Priest and his Anarchist Read Online Amo Jones

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Virgin Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 160578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 642(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
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People said he was emotionless. Cold. But he burned her to the ground every chance he got. Priest Hayes thought he knew everything there was to know about the society of outlaws who ran by their own set of rules, and right now, he’d just taken the gavel. It didn’t feel heavy. It felt like it belonged there all along.

In his hand.

Just like her.

But Luna Nox was the one girl he could never have. He knew that the second he fell for her. Bound by a past they both shared, their souls were connected in a way that no one would ever understand. But love isn’t always what conquers all. Sometimes, it’s the only thing you’ll surrender to.

Luna knew she had limited time to prove herself in a world that she always felt she belonged in, but that never wanted her. She had two choices. Follow her mother’s footsteps by becoming a menacing circus brat, or be led by a secret society that her father was born into. Little did she know she had no choice. The path was already formed, and she was on a one-way road that led directly to the one man she swore she’d never find herself back to.

Priest Hayes.

He took the kingdom…but handed her the sword. This is a tale of heartbreak. A story of two people who defy all odds to find love in a place that most people run from.

The dark.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Prologue

priest

Iremember hearing my parents' hushed whispers in the kitchen one night. I would have been five or six. They were worried that they’d never seen me smile. They thought I had no emotion. Numb. Dead inside.

But they don’t know how much I hate Luna Nox.

Goose bumps pebble over her flawless skin when my knuckles graze the base of her neck. She is younger than me. She looks it. Dressed in an ivory sundress that would give the Devil blue balls, she embodies everything I hate.

Innocence for one.

Hers, there for my taking. And take it I did.

She stiffens as if recalling my touch. The way it felt when it was good, and how addictive it was when it wasn’t.

“Why would you do this to me?”

I don’t answer, retracting away from her. Conversations I’d overheard as a child echoing through my brain.

Especially one where Mom mentioned my uncle Daemon, her twin. He’d been the first Lost Boy. She only found out about him later in life, after meeting Dad. I knew little about him because anytime she talked about him, I wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t Uncle Daemon that caught my attention. Halen had said it multiple times in the past, so it didn’t faze me. “You’re an actual sociopath, Priest….” Maybe.

So the fuck what.

It wasn’t that.

It was when my father whispered… “He’s a Hayes.”

At that time, I didn’t know what the fuck that was supposed to mean. I learned later what it meant and who he was talking about.

Humphrey Hayes. The first Hayes and creator. Would he be happy with how it was now, considering how much the organization had changed? He’d built an army, choosing ten founding members and a vision that could only be seen by those chosen. It started small, a defiant act against the system. To create a legion who wouldn’t bow to a government, or any criminal organization. A fearless army of weapons, clothed in the flesh of men who’d ensure to take every robust sector of the world.

Things hadn’t changed over the years, including how my father led. He was the most decisive leader we’d ever had. But that was an issue because he also married my mother. He moved and changed rules for her, accommodating her and others.

Was I angry that they stopped killing the Swans and that women were allowed deeper into the society now?

Nah.

I had every intention of changing it once I took the gavel. Because girls like Luna Nox don’t belong here. They never will, and when I take the gavel, they’ll soon find out.

“Priest…” Luna whispers once more, and I immediately look at her. So small and lithe, desperate and needy.

Leaves rustle against the wave of nature’s lungs among the distant sound of music. It does nothing to distract my thoughts. There is one thing I can’t scratch, no matter how hard I have tried throughout the years with her. Never now, never then.

Blood dribbles between her fingers where she’s clutching her side. “Answer me. Why?”

Using her arm, I force her to her feet. It takes her less than two seconds before she loses her footing and stumbles against a tree. Ignoring her complaints, I continue dragging her through the forest, over fallen logs and dying leaves. Four more steps, and we stand outside my dad’s car, the full moon glaring down at both of us as it breaks through the shadows.

She bounces off the passenger door when I shove her forward and slides to the ground. Her hair matches the color of the night. Sinful, dark, yet alluring.

Blood sprays my face when she coughs. “I’m going to die, Priest.”

Carefully studying her face, I kneel low. I fucking hate her eyes. They remind me of my soul. “Good, Madness.”

The nickname flows over her face, and her cheeks fall.

“Don’t call me that!” she sneers, and it’s the first time I’ve seen an inkling of something more on her. Something fierce.

“What, Madness?” I tease, the swell in my chest deepening my smirk. “But isn’t that what you are?” I drop my head to the side, memorizing every detail of her features.

Her baby-soft cheeks dimple when she smiles, and her lips are so fucking perfect they almost have me slipping.

“Pure madness?”

“No!” A deep blush powders her cheeks as she draws in her bottom lip.

I pull her up and unlock the car with the key in my pocket.

“I just⁠—”

The way she tries to calm herself is fascinating. With each inhale, her chest swells. With each exhale, it deflates. So human. I try to lose myself on the Cupid’s bow that dips in the middle of her lips, but it’s useless. I’m hyperaware of everything around me, like the fluttering of her heart against my chest. It was a sad melody. One you’d play at a funeral.

“Would you rather I call you Lunatic?”

“Fuck you!” She chokes on a whimper. “Is what they say about you true?”



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