Beauty and her Billionaire Beast
Bella Love-Wins
A retelling of the classic fairy tale
Copyright
Beauty and her Billionaire Beast
Copyright 2018 © Bella Love-Wins
All Rights Reserved
Cover Details
Cover Image: Depositphotos
Cover Illustration: Tempting Illustrations
Contents
A retelling of the classic fairy tale
Copyright
Beauty and Her Billionaire Beast
Blurb
1. Knox
2. Knox
3. Isabelle
4. Knox
5. Isabelle
6. Knox
7. Isabelle
8. Knox
9. Isabelle
10. Knox
11. Isabelle
12. Isabelle
13. Knox
14. Isabelle
15. Knox
16. Knox
17. Isabelle
18. Knox
19. Isabelle
20. Knox
21. Knox
22. Isabelle
23. Knox
Epilogue - Isabelle
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About Bella Love-Wins
Beauty and Her Billionaire Beast
Bella Love-Wins
Blurb
I'm not the man for her. I'm her Beast.
I was broken beyond repair. Damaged beyond healing. Deeply scarred. Alone with thoughts and feelings of regret that I could never let see the light of day.
Until Isabelle.
My Belle.
She came back into my life and changed everything.
But I warned her that I'll never be 'that' man.
The one she knew growing up. The one who would've given her the happy ever after she so deserved.
No. I'm a beast. I can never be tamed.
I only hope I don't leave her with more scars than she can handle.
Author's Note: Beauty and Her Billionaire Beast is an emotionally dark, steamy contemporary romance retelling of the classic fairy tale. Set in the world of the bestselling series, Seduction and Sin. A full length standalone novel from Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author, Bella Love-Wins. Cover model: Depositphotos. Cover Illustration: Tempting Illustrations.
1
Knox
I stalk through the rowdy crowd followed by my best friend, Foster, who nominated himself to the role of my de facto trainer and coach. He raises his voice over the chants of the crowd to continue doling out advice about how to handle my amateur kickboxing opponent tonight, but I don’t register a thing. As I step through the open gate of the makeshift wrap around chain-link fence they call the ring, even the shouts from the crowd are already muted.
I’m in the zone.
All my senses are heightened to the extreme.
Nothing matters except for what happens after that bell rings.
That’s why I got into this sport during my early teens and stuck with it all the way through college and my twenties. I live for the intensity of my time in the ring, where minutes feel like years, and seconds like days. One wrong move can get you injured or worse. The fucked-up reality of my life ceases to exist. I can forget the dull ache in my chest in favor of the sharp pain that pummels the surface of my skin from each blow or kick my opponent manages to deliver. If he’s lucky enough to get one in at all. I can block out the world, everyone and everything. Usually everyone, but from time to time, there are exceptions. Everyone but her.
“Knox.” Foster’s firm grip on my shoulder is what helps his voice pierce through my laser-focused single-mindedness.
With my head still bent and my gaze fixed on my hands wrapped in fighter’s tape, I grunt out a nonverbal acknowledgment to let him know I’m listening, more or less. Foster knows better than to expect me to speak at a time like this, but sometimes the man can’t fucking help himself.
“Keep your chin down,” he tells me. “McCready favors his right, so be ready to attack him on the left when he’s open. Remember, the man’s fucking huge. He’s got half a foot and fifty pounds on you, but you can use his size to your advantage. Let him set the pace, conserve energy, and wear the fucker out. Then, when he’s got nothing left, take your shot.” I lift my gaze just in time to see his light gray eyes light up as he raises his left eyebrow for his usual one-sided smirk. “That’s when you take the bastard to the brink of death.”
As usual, I ignore his flair for the dramatic. The referee steps through the gate and nods over at us, signaling for Foster to leave the ring. The time for pre-game strategy is long past. Time to unleash the darkest, most primal part of my soul. Time to fight until it hurts so fucking good.
The adrenaline shoots through my veins as the referee makes some initial greetings and announcements to get the crowd excited. He then barks out the only rule of this underground fight club.
“No hits or kicks to the face. Everywhere else is fair game.”
The fingers on my right hand rolls into a tight, balled-up fist. Every time I hear that rule I want to punch the referee in his fucking face. It used to be ‘everything is fair game’. Until they changed it to this crap about a month after some pompous political staffer prick joined our club. The shithead must have a fuck ton of pull with the guys who run the place, to get them to agree. It’s an underground fight club, for fuck’s sake. We’re supposed to be able to fight as fucking hard as we want. A few of us longstanding members even offered to double up on our membership fees to convince the owners to go back to how it’s been for umpteen years before this pretty boy douchebag showed up and fucked things up for the rest of us. No dice.
“Introducing tonight’s first round fighters. On my left in the green shorts, weighing in at two hundred and sixty-eight pounds, here he is... Colin ‘Big Baby’ McCready.”
Deafening applause and cheers reverberate around the packed room and bounce off the walls. He’s got the crowd favored odds, so they’ve got to throw their support behind the guy who has the potential to double the cash they put down. I, on the other hand, have the outside odds, but anyone betting on me gets the shot at making seven times their money. High risk, high fucking reward. And I won’t let down anyone who took a chance on me. McCready’s backers are the sorry suckers who’ll flush all those wads of cash down the crapper.
“And on my right in the red shorts,
