3 Book(s) Related to Beat

From New York Times and USA Today Bestseller, Vi Keeland, comes a steamy new standalone novel about a rockstar. Or two.Dimpled smile of a boyHard body of a manSings like an angelScrews like the devilI was stuck between a rock(star) and a hard place.At fifteen, his poster hung on my bedroom wall. At twenty-five his body hovered over mine. Every girl’s fantasy became my reality. I was dating a rockstar. Yet I was slowly falling for another man. The problem was—the two men—they shared a tour bus.Flynn Beckham was the opening act.Dylan Ryder was the headliner.What happens when the opening act begins to shine so bright, it seems to dim everything else in its wake?I’ll tell you what happens. Things get ugly.

Twenty-two-year-old Scarlett "Scar" Justice thought she could hide forever behind fake names and stolen lives. But when killers track her to Chicago's deadliest neighborhood, she runs straight into the arms of the one man who could destroy her completely. Vincent "Viper" Capone is thirty-eight, ruthless, and heir to the most feared crime family in the city. He rules with bullets and blood, and his enemies don't live to see morning. When he saves Scar from assassins, he doesn't know she's the daughter of FBI Director Marcus Justice—the man sworn to bring down everything Viper has built. All Viper knows is that this mysterious girl with fire in her eyes makes him feel things he thought died long ago. As gang wars explode across Chicago and bodies pile up in the streets, their forbidden attraction becomes impossible to ignore. But in a world where love is weakness and trust means death, their secret romance could start a war that burns the entire city to ash. When the truth comes out, Viper must choose between his family's empire and the woman who stole his heart. And Scar must decide if love is worth betraying everything she's ever known—or if some secrets are too deadly to survive.

Have you ever been yanked by your hair in the dead of night, at 3 a.m., forced to your knees on that freezing tile floor while your mother-in-law stands there clapping like it's some twisted game, barking, "Say it—say you're worthless trash!"? God, I have. I've felt the sickening thud of a baseball bat slamming into my swollen belly, the fragile kicks of my unborn baby fading to nothing... and then that final crack against my skull, as I lay there bleeding, watching them mop up the mess, already whispering about carving up my life insurance like vultures.

But then, my eyes snapped open, and I was back—back to that first night he struck me, my cheek throbbing hot from his slap. He pulled me close, tears streaming, choking out, "It'll never happen again, I swear."

This time, no tears from me. No more playing the victim. Instead, I slipped away in the shadows, hunting for Krav Maga moves online. Why the hell should my baby and I be the only ones trapped in this nightmare, rotting away while they walk free?