In a little two-story house at the end of Dretton Avenue on the poorer side of London lived a family of eight. It was a small house with four bedrooms, one of which belonged to my older brother Olson.

He is twenty-one years old and still depends on Mother Dearest for everything. He never really did have the determination and drive to make a name for himself, but I guess some people are different.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with still living at home once you’ve hit that age, but he’s not exactly dripping with common sense when it comes to knowing the basics of living alone.

He still expects everyone else to run around after him cleaning his messes and making sure that he has everything he needs, but when I say everyone, I specifically mean me.

Next room in the house, across the hall, belongs to my little sister, Eloise, or Ellie as she likes to go by. She’s as difficult as they come.

I don’t mean the whole boy-crazy difficult; I mean the “who gets whatever she wants, when she wants” bratty difficult. She’s fifteen and has never had to work hard for anything in her life.

Both our parents will gladly break their own backs to give her whatever she wants, which is a huge indicator that she is the preferred daughter out of the two of us.

I would say I didn’t mind, that no matter what my parents thought I was happy with who I was and did not need their approval, but I would be lying.

Then next to Ellie is Michael. He’s a very reserved kid, incredibly quiet for a twelve-year-old. He was never great when it came to speaking to others, but I guess the mystery behind him makes him a social favorite around here.

It’s rare to catch him leaving the house unless he’s going to school or getting himself into trouble with his delinquent friends.

He’s probably worse than Ellie when it comes to causing trouble, and getting on his bad side is like willingly giving your soul to the darkest of evil to be used as a sparring tool.

He could probably raise hell for anyone who disagreed with him, and I guess that’s the privilege of being our father’s favorite.

In the fourth bedroom, and by far the biggest, are the king and queen of hell themselves, my parents.

The monsters that will forever haunt me in the darkest shadows of my mind, reminding me that those who are supposed to love and protect you can be the ones to destroy you.

Avoiding any sort of confrontation with them both is the safest option because they’re not exactly worthy of the “parents of the year award” when it comes to me.

My mother was a very caring lady once upon a time, always laughing through life with a smile on her face, but when I hit thirteen and my body started changing, so did she, but not for the better.

From that point I was raised to believe that I had to have the best of everything: clear skin and amazing hair with a model figure otherwise no man would want me, and it’s sad because there was a time in my life when I would believe her.

She would start controlling what I was eating, when I could eat, and how much I could eat. Half the time the meals were smaller than those of the youngest of the household. Her reasons being “A man will choose a skinny woman over a fat bitch every time.”

That was not the only thing she controlled—I had to stop hanging around with all my friends because they were, and I quote, “Not good enough for your image!”

The way I acted had to portray an image of pure innocence otherwise I would receive the worst punishment she could imagine. I tried to be myself once while my mother was not around, but as soon as I got home, I knew I had made a mistake.

She knew and she was not going to hold back with this punishment. I still have a strip of skin a couple shades lighter on my shoulder as a reminder of the consequences to my actions.

Let’s not forget about my father. He had always been a man of extraordinarily little words but when he did speak you’d soon wish he didn’t.

Every word that came out of his mouth was insulting and degrading—well, for me anyway. I tried not to blame him for that though growing up, because he is an addict and has been battling alcoholism for as long as I can remember.

I know that it’s his fault for turning to those alternatives for his problems, but he’s my father and some part of me will always love him despite the mistakes he’s made.

When I was fourteen, an even darker setting decided to present itself to the Watson household. It was the first day I watched my father strike my mother out of anger and jealousy. This started to become a regular thing as time went on.

Some part of my father is too dark, too violent for this world, and some part of me thinks my mother knows this.

She would never stand up to my father; it might be out of fear, or delusion that maybe he would change, but I would never be able to forgive her for that.

When my father would go into a frenzy, I would try to make sure that my siblings were elsewhere, but everything has its consequences.

I was caught sneaking around the second floor one day after making sure that the babies were safe and that was when the title of my father’s victim changed from my mother to me.

The last two members of the household are Dianna and Emma, the youngest Watson kids.

With Dianna only being eighteen months old and Emma being three months they stayed in my parents’ room. Not that I was comfortable with it, but baby monitors can come in handy with situations like these.

I love those babies like they’re my own, this might just be because I am practically raising them both while my parents are off doing who-knows-what somewhere in the city.

They were the only good things in this house and I was dreading the day that our parents managed to dig their claws into them, corrupting and shaping them into people like them and my siblings.

Living in the Watson household is not easy, especially for me.

