Hard to Love, Book 1

by W Winters

  “She wanted to do something this weekend. I offered to take her.”

  “Of all the places?” he questions, but doesn’t say anything else as I put the car into drive and make a right, driving back to the highway.

  “You kiss her yet? Or was that your first and I completely cock blocked you?”

  “The latter assumption,” I answer, tightening my grip on the wheel. My palm heats talking about this with him. He’d given up all the warnings for weeks now.

  “So no kiss?” he asks like it’s unbelievable.

  “No kiss,” I answer him, not bothering to hide my resentment towards him for interrupting us. I’m not just taking it slow. I’m letting her lead. Which is taking a longer time than I’d hoped. It’s fucking torture but that’s what I get.

  “If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”

  “What are you talking about?” What sign?

  “That I just happen to walk back there and stop it. You’re in too deep with her. And you know it.”

  “This again?” Anger forces my muscles to coil. “I told you, it’s none of your business.

  “It is because you’re my friend. My best friend. I’d give my life for you,” he stresses in a pained statement.

  “I’d do the same for you and you know that,” I pause, making sure he accepts that as fact, “but she’s not up for discussion.”

  “Could you even love her? Knowing that she doesn’t know.”

  She’ll never know. I’ve already decided that. She will never know the truth. It’ll kill her. I won’t allow that to happen. An intense wave of protectiveness jolts through me, leaving a cold sweat to cover every inch of my skin. Having to slow down at the stop sign, I look Derek in the eyes, “There were only 5 of us in that room. They’re all dead but you and me. She will never know.”

  “They could have told someone else. You don’t know.”

  My head shakes in anger, denying what he’s saying. No one else knows. They can’t.

  “I’m just saying, are you sure you want to go after her and not end this? It’s not too late to walk away. She’ll be alright man. I’m telling you. She’ll be fine if you walked away.”

  “I’m not walking away, Derek. It’ll be best for us, if you never bring that shit up again.”

  He starts to apologize, but I cut him off, easing into traffic and dropping this conversation, “I made up my mind on how this is going to happen. If anything gets in my way, or threatens to get between me and Laura, there will be hell to pay. I want her, and I’m going to have her.”

  I know if she were to know the truth, she’d hate me. I’ll do everything I can to keep it a secret.

  “She’s going to fall for me.” I speak out loud, wanting Derek to know it, to accept it and get the hell over his reservations.

  “Are you going to be able to give her that back?” he asks in a calm even voice riddled with true concern. “Can you really fall for her, knowing what you did?”

  If I were a better man, I’d keep her away because I don’t know the answer to Derek’s question. I wouldn’t dream every night for her to kiss me. He has it right. It’s selfish of me to want her to be with me.

  I’m not a better man. She makes me feel like one, though. That’s why I can’t stop.

  I don’t answer his question, and he doesn’t bring it up again.

  All I need is Laura to kiss me. One kiss, and then I won’t hold back a damn thing anymore.

  Hard to Love Prologue

  Seth

  * * *

  On the west coast and several years before meeting the Cross brothers.

  * * *

  This hour of night, the floor-to-ceiling windows reveal nothing but black outside. Pitch black. Inside, though, the lights shine brightly and keep everyone in this place invigorated. The bass of the music thrums in my veins just as it lightly vibrates the hardwood floors beneath my polished oxfords.

  Wrapping my hand around the steel rail that runs along the second-floor loft, with my office behind me, I watch the bright blue lights fade to nearly black in time with the beat. Bodies sway, drinks are poured, and life moves on.

  My bar is the hottest spot in all of Tremont. The women, the money, all the shit that goes down in the back rooms—it’s all mine. Everyone wants in those black glass double doors. Thank fuck for that. It took nearly a year to get my name back, to get the money, both dirty and clean, flowing easily without someone wanting me dead along the way.

  A year of recovering from the damage that was done.

  A year without her.

  A year cleaning up the mess and taking care of shit that nearly broke me. Between all the fights and all the drugs, none of it compares to what happened last year. Two days until the date.

  A gruff exhale leaves me as I force away the memories and focus on what’s in front of me. The perfect location, the perfect setup. The perfect fucking life I’ve been building.

