That's the only memory he carries from a childhood he does not remember. And now it is all he knows. Blood is his life.
Knox Bishop has done a lot of horrible things, all at the command of the man who holds his leash. It's a matter of loyalty for him. Allegiance to the man who saved his life when he was a child. So he goes where he is needed and does what he is told. He tortures. He kills. He kills. He tortures. It is an unrelenting cycle that he constantly craves and can never quite satisfy.
She goes to Knox willingly offering him the only valuable thing she has. Herself. In doing so he allows her into his world, a world filled with darkness but rather than being scared it intrigues her. It lures her, calls to something in her that she hadn't known existed until he awakened it.
Every bit of his flaws is reflected in her and Knox will do anything to keep her in the darkness with him.
Review by: Heather
I am going to start by saying that if I have known some of the themes that would be in Flawed, I would have skipped over this ARC without looking back. Every disturbing theme you can think of goes into this novel and it is definitely not for the faint of heart. I am glad I didn’t skip it though because the writing was flawless. The characters, as messed up as they are intrigued me from the first page and even though it was seriously uncomfortable for me to read at times, I could not put it down.
The first cringe worthy theme is that our main female lead, Lacey, is a high school aged prostitute. She is a senior and eighteen at the time this book takes place, yet I wonder how old was she when started? Her reasons for her chosen profession are noble- pay for college and get away from her drug addicted mother and nothing but trouble brother, Dante.
Dante is a pussy. Flat out no good low life that only gives a crap about himself in a way. You can tell in his own weird way that he cares for Lacey, but enough to stop her when she gives herself to the one man who could totally break her in order to save Dante’s life.
Knox is just a creepy sex on a stick sadist, sociopath and serial killer. This was another theme that really bothered me- the way Knox gets his control over women- chaining, whipping and raping. The things he did to Lacey once she was in his possession- and that is what she becomes to him, his possession, his toy that he is determined to break. These scenes were so hard to read because as much as he hurt her, demeaned her, turned her into absolutely nothing- she liked it, she craved it and that to me was the toughest part of the book. The way he treats her, the things he does to her are unimaginable and the way she falls for him is just heartbreaking in a way.
Katia is Knox’s adoptive sister and she is the worst kind of villain. Sure Knox hides in the shadows basically but Katia, she hides in plain sight. Her business is one that will gut you, especially since she is a woman and the way she objectifies them is very raw and scary. Katia and Knox were each other’s firsts in many ways and when Katia finds out that Knox is keeping Lacey, well, all hell breaks loose.
This story is told in three POV’s- Lacey, Knox and Katia. The emotions this book brought out in me are ones that I would rather not feel but I am glad in a sense that I did. There were moments where I bawled my eyes out and there were other moments where I was like “this can’t really happen” only to find out through google that yes it has happened and that opened my eyes to things I didn’t want to think about.
Cliff Hanger and I are usually not friends, in fact I hate his guts but the way this book ends- Cliff and I are long lost pals now.
If you are into the dark, disturbing and gritty books then definitely pick this up. There is no romance in this book. There is only dominance and not the good kind. Francette did a fantastic job of pulling the reader into the sotry. The characters were developed beautifully and to get me to finish this book with the about of disturbing darkness that lies within these pages means a job very well done. I will definitely be picking up the next book.
I give this 4 ½ shuddering stars.
I’m not what you would call normal. The word has no meaning to me. But I’ve been pretending to act normal. It’s something I’ve been practicing since I’ve been aware of the thrum and its significance in my life. I was seven when I first heard the lullaby. Second grade, just before recess. It happened in a squall. Nothing and then all at once. I remember everything about that day. The bell rang and the other children went to play. Not me. Never me. I always stayed behind, mostly by choice, but never contested because the other children thought I was weird. I think maybe they unconsciously knew that I was lacking something fundamental. Something they all had and I didn’t, and maybe even never had at all. Whatever it was, I was alienated, excluded from their games. But I couldn’t say it bothered me. I was indifferent to it. Katia would sometimes play with me. Yuri’s youngest daughter, my adoptive sister, kept me company when she wasn’t with her own friends. But she’d been home sick that day.
In the small classroom with its oversized, rainbow-colored letters hanging over the chalkboard and tiled number blocks littering the carpeted floor, I sat in the beanbag chair staring fixatedly at the class pet. Sweet Ms. Devon always stayed with me but she’d left for a moment. A moment to heat her lunch. A moment to speak to a fellow staff member in the teachers’ lounge. But it’d been a moment too long for me. The noise in my head had been too loud. The urge too strong. The pink-eyed little rabbit, Mr. Apples, and the yellow pair of scissors sitting blades down in Ms. Devon’s “Best Teacher” mug had been too much of a temptation for me to resist.
The pounding of my heart. The lullaby and the thrum. The latch had given way beneath my shaking fingers, soaked with apprehension and anticipation. The struggle. The frantic movement of something living, something warm, with the same accelerated heartbeat as mine grappling for life. Desperate for freedom even while knowing the inevitable hand of death loomed was intoxicating. The thrill, the excitement, the sweet seductive power. I swam in it. Like too much candy on Halloween. Too much ice cream in the summer. It had been a quick death for Mr. Apples. It had been crude. Amateurish. But ever so effective in quieting the discord of my mind.
Poor, sweet Ms. Devon came to find me on the floor of the overly-bright classroom. Huddled on the floor, covered in Mr. Apples. She’d been one to smile a lot. But I stole her smile that day and replaced it with horror instead. Her pretty features contorted like a Kabuki mask.
Francette lives in Massachusetts with her amazingly supportive husband of ten years and her darling two year old son. Reading amazing books has led her to writing and she’s dabbled in fan-fiction before self-publishing her own works. She’s constantly thinking up new stories to write and does her best work when music is playing in the background. Romance is where she’s most comfortable but she hopes to one day venture in mystery novels. She has a weakness for coffee ice cream, tropical fruits and a good glass of wine.