The Love Killers

The Love Killers

by Jackie Collins
The Love Killers

The Love Killers

by Jackie Collins

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Overview

Jackie Collins is… the undisputed Scheherazade of the stars.”New York Post


Strong, sexy women are the lifeblood of Jackie Collins’s novels, and The Love Killers takes this to a bold new level!

Famed activist Margaret Lawrence Brown had always been a staunch advocate for women through her Free Women Now organization, especially for sex workers in New York City. So when she gets shot during one of her women’s empowerment lectures, three of her nearest and dearest step in with an insatiable desire to destroy the lives of those responsible.

Part Cherokee and part Louisiana hillbilly, glamorous, statuesque underground adult film star Rio Java lives life as she pleases. As one of Margaret’s closest friends, she knows Margaret had a lot of enemies, but she’s determined to narrow the list to find the killer and avenge Margaret’s death. Jet-setter socialite Lara Crichton, Margaret’s secret half-sister, is bored and ready to break free from her latest beau, Prince Alfredo, when she gets the tragic news. She immediately heads to New York to help—willing to do whatever it takes. And boho beauty Beth Lawrence Brown seems a sweet, innocent, hippie chick—but when she learns about her sister’s assassination, she leaves the safe confines of her commune behind, hellbent on getting justice at any cost.

When Rio learns that crime boss Enzo Bassalino is responsible for the hit, she devises a plan for the three women to go after Bassalino’s sons with the most powerful weapon they have: Sex.

Rio heads to London to destroy Angelo with devastating passion. Lara flies to LA to take down Nick with smoldering intent. And Beth stays in New York to slay Frank with her wanton wiles.

It’s a dangerous game, filled with intrigue, suspense, and sensuality as the story builds to its thrilling and brilliantly satisfying climax.


Already read The Love Killers? Try more Jackie Collins!

The Lucky Santangelo series

1. Chances
2. Lucky
3. Lady Boss
4. Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge
5. Dangerous Kiss
6. Drop Dead Beautiful
7. Poor Little Bitch Girl
8. Goddess of Vengeance
9. Confessions of a Wild Child - Lucky: The Early Years
10. The Santangelos
11. A Santangelo Story

The World is Full series

1. The World is Full of Married Men
2. The World is Full of Divorced Women


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780985745936
Publisher: Chances, Inc.
Publication date: 10/11/2012
Sold by: Barnes & Noble
Format: eBook
Pages: 213
Sales rank: 137,973
File size: 765 KB

About the Author

About The Author
There have been many imitators, but only ever one Jackie Collins!

The iconic author has been called a “raunchy moralist” by the late director Louis Malle and “Hollywood’s own Marcel Proust” by Vanity Fair magazine.

With over half a billion copies of her books sold in more than forty countries, and with thirty-one New York Times bestsellers to her credit, she is one of the world’s top-selling novelists.

From glamorous Beverly Hills bedrooms to Hollywood movie studios; from glittering rock concerts in London to the yachts of Russian billionaires, Jackie Collins chronicles the scandalous lives of the rich, famous and infamous from the inside looking out.

“I write about real people in disguise,” she once said. “If anything, my characters are toned down - the truth is much more bizarre!”

Born in in London, England, her first novel, The World is Full of Married Men established Collins as an author who dared to step where no other female writer had gone before. She followed it with one successful title after another, including The Stud and The Bitch, both adapted into films starring her actress sister, Joan Collins. Jackie found her stride when she published Chances, the first installment in a sprawling family saga introducing the strong, sexy and powerful Lucky Santangelo. Soon after came the seminal 80s blockbuster, Hollywood Wives which was adapted into one of ABCs highest rated mini-series. Jackie continued on a wild writing streak, satisfying her devoted readers with hit after hit, including Lady Boss, Hollywood Kids, Poor Little Bitch Girl and The Power Trip among many others. Jackie was a long time supporter of AIDS Project LA, HIV & AIDS research and equality for the LGBT community. She was widely known for writing characters who reflected a whole spectrum of society.

Jackie was awarded an OBE (Order of the British Empire) by the Queen of England in 2013 for her services to literature and charity. When accepting the honor she said to the Queen, “Not bad for a school drop-out” - a revelation capturing her belief that both passion and determination can lead to big dreams coming true!

In addition to her long and lustrous career, Jackie valued her family above all else, including her three daughters and six grandchildren. She wrote every one of her manuscripts by hand, as well as being widely known for her photographic skills, constantly documenting family, friends and her celebrity circle.

