Takedown: An Enemies to Lovers Dark Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  Takedown

  Also By Dark Princess Press

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Table of Contents Instructions

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Stolen

  Sevensome

  Two Beasts

  Hit & Run

  Dr. Single Dad

  BILF

  Murder/Love

  Takedown

  An Enemies To Lovers Dark Romance

  By Lana Hartley

  Copyright 2018 by Dark Princess Press

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.

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  Also By Dark Princess Press

  Captured Heart

  Dedication

  To McK

  Author’s Note

  When I think of submission, I don’t think about weakness.

  Submission isn’t weakness. It’s not about losing power. Submission isn’t forced, it’s not coerced and it isn’t given lightly.

  This is a book about power—losing it, winning it, shaping it…giving it up and letting it go. The heroine is no wall flower, and the hero is every bit her match in every way.

  But when two powerful people come together, there’s always a struggle for who’s on top…Lucky for them, they can take it from the streets to the sheets.

  Submission isn’t about weakness. It’s about trust. It’s about respect for each other, and above all else, it’s about love. Always love.

  I loved writing this book for you all, and I hope you enjoy it too. There’s something sensual and delicious about pushing boundaries, playing with fire and bathing in its glow. Things are about to get hot…and steamy…and a little dark, too.

  But the darker the final hour, the happier the happily ever after, right? Let’s dive into the dark together and let the flames of passion light our way.

  xo Lana Hartley

  Table of Contents Instructions

  WAIT!

  Please use the TOC (Table of Contents located in the upper left area of your screen) to navigate your way through this book. If you’re zoomed out and you’re seeing a smaller version of the book and it is flipping through that way, please press the center of your screen to get you out of page flip mode.

  Thanks!

  Lana Hartley

  Chapter 1

  Owen

  “Harder, baby, fuck yeah.”

  I grip Lola’s head as her long, blonde hair bobs up and down on my raging hard cock.

  She slurps and chokes a little, but I don’t fucking give a shit as long as the ending result is how I like it, with me coming all over her fucking face and down her throat.

  I love to squirt my cum on beautiful women at the Expose.

  Oh, yeah, hey, you’re probably wondering who the fuck I am and what the hell’s the Expose? Allow me to explain myself.

  I’m Owen Wolfe, and on the off chance you haven’t heard of me, I’m proud to say I’m a gold card member here at the Expose.

  Right, now you want to know what the Expose is, don’t you? Well aren’t you a demanding little fucker, then?

  Fine, I’ll appease you…for now. You should know, though, that my patience wears extremely fucking thin most of the time, and I’m used to getting what I fucking want.

  The Expose is the hottest, yet most discreet private strip and sex club in all of Manhattan. The best part? Well, it’s only three blocks from my penthouse, so if I have the urge to spray my cum on some dancer’s face, all I have to do is walk down the street and in seconds some desperate and yet high-class stripper will have her hands all over me.

  Lola’s one of the strippers here at the Expose, but she’s not my favorite. In fact, I really could care less about her, but she’s hot and can suck cock fairly well, so I’ll take her.

  We’re currently in one of the bathroom stalls at the club. You might be grossed out, thinking that it sounds pretty nasty to get a blowjob in a dirty club bathroom, but when I say I fork out a decent wad of cash to be a member of the elite third floor VIP section, you better fucking believe it’s clean as shit in here.

  I mean, Lola can fucking lick the floor if she wants to, but for now I prefer her to keep licking my huge, hard cock.

  My cock is tough to swallow, but only in the best way. I’m twelve thick inches of throbbing, pulsing man flesh, and I don’t fucking care who knows it. In fact, I’m damn well proud of how long I am, and I’m happy to bury my cock into any pussy worth digging.

  I’m also tall, standing at six foot four inches with a strong, chiseled jawline that makes every girl cream her panties.

  I’m the dark and brooding type, too, but I have a charismatic charm that lures all manner of sexy women into my arms.

  I never miss a day at the gym, so if you’re ready to touch a sculpted eight-pack, I’ve got them right here waiting for you under my shirt. There’s none that can compare to me and I’m not bragging, it’s just the way it is.

  Let’s just say I’m handsome, the full package, just like a fucking movie star—or a porn star if you’re more into that.

  You fucking love that, don’t you? I bet you’re fucking soaking wet now just thinking about my rock-hard body and me.

  Well, right now, I’m naked from the waist down as my pants sit in a heap around my ankles. Lola is fucking working her magic on me and has the best tongue action of any girl in the club—but even though she’s hot, she’s not the hottest by far.

  I mean, she’s okay and all, but I’m just not that into blonde chicks at the moment. I’d rather have a brunette or jet-black haired girl who knows how to hold her own—a true fucking New Yorker just like me.