I work two jobs to help support my day-to-day needs, like food and clothing, while also making sure that Dianna and Emma have everything they need after my father wastes all our income on his addiction that seems to grow every day.

My bedroom is not like the others; it is at the very top of the house because that is the only place they were willing to put me once everyone else chose their rooms.

There was a draft making a cold chill run down my spine and if it starts raining, I must squeeze myself into a little corner of the attic where I have bundles of old clothes and blankets to avoid the patches where the tiling has been disturbed and pray that it will be over soon so that I don’t get sick.

There’s not much that I own because it’s either too much to bring into the confined space or I simply do not need it. I have a set of drawers for all my clothes, a low bedframe bed that I bought with my first paycheck, and an alarm clock.

I hardly spend time at home anyway, so I didn’t see the need in decorating the room with little trinkets and whatever else people use to make it their own.

I work at a little café called Café L’Amour Monday to Friday every week. This is normally from 9 a.m. till 6 p.m., however on the days where the café is not too busy, I could probably get away with leaving an hour or so earlier.

Then on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and the weekend I work at Club Luminous as a bartender and a server for the VIP rooms when needed. That’s from 7 p.m. till 5 a.m. on a good day, so I’m pretty much constantly busy.

The changeover in uniform is simple too because I get to wear my own clothes while at the café so I can go straight to the club without looking too “out of place” while walking there.

However, the outfit that we are required to wear while at the club is mortifying. It’s a leather top that looks more like a sports bra with a zip at the front, and a short skirt to match that only just covers the butt, and fishnet tights.

There’s a lot of skin on show, but my manager says that it will bring in more customers, which increases business. People in the neighborhood always said that my manager, Marcus Filton, was a pig who always had his eyes on women too young for him.

I never believed them until I started working there a few months back. Whenever I’m on shift, I can always feel his eyes glued to my ass.

I bite my tongue for the sole reason that I needed the job and confronting my manager about his perverted tendencies was not the way to keep it.

I am personally not comfortable with the uniform because my stomach is on full display, as well as my thighs, but most of the women I work with seem confident in their outfits.

I have always been conscious of both my thighs and stomach because I am not exactly stick-thin.

I am more curvaceous, so my thighs are bigger than most of the girls I work with, meaning my hips are wider as well to accommodate my rounder butt, which is barely covered by the material of the skirt, but I manage to make it work, somehow.

When it comes to shoes Marcus is awfully specific in what we can and cannot wear and how high the heels must be. I chose to wear black six-inch stiletto heels because they were probably the comfiest option in my opinion.

I would not want to wear the thigh-high boots and bring even more attention to the areas I am least comfortable with, but everyone has their own preference.

I don’t necessarily hate this job but there have been quite a few incidents where I have had to call over one of the bouncers because of a drunk guy getting too handsy while I was serving their table.

Some people just do not understand the concept of being told no. No means no; it’s not me playing hard to get or trying to make it seem like I’m too good for them, so they need to dig of their head out of their arse and sort themselves out.

That brings us to the present moment. It’s currently 3 a.m. on a Tuesday and I cannot seem to fall asleep. My mind has been going haywire with all the stress mentally and physically that I am put under daily.

I lie and watch as time slowly ticks by on my alarm clock at the side of the bed and finally accept the fact that it will be another sleepless night.

I am beginning to get used to functioning with the lack of sleep I get on days like these, but I am glad that it’s a Tuesday and not a day that I need to work at both the café and club because there’s nothing worse than working back-to-back shifts with zero sleep.

I have done it a few times but by the time I make it to the club I am too tired to care about the service I provide, leading to a couple vulgar gestures to a few old, perverted men without thinking of the consequences.

So then tips are not as hefty, and I am left short on bus fare for the next day or two.

When the clock shows 7:02 a.m. I am already awake and getting ready to start my shift at the café.

The walk is only twenty minutes from my house, so it’s not extremely far, but I liked to get there early to greet Sophie Hernandez, my boss and the sweetest woman on the face of the earth.

She has basically been a mother figure to me, making sure that I eat in the mornings even if it’s something as small as a pastry from the shelf because I’m “too thin for a growing woman.”

But I disagree. I believe that my figure is too big for a female of my age and height. Being a five-foot-four nineteen-year-old is all fun and games unless your body shape is like mine and you begin to resemble a walking, talking pear.

As my shift began, I started to stock up the pastry display, only to be reminded of the pain in my lower back and wrists from my father the evening before.

The scene replayed in the back of my mind almost on command.

The force of my back meeting the wall was enough to make my legs shake and knock the air out of my lungs.

