Exclusive Prologue Reveal: Savaged by Nacole Stayton

I’m so thrilled to share with you the prologue of Savage, the new contemporary romantic suspense book from Nacole Stayton. The book is out September 12th and you can add it to your goodreads page here.

Synopsis

The twist of a knife shredded Niko Kincaid’s world all around him, leaving him with two choices—accept his fate and die, or fight to live. 

He chose to fight, but the aftermath became a daily reminder, carved into his once flawless flesh. 

Despite years of self-imposed solitude, Niko hungers for companionship and suffers from an aching loneliness that the darkness cannot satisfy. He temporarily soothes his pain with women, hired women, whose only purpose is to service him. Easy. 

He didn’t expect a complication like Cambree Evans, but desperation corrupts even the most innocent.

When emotions blend with lust, will Cambree’s softness and ability to look past Niko’s flaws be the one thing that releases him from his own personal hell?

Will the monster in the dark prove that his savaged heart is worth saving?

Prologue

Niko

Sulfurous odors assault my nose, pressed against the frigid concrete. The smell lingers and a warning flashes in my brain, cautioning me not to turn over. Refusing to listen, I regret the movement immediately as pain slices through my limp body. The hairs on my arms are smoldering then matting to my skin before my eyes. My mind blank, I try to make sense of the sight, barely registering my surroundings. A gust of wind blows by, and the chattering of my teeth echoes off the brick wall in front of me.

Sweat drips off my forehead as rage seeps from my pores. Vague images of black-masked forms start playing on repeat in my head as I try not to think about the unbearable agony slithering up my side. Dragging my limp arm across my chest, I attempt to hold my throbbing ribcage, to lessen the pain.

Viscid warmth covers my fingers as I find the wound there. Wincing, I gather all the strength I have left and apply pressure in an effort to keep from bleeding out. The pain dulls when I don’t breathe so I hold my breath, grunting with each gasp that escapes my lips. I’m lightheaded, and my weak neck can barely hold my head up.

I close my eyes and silently pray that I’m not dying. I can feel the flesh of my face redden with color as the pain of my wounds blazes more fiercely than anything I’ve ever endured. I wonder if this is even real. As much as I hate admitting I’ve hallucinated before, nothing has ever seemed quite this vivid.

This isn’t a dream; it is indeed a nightmare, though I’m not sleeping.

Was I shot? Doused in acid?

The realization of my fucking reality cuts me deep. Stabbed, beaten, burned into unconsciousness, and left to rot in a puddle of mud and my own despair.

An ache races like a fever across my skin as sudden stinging attacks me, jarring my senses. Moving my bloodied hand, I inch it up toward my cheek. As if my face were made of breakable porcelain, I graze lightly over my skin, afraid that with even the faintest touch, I will crumble. I moan, licking my lips to ease their dryness, tasting a foul, metallic-tinged substance. I’ve been cut there, too.

Sliced.

From the corner of my mouth, I trace the wide path carved in my skin upward to my eye, ending right beside the brow. The open flesh burns under my touch, and in this moment, as I lie helpless, my mind freezes. My body weakens, drained of life, of hope, and I wish that they had killed me.

Death has to be better than this.

Death has to be better than fighting to live.

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