BLURB:
I
came from a place of dirt floors and holy scriptures. They told me the world
outside is full of sin, and the first night I escape, I know it’s true. Ivan saves
me, but he does more than that. He takes me. He makes me his own girl.
My conditioning runs
too deep. Ivan sees what I am.
That’s the thing about
showing a mouse to a cat. He wants to play. And it’s terrifying, even for me.
Because the only thing darker than my past is his.
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Excerpt:
So far a city looks exactly how I thought it would—gutted
buildings and dark alleys.
A den of wickedness.
This morning I woke up on my floor mat in Harmony Hills.
Sunlight streamed through the window while dust rose up to meet it. The white
walls somehow kept their color despite rough dirt floors.
A desperate trek through the woods and a series of bus rides
later, I made it to a city. This city. Tanglewood. It could have been anywhere.
They’re all the same, all sinful, all scary—and the only thing that makes this
one special is that I ran out of money for bus tickets.
My shoes are made of white canvas, already fraying and black
from the grime of the streets. I made these shoes by hand when I turned twelve,
and the heel on the left side has never fit quite right. But the bamboo soles
lasted four years in the hills. Now they’re cracking against concrete. I can
feel every lump in the pavement, every loose rock, every rounded hump as the
sidewalk turns to cobblestone and then back again.
That’s not the worst part.
There’s someone following me. Maybe more than one person. I
try to listen for the footsteps, but it’s hard to hear over the pounding in my
ears, the thud of my heart against my chest. Panic is a tangible force in my
head, a gritty quicksand that threatens to pull me down.
I could end up on my knees before this night is over.
But I don’t think I’ll be saying my evening prayers.
Men are standing outside a gate that hangs open on its
hinges. They fall silent as I walk close. I tighten my arms where they are
folded over my chest and look down. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me. It
wasn’t true when I was little, and it’s not true now.
One of them steps in front of me.
My breath catches, and I stop walking. My whole body is
trembling by the time I meet his eyes, bloodshot red in a shadowed face.
“What’s your name?” he asks in a gravelly voice.
I jerk my head. No.
“Now that’s not very polite, is it?” Another one steps
closer, and then I smell him. They couldn’t have showered in the past day or even
week.
Cleanliness is a virtue.
Being quiet and obedient and small is a virtue too. “I’m
sorry. I just want to—”
I don’t know what comes next. I want to run. I want to hide.
I want to pretend the past fifteen years as a disciple of the Harmony Hills never
happened. None of that is possible when I’m surrounded by men. I take a step
back and bump into another man. Hands close around my arms.
A sound escapes me—fear and protest. It’s more than I would
have done this morning, that sound.
I’m turned to face the man behind me. He smiles a
broken-toothed smile. “Doesn’t matter what you want, darling.”
My mouth opens, but I can’t scream. I can’t scream because
I’ve been taught not to. Because I know no one will come. Because the
consequences of crying are worse than what will happen next.
Then the man’s eyes widen in something like fear. It’s a
foreign expression on his face. It doesn’t belong. I wouldn’t even believe it
except he takes a step back.
My chest squeezes tight. What’s behind me? Who is behind me
that could have inspired that kind of fear? The men surrounding me are
monsters, but they’re backing off now, stepping away, hands up in surrender. No
harm done, that’s what they’re saying without words.
I whirl and almost slip on a loose cobblestone.
The man standing in front of me is completely still. That’s
the first thing I notice about him—before I see the fine cut of his black suit
or the glint of a silver watch under his cuff. Before I see the expression on
his face, devoid of compassion or emotion. Devoid of humanity.
“We didn’t know she worked for you,” one of the men mumbles.
They’re still backing up, forming a circle around us,
growing wider. I’m in the middle. I’m the drop, and the men around me form a
ripple. Then they fade into the blackness and are gone.
It’s just me and the man in the suit.
