Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2) Read Online Jodi Ellen Malpas

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Hunt Legacy Duology Series by Jodi Ellen Malpas
Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Jodi Ellen Malpas

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
1549187600 (ISBN13: 9781549187605)
Book Information:

The second book in the brand new duology by the Sunday Times and New York Times bestselling author of the This Man series
A desperate passion, a dangerous love story...
Eleanor Cole had no idea that when she met the charmingly irresistible Becker Hunt, she was putting her life on the line. So when she discovers his secrets, escape seems to be her only option - but Becker isn't ready to let Eleanor go.
She knows better than to fall into his corrupt world again, but how long can she resist when he's stolen her heart?
Eleanor must make a choice, to stay and follow Becker into the heart of the danger...or risk losing him forever!
Becker Hunt is back and this time he's not letting Eleanor walk away...
Books in Series:

Hunt Legacy Duology Series by Jodi Ellen Malpas

Books by Author:

Jodi Ellen Malpas



Chapter 1

Where do I go from here?

Amid the crazy that has tangled my mind and twisted my aching heart, it’s the loudest question of all. My forehead rests on the window of the train and my eyes watch blankly as the blackness races past and the consistent rocking sways me into a numb haze. Run home. It’s what my instinct is telling me to do. Because for the first time since I left my small village, centring my attention on a past that I’ve fought hard to leave behind seems so much easier than trying to make sense of what is happening now.

My eyes close and the darkness I find opens the floodgates, visions of Becker and memories I don’t want to have steaming forward. His face, so handsome yet angelic, his smile so wicked, his passion so addictive. And the feelings he unearthed in me, all unexpected but all thrilling. He found me. And then he lost me. He filled me with hope and drive, and then he cruelly ripped it away. He’s ruined me.

Because if I don’t win this battle, Eleanor, I’ll feel like I’ve thrown away the chance of something fucking incredible.

My eyes open. Something incredible. It was. We were incredible. And that makes me hate him all the more for stealing back the gift he gave me. The gift of life.

I took you to Countryscape because I wanted you to see what no one else sees.

My swallow is lumpy, my heart in agony. I saw him. I saw what he doesn’t want anyone else to see. He let me in. Becker didn’t only expose his desperation to find the lost sculpture, his sweet con-artist skills or his crooked business dealings, he exposed his weaknesses. His vulnerabilities. His secrets. His pain.

It was a potent mix that when all combined made me fall head over heels for him. And loving him made every wicked facet of him acceptable.

Trust me, Eleanor. Please, you need to trust me.

‘But you scared me,’ I say to myself, like he might be able to hear me from London. I thought I had figured out who Becker Hunt was. All of it shocking, but more so thrilling. And then . . .

My hand goes to my wrist and rubs, feeling his harsh hold pinning me to the floor. I close my eyes and see his balaclava-covered face. I hear myself begging for my life.

Please don’t hurt me.

He told me he would try not to break my heart. He didn’t say he would try not to break me. He never warned me that by being involved with him, I could be in danger.

I dived in feet first. I knew the risks. His reputation as a modern-day Casanova didn’t scare me away. His ruthless con-artist skills didn’t have me bolting like they should have. I felt too alive. Too drawn, too deep. I was blinded by his bold, fearless approach to life and business.

And now I’m more lost than the piece of treasure he so desperately needs to find. And just like the sculpture, I hope he never finds me. I reach up to my chest and try to massage the hurt away, knowing deep down that if Becker wants to find something, he’ll find it.

The brakes of the train kick in, screeching and jolting me from my whirling thoughts, and I glance up as the darkness ends and the grimy platform of a station appears. The thought of moving, of talking some life into my muscles, brings on another level of despondency. Because moving requires energy, and I feel drained dry.

On a sigh, I disembark with the rest of the passengers. I tell myself that daughters naturally run to their mum when they’re in a crisis, no matter what their age or what the crisis. I hate that I’m in a crisis, and I hate that it feels like such a mammoth one. It’s time to go home.

The taxi drops me off at the ATM, and I withdraw some cash to pay the driver, deciding to brave the short walk down the road to our house. I could do with the time to psych myself up, come to terms with the fact that I’m back here, and think about what I might say to my mother. How will I explain why I’ve abandoned my new, exhilarating, happy life in London?

It’s quiet, the streetlamps still glowing in the dark winter morning, as I stroll leisurely down the high street, mindlessly slowing to a stop when I reach my father’s shop. I look up at the sign that says ‘FOR SALE’, and my heart breaks that little bit more.

I let myself in and breathe in that old, damp smell. It’s comforting. Something familiar in a world I don’t recognise.

Nothing has changed. Every single piece of old furniture is exactly where it was the last time I was here. There’s hardly any floor space to move, and no trace of walls in between the masses of clocks and paintings hanging from the bare brick. I slowly turn until my eyes fall to the bench where Dad used to sit for hours working on his treasure. ‘What are we going to do with all this junk, Dad?’ I ask the silence, shuffling through the dusty furniture.

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