  But Lola can give award-winning blowjobs, and I’m happy to be receiving one from her right now. I pull her up slightly. She’s naked except for a pink lacy thong currently going right up her ass crack like fucking dental floss.

  I push her thong down because I want a good look at both of her sexy holes.

  “I’m getting ready to come,” I growl at her, but I want to fuck her first.

  You probably think what kind of asshole fucks a stripper in a sex club bathroom, but I really don’t give a fuck about what you or anyone else thinks about me. I’m a goddamn multi-billionaire and I can do whatever the fuck I want.

  I pull out of Lola’s mouth and she wipes my pre-cum from her lips, gazing up at me with a mischievous smirk.

  “Get on your hands and knees,” I order her.

  She does as she’s told because she has no fucking choice—I’m in charge here. Lola gets on all fours, and I lean down and fuck her pussy doggy-style. I grip her hips as I plow in and out, thrusting harder and faster to conquer my addict
ion, which is in the form of an orgasm.

  Am I a sex addict? Who fucking cares? What fucking business is it of yours?

  Right when I feel the exploding sensation of my climax begin to hit me, I pull out again and finish off with my hand. I’m not allowed to come inside of any of the strippers. If they tell on me, I’m as good as kicked out of the best club in the city.

  I grab Lola to whip her back around. I want to come on her busty chest. I aim and take fire, shooting my hot load all over her huge tits, mostly hitting my mark.

  It turns out that my target is a little off balance, though, because some of my cum sloshes and shoots directly onto a guy’s shoe in the stall beside us.

  It’s a total accident, but the dude groans with frustration and annoyance.

  “What the fuck?” he yells, and I hear him open up his stall door.

  The next sound I hear is his intrusive banging on the door to the stall where I’m currently defiling Lola.

  “Someone’s in here,” I say casually, and smirk at Lola like this is some fucking game I love.

  The guy knows damn well I’m in here.

  Lola responds by rolling her eyes and quickly dressing herself back in her work uniform, which just so happens to be a sexy as fuck romper-type black dress.

  “Open up, asshole!” the guy yells as he continues to bang on the door.

  I want to say the same fucking thing to him. Open wide, fucker, I’ve got more where that came from.

  I jump into my pants and begin to button my shirt, taking my sweet-ass time. After a moment or two, I burst open the door, beaming proudly.

  “I’m sorry, sir, can I help you with something? You seem very upset,” I respond with cheerful condescension.

  “Yeah, you fucking got cum on my shoe. This is fucking disgusting!” The guy points to his foot.

  I place a hand on my hip and point to the shoe. “You know, I hear that works fantastically well as shoe polish,” I offer as a suggestion.

  “Fuck you!” he roars.

  The man is tall and slender—gangly, actually—and reminds me of that fucking cartoon character Gumby, although he’s not quite as green. He has a full head of light brown hair and he’s wearing an ugly-ass beige suit with an even ghastlier yellow tie.

  Meanwhile, I zip my pants back up, really fucking slowly, as though it’s an afterthought or some shit, but I want to make this fucker even more uncomfortable than he already is.

  Lola scurries between us, embarrassed and escaping in a huff.

  “Hey, buddy, I can’t help what happened to your shoe. I’ll aim better next time.” I wink at him and try to move past.

  “How dare you speak to me like this!” the guy yells, but I can tell he’s all bark with no fucking bite.

  “Excuse me?” I spin around, now I’m growing angry. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Don’t you know who I am?” the guy shouts, a vein in his forehead bulging.

  I actually have no fucking clue who this douchebag is, and I frankly don’t care either.

  “No, do you not know who I am?” I raise the stakes and yell back at him.

  In reality, I’m a pretty fucking big deal as the owner and CEO of Lone Wolfe Pictures, one of the biggest production companies in all of Hollywood, even though I spend at least half my time in New York.

  This guy should know that, right? Well, I sure as fuck think so.

  The guy apparently doesn’t want to wait for me to give him an explanation because I see his fist coming at me in the next instant—only my reflexes and training in boxing give me the upper hand, like literally.

  I block his punch and land a clean blow on his face, knocking the motherfucker backwards on his ass.

  Chapter 2

  Owen

  I flick the lighter on and burn the end of my Cuban.

  I need this smoke like nothing else.

  The blaze matches that of my own soul.

  I light a cigar inside of my brand new red Aventador in the club’s parking lot. I draw in a deep breath of the glorious tobacco as it fills my lungs and calms me down.

  I might be fucking over the line here, but I don’t want you guys to see me this way. I bounced from the club in a hurry, before blame could be cast on me.

  I’m not one for negative press or limelight, and I’ll always bolt in a quick fucking minute if it means I can get myself out of trouble.