He hasn’t spoken. I’m not sure he’s going to. I half expect
him to pull out a gun from somewhere underneath that smooth black fabric and
shoot me. That’s what happens in the city, isn’t it? That’s what everyone told
me about the outside world, how dangerous it is. And even while some part of me
had nodded along, had believed them, another part of me had refused.
There had to be beauty outside the white stucco walls.
Beauty that wasn’t contained and controlled. Beauty with color. Only apparently
I was wrong. I haven’t seen anything beautiful—except him.
He’s beautiful in a strange and sinful way, one that makes
me more afraid. Not colorful exactly. His eyes are a gray color I’ve never seen
before, both deep and opaque at the same time.
He steps closer, the light from a marquee sign illuminating
his face, making him look even more sinister. “What’s your name?”
I couldn’t answer those other men, but I find something
inside for him. I find truth. “I’m not allowed to say my name to someone else.”
He studies me for a long moment, taking in my tangled hair
and my white dress. “Why not?”
Because God will punish me. “Because I’m running away.”
He nods like this is what he expected. “Do you have money?”
I have fifteen dollars left after bus fare. “Some.”
His lips twist, and I wonder if that’s what a smile looks
like on him. It’s terrifying. “No, you don’t,” he says. “The question is, what
would you do to earn some?”
Anything.
My voice is just a whisper. “I’m a good girl.”
He laughs, and I see that I was wrong before. That wasn’t a
smile. It was a taunt. A challenge. This is a real smile, one with teeth. The
sound rolls through me like a coming storm, deep and foreboding.
“I know,” he says gently. “What’s your name?”
“Candace.”
He studies me. “Pretty name.”
His voice is deep with promise and something else I can’t
decipher. All I know is he isn’t really talking about my name. And I know it
isn’t really a compliment. “Thank you.”
“Now come inside, Candace.”
He turns and walks away before I can answer. I can feel the
night closing in on me, the sharks in the water waiting to strike. It’s not
really a choice. I think the man knows that. He’s counting on it. Whatever is
going to happen inside will be bad, and the only thing worse is what would have
happened outside.
I hurry to catch up with him, almost running across the
crumbled driveway, under the marquee sign for the Grand, desperate for the
dubious safety of the man who could hold the darkness at bay. It’s the same
thing that kept me in Harmony Hills for so long—fear and twisted gratitude.
***Nona's Review for Pretty
When You Cry by Skye Warren***
Candace runs away from a strict, strange religious cult
and finds herself alone in the big city like a babe in the woods. Just as
danger closes in, Ivan, a hard, mysterious man in an expensive suit rescues her.
But Candace's relief is short-lived. Ivan, suspecting the innocent girl will
only bring trouble, wants to return her to the flock. She begs him to let her
stay and in return offers herself.
Ivan protects her, cherishes her and treats her like a
princess in a tower. As time passes, Candace realizes her feelings for Ivan are
those of a woman. She wants him, but he keeps himself at a distance. He will
only lower his guard briefly, when he plays "Daddy" to his
"little girl," rewarding her when she's good and punishing her when
she's bad.
Pretty
When You Cry is an erotic dark romance with a good amount
of kink. There are some really hot scenes of spanking and sex. While Candace
enjoys her "little girl" persona with Ivan, she also wants him to
love her like a woman. He's a bad man, though, and afraid to let her too close.
When outside danger threatens, he holds her even tighter to keep her safe.
As much as I enjoyed the sexy parts of the story, I liked
Candace's struggle to find herself. She's always been under a man's
control--first the cult leader, and then Ivan. One wants to use her, the other
to protect her. But she must stand on her own two feet to discover who she
truly is. I was glad the author made sure she finally got the chance. Ivan grows as well, when he realizes he must
give Candace freedom if he truly cares for her. I don't want to reveal too
much, but the scene toward the end when they meet again after time apart was
heart-wrenching.
I also enjoyed meeting some of the other characters,
whose stories I look forward to reading in the rest of the series. I recommend Pretty When You Cry as a gritty, sexy,
satisfying dark romance.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Skye Warren is
the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of dark romance. Her books
are raw, sexual and perversely romantic.
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