Blog Tour: Primal Pursuit by Bella J.

Davian Stark is beautiful, twisted, cruel.

And he’s going to die.

By my hand.

Primal Pursuit, an all-new dark, enemies to lovers romance and the second standalone book in the Club Myth series from international bestselling author Bella J is now available!

He’s one of the Elites of the Dark Sovereign.

A bloodthirsty Mafia Assassin.

And a hunter fueled by his need for the chase.

If I want to get close to this man, I have to give him something to hunt.

Me.

He made a mistake by letting me survive my family’s massacre. I've trained, fed my hate, and now, I'm ready to strike.

But Davian isn’t just a killer.

He’s complex, compelling, a man who can spin desire and humiliation into an art form, and it opens something dark inside me.

While I play him, he’s playing me. It’s a twisted game of hunter versus prey.

Question is…

Which one am I?

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Keep reading for a look inside Primal Pursuit!

I’m going to kill Davian Stark.

Put a bullet between his eyes.

Carve him up, cut him into pieces.

Bludgeon him with a baseball bat.

The possibilities are endless, and I’ve fantasized about all sorts of ways to make him suffer. The bloodier the fantasy, the more excited I get.

I quit questioning my sanity a long time ago, so I’m not concerned that the thought of him dying by my hand has me sightly turned on right now. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, the thrill of hunting the hunter while pretending to be prey. Or perhaps I’m just fucked up. I don’t care either way. All I care about is playing this sick motherfucker and bringing him all the way down to his knees, where he’ll beg for my mercy. But I’ll show him none.

I’ll make him suffer, just like he made my family suffer.

Before he murdered them.

Ten long years of devotion to this plan of destruction and revenge have led to this moment.

Me, standing outside the large double doors of this debauched sex den.

Club Myth.

Elegance drapes the Victorian-style mansion, the moon casting a midnight glow over the white pillars as if it, too, knows the wealth hidden between these double-story walls. Autumn’s chill licks across my skin, causing me to shiver.

Two women trying to suppress their annoying giggling click up in their Jimmy Choo stiletto heels and brush past me, their long, flowing burgundy dresses hiding their lack of underwear. Still, their gravity-defying tits are practically bursting out of their necklines.

I follow them inside, watching as one of them positions her black lace mask, ensuring it’s tied perfectly at the back along her perfect blonde updo.

We’re all elegant dresses, naked necks, and bare pussies here, per the clearly stated rules. Nowhere did I see a preferred color, but the women here seemed to like to offer themselves in burgundy and black.

If it were up to me, I’d waltz in here wearing a black leather pantsuit with two beautifully deadly Glock G17s, aiming both at Davian Stark’s forehead. Unfortunately, my plot for revenge doesn’t involve spontaneous acts of violence or harsh and hasty murders. Revenge is like a seedling, something that needs to be sown at the right time in the right environment. When it starts to sprout, it takes the right amount of sunlight, water, and nurturing before it can grow into its perfect form. And that’s what I’m patiently waiting for…Davian’s death in the perfect fucking form.

Instead, I’m wearing a black satin sleeveless crisscross halter dress that hugs my waist, accentuating my cup size and curvy hips before the fabric parts with a front split. It’s sexy. Flashy. Eye-catching. And something Jacinta Harris would wear. Tonight, that’s me. I’m Jacinta Harris. She’s about my height with the same black-brown hair color. She might be a few years older, rich, fucked up in the hurt-me-Daddy-please way some sugar babies have, but with us both having surface similarities, I think I can pull this off.

The real Jacinta Harris is an unhappy housewife to a husband who prefers late-night blowjobs in his office by his secretary to his wife between silk sheets. It took me weeks with an excellent blackmail scheme to procure her identity for tonight. Turns out, as much as Jacinta hates her cheating husband, she loves the wealthy lifestyle more and would hate for their dirty laundry to air on every fucking tabloid in Chicago.

Now, the mask? That’s all me. Poppy Moore’s little inside joke. It’s an elegant metal rabbit Venetian mask with intricate detail and shiny diamond rhinestones shimmering along the edges of the dainty little ears. After all, I am the prey tonight and will be for as long as it takes to bring this hunter to his knees.

For more information about Bella J. and her books, visit her website:

https://authorbellaj.com