Jackie died of breast cancer on September 19th 2015, six years after being given a stage 4 diagnosis, which she chose to keep private until the final weeks of her life. During that time, she continued to write five more books and traveled the world on yearly book tours. In her last interview before her death, Jackie said "I want people to see me as an example of strength - and doing things my way...'"

Jackie Collins was a creative force, a mentor and trailblazer in fiction, and an inspiration to all who knew her, in addition to the millions of readers whose lives she enriched through her novels for decades.

A compelling documentary about Jackie's life and trailblazing career - Lady Boss-The Jackie Collins Story, produced by Academy Award Winning Passion Pictures, CNN Films, BBC Arts & AGC productions - will be released in 2021.

Visit Jackie's website at www.JackieCollins.com to delve into Jackie's world and sign up for the #GetYourJackieCollinsOn newsletter - for book promos, all the latest news on all things Jackie and bonus exclusives!!

Hometown:

Los Angeles, California

Date of Birth:

October 4, 1941

Place of Birth:

London, England

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One:

"I don't care iyou lose your income, your home, your possessions. Fuck all of it, baby. Just gather up your self-respect and walk right out. To be a prostitute is to be nothing, a mere tool of man. Take no notice of your pimps, your bosses. We will help you. We will give you all the help we can. We will get you so together that your old life will seem like a bad dream."

Margaret Lawrence Brown had been speaking for fifteen minutes, and she paused to sip from a glass of water handed to her on the makeshift podium. The crowd gathered to hear her talk was gratifyingly large. They occupied a vast area of Central Park, mostly women, a few men scattered among them. It was a warm August day in 1974, and her followers had turned out in force.

Margaret's tone was strong and outright. Her voice didn't falter. Her message came across loud and clear.

She was a tall woman in her early thirties. No makeup decorated her strong, radiant face. Her hair was long and black, and she wore denims, boots, and love beads.

Margaret Lawrence Brown was a cult figure in America. A ceaseless campaigner for women's rights, she had won many a victory. She had written three books, appeared on television regularly, and made a great deal of money, all of which she used for her organization, F.W.N. -- Free Women Now.

Everyone had laughed when she'd first taken up the cause of the prostitutes. But they weren't laughing now, not after three months, not after thousands of women appeared to be giving up their chosen profession and following her.

"You've got to get it together now!" Margaret yelled, a determined thrust to her chin.

"Yeah!" the women yelled back.

"You're going to live again. You're going to come alive!"

"Yeah! Yeah!" The reaction from the crowd was gospel in its intensity.

"You're going to be free!" she promised them.

"Yeah!"

Margaret slumped to the ground while the crowd continued to stamp and shout its approval. Blood spurted from a small, neat hole in the middle of her forehead.

It was minutes before the crowd realized what had happened, before hysteria and panic set in.

Margaret Lawrence Brown had been shot.

The house in Miami could only be approached by passing through electric gates, and then undergoing the scrutiny of two uniformed guards with pistols stuck casually in their belts.

Alio Marcusi passed this scrutiny easily. He was a fat old man, with liquid booze-filled eyes and the walk of a pregnant cat.

As he approached the big house he began humming softly to himself, uncomfortable in his too-tight gray-check suit, sweating from the heat of a cloudless day.

A maid answered his ring at the door. A surly, big-limbed Italian girl, she spoke little English, but she nodded at Alio and told him that Padrone Bassalino was out by the pool.

He patted her on the ass, making his way through the house to the patio that led out to a kidney-shaped swimming pool.

Mary Ann August greeted him. Mary Ann was an exceptionally pretty young woman, with old-fashioned, teased blond hair, and a curvaceous body exhibited in a skimpy polka-dot bikini.

"Hi, there, Alio," she said with a giggle, rising from her lounge. "I was just gonna make myself a little drinkie. Want one?" Posing provocatively in front of him, she toyed with a gold chain hanging between her generous breasts.

Alio contemplated the young vision, licking his lips in anticipation of the day-not far off, surely-when Enzio would grow tired of Mary Ann and pass her on, like all the others.

"Yeah, I'll have a Bacardi, plenty of ice. And some potato chips, mixed nuts, an' a few black olives." He rubbed his extended stomach sorrowfully. "I had no time for lunch. Such a busy day. Where's Enzio?"

Mary Ann gestured out toward the never-ending gardens. "He's around somewhere -- pruning his roses, I think," she said sweetly.

"Ah, yes, his roses." Instinctively Alio glanced back at the house, and sure enough, there she was, Rose Bassalino herself, peering out through a narrow chink in her curtains.

