Endgame Romance (Lost Daughter of a Serial Killer #3) Read Online C.M. Stunich

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Dark, New Adult, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Lost Daughter Of A Serial Killer Series by C.M. Stunich

Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 219196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1096(@200wpm)___ 877(@250wpm)___ 731(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Endgame Romance (Lost Daughter of a Serial Killer #3)

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

C.M. Stunich

Book Information:

Finding out you’re in love with three impossible boys isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The stepbrother. The boyfriend’s best friend. The sister’s ex. Life would be complicated enough if we didn’t have to navigate a social circle populated with serial killers.
My father has gathered a loyal group of monsters around himself like a shield.
There’s the black widow, the arsonist, the mild-mannered poet with a penchant for blood, the crooked cop, and, of course, the Seattle Slayer. Maintaining three new romances is nearly as dangerous a proposition.
Oh, and my biological mother? She knows about the boys, but not the killers. My original kidnapper—the woman I thought was my mom—she knows about the killers and not the boys.
Some days, it feels like the entire world is a web of secrets and deceit—much of it spun by yours truly.
The girl I once knew as Dakota Banks is fading like a distant star. The question is: how far will I let my father push me?
He might have an app that records and watches everything; he might have a plan of righteous revenge. But there are two things the Seattle Slayer doesn’t understand: love and loyalty. He thought he could drive us apart when all he did was push us closer together. And together, we are stronger.
This is the endgame, Dad. Let’s finish this.
****ENDGAME ROMANCE is a 300,000 word love-hate/high school romance with suspense/thriller themes. Includes foul language and sexual scenes; any sex featured is consensual. This is a reverse harem novel, meaning the main character has more than one love interest. This is book three of three in the series.
Books in Series:

Lost Daughter Of A Serial Killer Series by C.M. Stunich

Books by Author:

C.M. Stunich

My hands are covered in blood—and not a drop of it belongs to me.

I realize then that evil doesn’t just happen overnight. Sure, some people are born wrong, but others are forged in hate and pain and circumstance. Against my better judgement, against my own will, I am becoming one of those people.

I’ve just killed a person.

This time, the iron reek that I’m smelling, it’s all my fault. This isn’t some comatose maid in a wooden box. This is so much more. This is me, Dakota Banks, losing every last part of herself. Every cell. Every molecule. My very essence.

Because I’ve done all sorts of things I regret in the last few weeks: burned down the theater, slept with my boyfriend’s best friend, slept with my sister’s ex.

But this is the worst.

Truly, the worst thing that I have ever done.

I look up, meeting Maxx Wright’s brilliant green gaze. He looks as shocked as I am, standing over the body of the person that just died because of me. Really, I was given no choice. It’s an ethics problem in real time, and I made the best decision that I could.

I move over to the bushes and throw up, but I can’t purge myself of this experience, these awful memories that are going to stick to me like cobwebs. Whenever I brush them away, the venomous arachnid that carries this nightmare in my psyche will simply weave a new web.

“Kota.” X puts his big, warm hands on my shoulders, and I turn toward him, lifting those bloodied palms in his direction. The color is oddly beautiful in the early morning light, and the woods around us are picturesque, a true fairy tale at the edge of an aristocratic kingdom.

That’s the thing about fairy tales though: they’re often dark. They have lessons to impart. I’ve just learned mine.

No matter how I play this game, no matter how clever or cunning, how intuitive, how tricksy I think that I am, Justin Prior is always three steps ahead. He got me to do what I swore I never would, the ultimate act that has, undoubtedly, made me his child in every sense of the word.

I’m not just his daughter in DNA now, but also the reflection of his image.

He’s replicating himself, using me as an extension of his revenge.

My phone buzzes and I slide it out of my pocket.

I don’t need to say who sent the text; Maxx knows.

Excellent work, princess. I’d expect nothing less. Congratulations. Take a trophy to celebrate your first win, and then deal with the evidence. Use your pawns if you please.

Pick a friend to live; pick a friend to die.

I chose a piece of myself to die instead, offered up a sacrifice on my chessboard just like Daddy Dearest has been teaching me.

Justin has just checked my king.

We’re in the endgame, Dakota. You’re in the endgame, and there are few pieces left on the board. Make your move.

Only, I should’ve known Justin better than that, shouldn’t I?

I just killed a guy. I just fucking killed a guy.

Maxx takes me into his arms, and I cling to him, but even that can’t fix the problem. Even his love and his touch, his kind eyes and confident smile, none of that can save me now.

There are footsteps approaching in the underbrush.

Someone—multiple someones by the sound of it—are coming this way.

What, I imagine, they’ll think when they stumble on us is anybody’s guess.

Me, with bloody hands and a knife lying beside my boyfriend’s foot. A dead man sprawled on his back. Two high school girls, one tied up, the other bleeding from the head.

“Shh, Kota. It’s gonna be okay,” X whispers as we exchange a look.

No matter what happens here, at least I’ve got him.

He knows what I’ve done, and he’s standing beside me anyway.

Maxx turns, and I follow the direction of his shifting gaze, expecting more cops. Or maybe a cadre of well-armed serial killers?

The faces that emerge through the trees, I definitely do not expect.

Also, an idea has just struck me, and I can’t shake it: no matter what happens here, I’m turning myself in.

Because you can’t trap someone in a secret if they refuse to keep it, now can you?

Prom night is an undeniable catastrophe.

A boy I love is missing (again), and the Vanguard house (which I grudgingly admit is also my house) is on fire.

My apologies for the excessive use of parenthetical thoughts, but really? Dual calamities to round out what was supposed to be a night of memory making magic, a respite, a chance to be sixteen even if under the watchful eyes of the Seattle Slayer.

Instead, Justin’s gifted gown is a gilded cage that succeeds at keeping me in, but does nothing to keep the horrible, repulsive, and rotten out.

Tess is alternately sobbing and making phone calls while she drives. Meanwhile, the three of us sit crushed together in the back seat of her Mercedes, the skirts of my golden gown frothing over the boys’ laps. I can’t breathe, a swarm of what-ifs poisoning my blood as I try and fail not to think of my youngest siblings, trapped inside an inferno.