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Hell is rising People are dying…all in the name of love.

Tell me, can the Devil and his Angel survive the flames?

Deception and Blood were the counterparts, but now, can Sophia and Creed navigate their way through the never ending Chaos?

When I wake the next morning, I don’t get out of bed right away; instead, I shift my gaze down to the warm body cuddled in my arms. I stare down at Sophia while she sleeps soundly in my arms a little longer than I normally do. My eyes trace the soft lines and features of her face. Her dark lashes are fanned across her cheeks that are tinged pink with warmth from sleeping. Her lips that are naturally pouty have seemed to grow in size during the pregnancy. Everything about her is the same yet so incredibly different. I’ve never thought pregnant women were beautiful, never thought much about them at all, but Sophia, the way she carries pregnancy, she looks like a fucking goddess. She’s never looked more beautiful than she does carrying my child.

I spent most of the dawn watching her sleep. Focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, her parted lips, the sensation of her soft skin beneath my rough hands. When I wasn’t doing that, I was talking to our little guy. It’s become a morning ritual lately. While his mom is still asleep, I chat with him about anything and everything. About how much I love his mother. How afraid I am for him to finally be here. About how much my mother would’ve loved him. But most of all, how much even now, I already love him.

Before Sophia, I never thought I was capable of love. But it seems because of her, I’m finding out my capacity for love and loving isn’t what I thought it was. What I feel for them both? I can’t even put it into words. It’s all-consuming. The love. The need to protect and cherish. And to think, if I’d never met her, I wouldn’t have this feeling. That feeling I get in my chest whenever I see her or whenever I feel him kick.

When the morning rays of light start to spill into the room, I press a kiss to her hair and slide out of bed to get dressed.

S.M. Soto was born and raised in Northern California where she currently resides with her son. Her love for reading began when she was a young girl, and has only continued to grow into adulthood. S.M. lives for reading books in the romance genre and writing novels with relatable characters. She refers to herself as a bit of a romance junkie. S.M. loves to connect with readers and eat copious of donuts that will surely lead to her demise (carbs are life).

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————-

Hell is rising People are dying…all in the name of love.

Tell me, can the Devil and his Angel survive the flames?

Deception and Blood were the counterparts, but now, can Sophia and Creed navigate their way through the never ending Chaos?

S.M. Soto was born and raised in Northern California where she currently resides with her son. Her love for reading began when she was a young girl, and has only continued to grow into adulthood. S.M. lives for reading books in the romance genre and writing novels with relatable characters. She refers to herself as a bit of a romance junkie. S.M. loves to connect with readers and eat copious of donuts that will surely lead to her demise (carbs are life).

Sign up for S.M.’s Newsletter

Join S.M.’s Reader Group

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Amazon | Instagram | Bookbub | Goodreads

————-

Hell is rising People are dying…all in the name of love.

Tell me, can the Devil and his Angel survive the flames?

Deception and Blood were the counterparts, but now, can Sophia and Creed navigate their way through the never ending Chaos?

S.M. Soto was born and raised in Northern California where she currently resides with her son. Her love for reading began when she was a young girl, and has only continued to grow into adulthood. S.M. lives for reading books in the romance genre and writing novels with relatable characters. She refers to herself as a bit of a romance junkie. S.M. loves to connect with readers and eat copious of donuts that will surely lead to her demise (carbs are life).

Sign up for S.M.’s Newsletter

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The whole ride through the jungle was tense. Fin laid his palm on my thigh and my entire body locked up. It took all my strength not to jerk my thigh out from his grasp. I couldn’t piss him off so soon. I had to pick my battles, and this was not one of them.

Green whips past the open windows of the Jeep Safari in a blur of green. The thick bundles of trees clear into a wide space of sand and the distant sound of waves crashing against each other. A gleaming white jet stands proud and tall on a makeshift runway. The jet is smaller than your regular aircraft, or private aircraft, but the sight of it is still enough to have a ball of dread tightening in my belly. After the death of my parents, I’ve never been on a plane. I never even intended to.

My breathing escalates and my heart pounds a vicious rhythm. My gaze drifts toward Fin and I startle when I find his glare already glued to me. He’s been watching me, assessing my reaction to the jet.

He’s the reason my parents are gone—dead. He’s the cause and root of everything horrible that’s ever happened to me in my life, and he expects me to get in this plane? After he killed my parents, by having them cruelly murdered in a plane crash?

A surge of anger pumps through my body, prompting my arms and legs to tremble violently. Finlay pulls out a syringe filled with a clear liquid and my eyes widen. I shoot my gaze to his and narrow my eyes.

“I don’t need to use this again, Sophia, do I? I don’t want to treat you like my prisoner, but I will.” I swallow thickly and give an adamant shake of my head. I won’t let him prick me with that syringe any time soon. With a self-satisfied smile, Fin takes my hand and half drags me toward the jet, not even being mindful of my wounds.

I’m ushered onto the aircraft and the minute my seatbelt is on, Fin begins barking orders into his phone. The expression on his face is tinged with unbridled anger. I strain my ears, trying to hear what is being said on the other side of the line, but it’s useless. I’m listening to a one-sided conversation that makes zero sense and getting nowhere fast. The only comments that have me sitting taller in my seat are something about a warehouse and the mention of Chicago. Simply hearing the name of the city causes my heart to twinge. Creed comes to mind and it’s all I can do not to break down and cry. I shift my gaze out of the small window of the jet, preparing for a long flight.

S.M. Soto was born and raised in Northern California where she currently resides with her son. Her love for reading began when she was a young girl, and has only continued to grow into adulthood. S.M. lives for reading books in the romance genre and writing novels with relatable characters. She refers to herself as a bit of a romance junkie. S.M. loves to connect with readers and eat copious of donuts that will surely lead to her demise (carbs are life).

Sign up for S.M.’s Newsletter

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————-

S.M. Soto was born and raised in Northern California where she currently resides with her son. Her love for reading began when she was a young girl, and has only continued to grow into adulthood. S.M. lives for reading books in the romance genre and writing novels with relatable characters. She refers to herself as a bit of a romance junkie. S.M. loves to connect with readers and eat copious of donuts that will surely lead to her demise (carbs are life).

Sign up for S.M.’s Newsletter

Join S.M.’s Reader Group

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Amazon | Instagram | Bookbub | Goodreads