My wrists were trapped in his tight grasp, locked between his hands and the wall so that I could not move them while he screamed in my face and repeatedly kneed my stomach for added affect. I was completely at his disposal.

My heart was racing and everything inside me screamed to run and hide. My father never let a pattern show so I could never truly see his next move coming, but even if I could, the chances of being able to block it were close to none.

Some days he just kicked me around a bit but today was not one of those days.

After being thrown across the hall into the corner of the dining table, a sharp pain in my lower back spread up my spinal cord, making me feel light-headed and nauseated.

This would go on for another few hours.

The memory will forever be engraved but it’s not always a bad thing; it shows my strength, that I can withstand something terrible and still have the will to carry on and see another sunrise.

Shoved back into the present reality, I glanced down to the growing injury. I was sporting nice bruises on both of my wrists, and maybe even a fracture in my left wrist considering the darkness in color compared to the right one.

Too late to cover them now. I’d just have to keep my hands in my apron pockets so not to look too conspicuous.

Just then the bell above the door chimed alerting the whole place that someone had arrived.

“Would you mind serving these people while I finish up out the back, sweetie?” Sophie was always so polite even when she’s under pressure. It truly baffled my brain how she could stay so calm and collected while trying to run this place.

“Of course, Sophie, already on it.” I made my way from the storeroom to the front, only to be met with the most enticing eyes I had ever seen, an electrifying shade of pool blue eyes staring straight into my pale green.

Just like the beauty of his eyes he had a face to match.

Dark black hair, only just long enough to run his fingers through, high cheekbones to accompany the strong jawline with a generically defined nose to pull it all together.

He didn’t look much older than me, but the way he carried himself was very mature and probably seen as intimidating to others around him. He was what I would classify as pure perfection.

As I slowly made my way over to the handsome stranger, I couldn’t help but notice the difference in our heights. From my first guess I would say he was around six foot three, maybe four, and he was pulling it off.

He wasn’t a lanky kind of tall, but he did have broad shoulders. A bulky guy who probably spent all his free time in the gym to maintain the pack of abs that were slightly showing from the white shirt he was wearing.

His long muscular legs were clad in black denim jeans, which were paired nicely with the shirt to give off the whole “I didn’t even try this morning, but you still need to respect me” vibe.

“How may I help you this morning, sir?” I was trying to keep it professional and not wonder over the god of a man standing in front of me with my eyes.

It was like the sound of my voice pulled the mysterious stranger out of his strange demeanor. With the shake of his head, I finally had a voice to match the looks.

“I’m here to see Sophie. Would you mind getting her for me, please?” With a quick nod of my head, I made my way into the kitchen out back and was met with Sophie covered in flour while fighting with what appeared to be cake batter.

Muffling my laugh, I decided to tell Sophie about the handsome stranger out front.

“Uhm, Sophie? There is a young man here to speak to you out front. Should I send him back here?”

With her attention now on me, she scurried past me without saying a word as if she was in a rush to see this guy. Like the thought of keeping him waiting was as terrifying as it comes.

Deciding to stay behind to give them their privacy, I walked over to the abandoned batter and began to work my way through it getting it ready to go in the oven.

I wondered what they were talking about.

 

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2

DAMIEN

The familiar ache in the back of my head brings back flashes from the night before.

I had some business to deal with at Club Luminous with that imbecile Marcus Filton, but truth be told I couldn’t remember what it was we were dealing with after a few scotches on the rocks were passed around.

I’m a committed man when it comes to my work, but it’s men like Filton who make my temper reach its limit.

He is arrogant and thinks that his money can solve all his problems, but his arrogance is going to come back and bite him in the ass hard.

People become so consumed with the feeling of power money can provide but once that power and luck runs out they are left defenseless with nothing to hide behind, like a baby lamb abandoned in a pack of wolves.

I was sitting in my regular VIP booth watching all the drunken antics around the club when a new added weight could be felt on my thighs.

I looked up at the mystery woman who had found herself perched on my lap, and I wasn’t necessarily blown away with what I was looking at.

She looked like your regular party girl: dyed blond hair and blue eyes, which, if I looked close enough, were probably contact lenses.

Her figure was average and looked like at least four other women in the room, but who was I to deprive a young woman like herself from her needs.

Now it is 7 a.m. on a Tuesday morning with another sharing my bed with half her body draped over my back. This isn’t exactly new for me but it’s always a hassle when it comes to sending them on their way.

Some decide that they’re something more and try to stick around long enough for breakfast while others are just plain batshit crazy and refuse to believe that it was a one-time thing.