Rose, Enzio's wife. She hadn't left her room for years, and the only people she would talk to were her three sons. Rose kept an endless vigil at her window just waiting and watching. It gave Alio the creeps. He didn't know how Enzio stood it.

Mary Ann swayed over to the bar and began preparing drinks. She was nineteen years old and had lived with Enzio Bassalino for almost six months -- something of a record, for Enzio never kept them around long.

Settling into a chair, Alio slowly closed his eyes. Such a very busy day...

"Hey, ciao, Alio, my friend, my boy. How you feeling?"

Alio awoke with a start and guiltily jumped up.

Enzio loomed over him. Sixty-nine years old, but with the hard, bronzed body of a man half his age, all his own teeth, a craggy, lined face, topped by a mass of thick steel-gray hair.

"I feel good, Enzio, I feel fine," Allo said quickly. They clasped hands, patted each other on the back. They were cousins; Alio owed everything he had to Enzio.

"Can I fix you a drinkie, sweetie-pie?" Mary Ann asked, gazing at Enzio adoringly.

"No." He dismissed her with a look. "Go in the house. I'll ring if I need you."

Mary Ann didn't argue; she obeyed him at once. Perhaps that was why she had lasted longer than the others.

As soon as she was gone Enzio turned to his cousin. "Well?" he asked impatiently.

"It is done," Alio replied in a low voice. "I saw it myself. A masterful job. One of Tony's boys. He vanished before anyone knew what happened. I flew straight here."

Enzio nodded thoughtfully. "There is no greater satisfaction than a perfect hit. This Tony's boy, pay him an extra thousand an' watch him. A man like that could get himself promoted. A public execution is never easy."

"No, it's not," Alio agreed, sucking on a black olive.

"She must be thirty," the woman hissed spitefully.

"Or older," her friend agreed.

Lined, and overly made up, the two middle-aged women watched Lara Crichton climb out of the Mabbella Club pool.

Lara was a perfectly beautiful woman of twenty-six. Slim, suntanned, with rounded, sensual breasts, a mane of sun-streaked hair, and wide, crystal-clear green eyes.

She dropped down on the mat next to Prince Alfredo Masserini and sighed loudly. "I'm getting bored with this place," she said restlessly. "Can't we go somewhere else?"

Prince AIfredo sat up. "Why are you bored?" he demanded. "Am I boring you? Why should you be bored when you are with me?"

Lara sighed again. Yes, the truth of the matter was the prince could be very boring indeed.

But who else was there? She'd made it a rule never to let go of anyone until there was someone else firmly ensconced in his place. She had been through most of the available princes and counts, a few movie stars, and a lord or two. It really was tiresome she had set herself such high standards.

"I don't understand you," Prince Alfredo complained. "No woman has ever told me she was bored with me. I am not a boring man. I am vibrant, lively. I am -- how you say -- the life and brains of the party."

Lara noticed with an even heavier sigh that as he spoke he was getting an erection in his nifty Cerruti shorts.

"Oh, God, do shut up," she muttered under her breath. Sex was becoming the biggest bore of all. So predictable, worked out, and mechanical.

Prince Alfredo did not hear her. "Come, my darling." Aware of his erection, and proud, he pulled her to her feet. "First we take a rest." He winked slyly. "And then we drive the Ferrari into the mountains. What do you think, my lovely?"

"Whatever you say." Reluctantly she allowed herself to be led inside. All eyes followed them as they left. They certainly made a beautiful and exciting couple.

They had separate suites, but by unspoken agreement all sexual activity took place in Lara's. She stopped him from entering at the door.

"What's the matter?" he asked indignantly. "I have a good hard-on -- a very good one."

"Save it for later," she said firmly, closing the door on his protests. "I'll call you when I wake up."

Lara felt restless and hemmed in. A feeling she had often felt when married to Jamie P. Crichton. A divorce had solved the feeling then, but what now?

The phone rang and she picked it up, ready to tell Alfredo no -- definitely no. But it was not the prince. The operator informed her it was an urgent call from New York.

"Yes?" She cradled the receiver, wondering who knew she was in Spain.

"Lara? Lara, is that you? Oh, God! This is such a terrible connection." It was a woman's voice, her tone bordering on hysterical.

"Who is this?" Lara asked sharply. "God! Can't you hear me? Goddamn it -- this is Cass." A pause, then, "Lara, something terrible has happened. Margaret's been shot. They've shot Margaret."

Copyright © 1974, 1989 by Jackie Collins

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