  Right before I press the button to turn on my car’s ignition, a well-dressed man approaches the car. I have no choice but to greet him because my window is rolled down because of my cigar.

  “I don’t give out change to people on the street.” I smirk at the guy with arrogant flare, even though I can tell by the way he’s dressed that’s probably not why he’s standing next to my car window.

  “Excuse me?” the man asks in confusion.

  I shake my head; apparently it’s going right past the fucking idiot’s brain. “Nothing,” I say. “Are you with the club?” I ask.

  “Yes, sir.” The man nods.

  “I can’t find my Gold Card,” I say, referring to my membership to the sex club on the third floor of the strip club.

  I lost it somewhere in the tussle with the man in the bathroom.

  “Sir, your membership is going to be suspended,” the man says apologetically.

  “What?” I shout. “I need to speak to Jay. He’s the manager. Go and fetch him,” I demand with a snap of my fingers.

  “Mr. Wolfe, I’m afraid there’s nothing that Jay can do at the moment to help you,” the man sighs, as if he’s used to dealing with jerks like me all the time and he has some sort of higher than normal patience threshold.

  “Go and fucking get him,” I demand with more force this time.

  The man rolls his eyes and sighs again.

  “Fine.” He spins around and leaves.

  I notice that he’s tall and a little stocky and wears a large black leather jacket. He’s probably one of Jay’s little fucking minions, I think bitterly.

  I take another drag on the cigar as I wait for Jay to come outside, which to my surprise he actually does. Jay is probably in his mid-sixties and has greying hair, probably from having to run this club all these years. He’s also dressed in a business suit and, like always, has professional poise.

  “What is it, Owen?” he says, leaning in to talk to me through the open car window.

  “What the fuck is going on? Why is my membership suspended?” I wail like the spoiled fucking child I am.

  Jay takes a deep breath, gearing up to explain himself. “The board already knows about your little run-in with Inspector French,” Jay says.

  “What? Who the fuck is Inspector French?” I demand. “More importantly, how does the board even fucking know what happened? It was only like five fucking minutes ago!” I shout, vaguely owning up to the fact that something actually did take place, and that it may or may not have been slightly sketchy.

  “That leads me to my next point,” Jay says, and leans against the car, still looking down at me in the seat. “Inspector French is the man we just hired in charge of grading the club. He’s kind of fucking important, Owen.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling the shock sink in—but I’m still unconvinced that my actions warrant a suspension. “I still don’t understand what this shit has to do with me,” I state firmly.

  “Owen, you fucking punched the guy. There have to be consequences,” Jay states patiently.

  “He was trying to get a rise out of me!” I try and defend myself, but I can tell it’s going to be no fucking use.

  These assholes aren’t going to back down.

  “Obviously, the Inspector went to the board and told them immediately what happened. He’s shocked and told us that you came on his fucking shoe. Is that true Owen?” Jay shakes his head in disgust. “If it is, that’s fucking gross as shit, man.”

  “That’s beside the point,” I continue to argue, skirting around and dodging Jay’s question. “I’m a goddamn paying custome
r; I have my rights.”

  “This isn’t a fucking court Owen.” Jay gives me a chagrined look. “The board says your actions are disruptive and worthy of the offense. My hands are tied,” he admits.

  I pound the steering wheel in frustration, then look back at Jay as an idea comes to me. “Let me talk to the board,” I request.

  “Sorry, man. No can do,” Jay denies firmly.

  “Why the hell not?” I growl, desperation filling me to the core.

  “They don’t speak directly to the customers,” Jay admits. “That’s where I come in, as a liaison of sorts.”

  “That’s fucking made up bullshit!” I yell.

  “I can’t help you, Owen,” Jay says and walks away, apologetically telling me I should go home and get some sleep.

  I watch in fury as he walks back into the club and out of sight. I stub out my cigar and speed off.

  You remember that I said I only live a few blocks away, right? Yeah, I could walk to the club, but I just got this fucking new car and I want to drive it around for the hell of it. So sue me.

  Did I mention I live right here in the city that never sleeps? My ride home isn’t long, but I’m pissed enough to drive a hundred miles; although right now, I just pull up to my ritzy and luxurious apartment building.

  I step out of the car, tossing the keys to the valet man who appears to be a lanky young guy, wearing a red bellhop outfit with gold trim.

  I give him a slight nod in thanks and give him a hefty tip before walking towards the building to the lobby inside.

  “Good evening, sir,” our elderly doorman greets me with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Hey, George.” I give him a wink and a smile.

  George Worthington is the glue that holds this building together, and I can’t imagine a world where I don’t see his shining face waiting for me to come home each night.

  “Thank you, George,” I say and walk past him as he holds the door open for me.