Shoving her body off me as quick as I possibly could, probably rougher than I should have, I headed into the connected bathroom in the spare room to take a quick shower and get ready for the full day that I could already feel was going to happen.

After my quick shower, scrubbing the smell of alcohol and sex from my skin, and scrubbing my teeth clean, washing out the last of the taste from my mouth using my mouthwash just to reassure that there are no traces of the night before, I wrapped a towel round my waist and headed for the closet.

When I stepped out of my bathroom though I noticed that I wasn’t alone. Why can’t women just do the smart thing and make my morning easier by listening to me?

“What are you still doing here?” Now I know what you’re probably thinking, and yes, I do respect women, but only those who respect themselves.

Women like these who willingly go home with a random stranger just because he stood out from the rest shouldn’t get offended when being kicked out the next morning.

I am all for women wanting to have a good time but at least let the person buy you a drink first instead of jumping into their bed at the first opportunity.

“Hey, baby, last night was really good. Want me to cook you breakfast?” Rolling my eyes, I knew what I needed to do and the hassle it would cause after I said the next classic line.

“No offense, Abbie, but I don’t even remember last night. You were just a one-night thing, and I would rather that you didn’t make breakfast and leave before I come back out of that closet.”

Not even sparing her a glance, I turned around and made use of my time in throwing on a pair of black jeans and a white shirt but still put on some respectable shoes just so it looked like I put some effort into my appearance this morning.

Returning to the room, I couldn’t see any sign of her being here, so I took that as my chance to leave and head to my busy day at work that awaits me.

Walking to my four-car garage I decided to choose my all-time favorite drive; it’s a matte black Audi R8 Spyder and is the only love in my life.

The engine purred in greeting, and I welcomed the feeling of the soft hum of the engine before pulling out onto the road and starting my day.

Not even ten minutes into the drive, I got pulled out of my concentration by an obnoxious ring from my phone.

Glancing down at the screen I saw a message from Sophie.

Sophie
Come to the café on your way to work. We need to have a serious discussion!

I already knew it was going to be about the woman she probably saw leaving the spare room this morning. I can’t complain though. I love how she looks after me and wants what’s best for me, but I’m a grown man I can make my own choices.

Ten minutes later, I was parking my car at the side of the road, preparing myself for the lecture that’s about to be brutally served from Sophie.

It’s not that I’m scared to speak to her about it, it’s just that she always says the same thing.

“Damien, when are you going to stop sleeping around and find a nice young lady to settle down with? I can introduce you to someone if you like. I think you would really like this one. Plus, I want some babies crawling around the house before my time is up!”

Sophie was always a tad bit dramatic, but I loved her regardless. As the door to the café opened a ringing noise propelled through the building ready to alert any member of staff that there was a guest.

“Would you mind serving these people while I finish up out back, sweetie?” I heard my aunt yell from, I assume, the kitchen.

She was always back there either rearranging the shelves or perfecting a new recipe she came up with.

“Of course, Sophie, already on it.” That voice was music to my ears; it wasn’t too harsh, it was soft and airy and filled me with this new kind of warmth deep in my chest.

As soon as the angel’s voice disappeared, a woman walked out from the side storage room looking as angelic as her voice sounded.

She was stunning. I have seen plenty of women in my time but none of them was like the masterpiece in front of me. She protruded innocence and kindness with an overflowing essence.

I couldn’t describe the feeling that was running through my whole body; it was like a thousand sparks of electricity were flowing in my bloodstream and I couldn’t stop it, but in a strange messed-up way I knew I didn’t want to.

The slight movement in her left leg gave away that she was beginning to approach me.

I snapped out of my daze and looked at the green-eyed angel as she took precise steps toward me, looking like she was gliding more than walking, only adding on to the aura she released.

The closer she got the more I began to take her in. She couldn’t have been very tall, probably around five-four with curves in all the right places.

I hadn’t even spoken to this woman yet, but I was completely and utterly consumed by her.

The smaller the distance got between us the more I noticed she was wincing slightly every time she moved her torso.

I continued to check her over looking for any more indication of her being injured but found none apart from the faint bruising around the rim of her wrist poking out her apron.

“How may I help you this morning, sir?”

I soon realized that I was once again hypnotized by the walking goddess, and with a small shake of my head I released all the thoughts of the beauty in front of me and focused on why I was here in the first place.

“I’m here to see Sophie. Would you mind getting her for me please?” She quickly nodded her head and I watched as the brown-haired woman sauntered toward the kitchen and disappeared around the back out of view.

For some reason I felt like I just lost something that I needed inside, but I brushed off the feeling.

Not even five seconds later Sophie came running out of the back looking like the biggest mess I’ve ever seen.

“Sophie, you got a bit of something right here.” I made a hand movement as if I was brushing my face to emphasize the point that she wasn’t looking her best.

“Shut up, boy, you are going to kill me one of these days if you keep bringing home these skanks from your little rendezvous at the club. I mean really, Damien, I do not want to see a half-dressed female coming down the stairs first thing in the morning while I’m trying to eat my breakfast. It’s nauseating.”

I knew she was right but it’s who I am. In my line of work it is extremely hard to find and commit to one woman who will stand by my side while running my “business.”

It isn’t like I don’t want to find myself a loving woman to stand by my side who I can proudly show off to the world and shower with all the love and affection I could possess.

It’s just difficult bringing someone into this life because once they know they must sign a contract of silence. Breaking this is immediate death for betrayal to the Mafia and myself. How could I ever expect a woman to make that kind of commitment?

“Yes, Sophie, I’ll try and make sure that you don’t see them in the mornings, but I can’t guarantee that you will never have to see one. Anyway, who was that I was speaking to earlier?”

Her facial expression changed to one of a smile instead of the frown she had while previously lecturing me.

“That is Sienna-Rose Watson. She’s been working here for a while now, but she has another part-time job elsewhere. She is quite shy but hardworking. Why? Spotted something you like, Damien?”

Indeed, I had, but I knew that I would have to find out more about her first before I even considered getting involved with her.

Maybe the injuries had something to do with her shyness and the fact that she works two jobs. This girl was a mystery and I wanted to be the one to crack the code to her heart.

I didn’t bother entertaining my aunt with an answer and began walking away yelling a brief goodbye before leaving the building.

I got back into my car and began my drive to the gang house, deciding that the best person to get me information would be Cole; he has been my best friend since we can both remember.

I pulled up his contact and began dialing the number. On the second ring he picked up. “Diablo.” I know he is my best friend but during work hours he is expected to call me by my work name.

“Get me all the information possible on Sienna-Rose Watson, and bring it to my office ASAP.”

I ended the phone call and focused on getting to work on time to finish off my paperwork before going back to the club tonight to finish any business missed from the meeting last night.

Pulling up to the building where most of my responsibilities lie, I quickly began thinking of Sienna-Rose. What could that girl possibly be hiding?

I made my way into the elevator and pressed the top floor button. The top floor was allocated only to me, plus my other half when I find her. I walked to the last door on the right and entered the all-too-familiar office.

“Diablo, we got the information you requested.” I was shocked that Cole had already found the information and was waiting on me; it seemed a bit odd.

“There wasn’t much information. We dug up all we could, but her profile seemed to be locked and we couldn’t hack it either. She’s either a seriously guarded person or she’s involved with the wrong kind of people.”

I knew what he was saying was true but from the brief meeting we had she didn’t seem like the type of person to be in trouble, but then again you should never judge a person on their appearance.

“Thanks, Cole.” I opened the file, and it was basic information: Sienna-Rose Watson, nineteen years of age, five foot four inches, street address Dretton Avenue, child of Wayne Watson and Kristen Watson.

He was right; this isn’t the normal background information that would have been available to our servers. Sienna just became an even bigger mystery for me and a part of me wanted to solve it even more. I knew I wanted her, but I couldn’t figure out why.

“Cole, get the guys together. We are going to Club Luminous. I need to finish up business and then a distraction. Be ready by six.”

He exited my room, I presumed to tell the boys about tonight. As I sat there in the silence, I couldn’t help but stare at the case file in front of me.

I knew there was something missing; no one is this well guarded for no reason and I can promise that I will figure it out.

She is pulchritudinous and she is perfect for me. I know this feeling isn’t normal, but she is everything I ever wanted in a woman; she is hardworking yet reserved. I need to know more about her.

She will be mine.

Eventually.

 

Read the full uncensored books on the Galatea iOS app!

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Warning: this book contains material that may be considered upsetting of disturbibng. Reader discretion is advised.

Note: This story is the author’s original version and does not have sound.

Seeing Scarlett

Scarlett Evans is no ordinary vampire. Nick Dahlman is no ordinary vampire hunter. When Scarlett is pursued by the powerful leader of a local coven and Nick’s reckless younger brother goes missing, the pair—natural enemies—will be forced to rely on each other’s unique expertise if they hope to restore balance to their worlds. But along their quest from eerily innocent coffeehouses to remote castles with dark histories, it becomes abundantly clear that that same expertise has as much chance of getting them killed as keeping them alive…

Age Rating: 18+