  The name of the bar mirrors every inch of what’s inside. Allure. It’s designed to lure in customers and to keep the drinks flowing, the hips moving, and the money streaming in. The bar is seductive with polished black marble waterfall counters that gleam, their shine visible from all the way up here. The deep cobalt velvet sofas on opposite sides of the seating area are just as enticing as the women who perch themselves there with crystal glasses containing pink cocktails in their manicured hands as they let out peals of feminine laughter. Black crystal chandeliers drip from the ceilings.

  Club Allure is about escaping from reality via luxury and illusions of grandeur.

  The basement though… and the back rooms… those are the real moneymakers, all of it under the table, and how I earned the fear and respect that comes with my name.

  It’s also what led to enemies. You haven’t made it in this world until someone tries to take what’s yours. Until someone wants to challenge you. Until someone wants you dead.

  I learned that hard lesson a year ago. And the ones who came for me? Their deaths didn’t go unnoticed by anyone else who thought they could take from me.

  An eerie prick travels down my spine as my mind wanders to places in the past. Back to when I was a different man. Things change when the ones you love the most leave you. Just as I think about everything that happened before this, just as the memories invade the present, I swear I hear her voice.

  It’s only a memory. She’s only a memory. I remind myself like I’ve done so many silent nights, only to have my gaze drawn to the sound again.

  The crowd doesn’t part for her; she blends into it, which is what she always wanted.

  I see her though, and everyone else blurs as I focus on her alone.

  My grip tightens on the rail and everything pauses around me. My blood runs scorching hot. Her dark brunette hair cascades down to her lower back. In distressed dark denim shorts and a silk cream tank top that hangs low on her back, she makes her way straight to the bar. I watch as the corners of her lips turn up at recognizing the two men behind the bar. They’ve been my crew since the first day… she was there too.

  She was always there, always a part of us.

  Connor sees her first, dropping the empty glass he’s holding on the counter to reach across the bar. When he calls out, “Babygirl,” Roman looks up from the set of four shots he’s pouring and grins at her.

  It’s too loud on this floor to make out everything they’re saying. It’s all smiles and hugs, though. Warm, friendly greetings. It steals any heat I had and leaves a chill to settle over my shoulders, slowly wrapping its way around me as the time ticks away.

  The two of them barely let her get a word in as they talk, but she laughs—fuck, I can hear that sweet mirth all the way up here. Just like I can see the rosy flush in her cheeks when she agrees to take a shot with them. Just like I can see the dip in her throat that I used to lick when she throws back the shot of clear liquid.

  It’s been a year, but I swear I remember the way she tastes.

  It takes a minute before she asks the
m something. She rocks on her heels as she waits for an answer and both of the guys look around the first floor.

  It’s when they point to Derrick that the hate creeps in. That chill on my skin turns to ice and I decide I’m sick of waiting.

  She asked for Derrick. Not me.

  My eyes are trained on her as I make my way down the stairs. My jaw is set as it is, and I can’t change that fact for the world right now. Past the masses dancing on the floor, I make my way easily to where Derrick’s seated in a leather wingback chair on the far edge of the wall where security is located.

  A woman turns around, tall and slim, when I brush past her. I barely notice anything about her except the short red dress that clings to her curves. She smiles when she sees it’s me, her eyes hopeful but she quickly lowers her gaze and backs away.

  Maybe it’s the hate in my glare that told her I’m not in the mood for these games tonight.

  I’m barely contained, hardly capable of a single rational thought as that last moment I had with Laura runs through my mind. The past and the present swirl in front of me, hitting me harder and more forcefully than the strongest cocktail I could drown myself in.

  Laura plants a kiss on Derrick’s cheek... It’s short lived and her smile is sorrowful.

  The anger that carved itself into a glower relents and dims. Even a year isn’t enough time. There will never be enough time passed to make it better.

  Regret is my enemy. Guilt its friend.

  I’m standing there like a lion stalking his prey when Laura turns around, not looking where she’s going, brushing stray strands of hair from her face as she bumps right into me.

  “Sorry,” she quickly breathes, and then she looks at me. Her blue eyes have flecks of gold in them, and like a concoction of emotion they swirl as she stares at me. Her lips are slightly parted, and they stay like that. Open and waiting with disbelief.

  “Laura.” I say her name and feel the thrill of doing just that simmer in my blood.

  “Seth,” she whispers. Her shoulders drop slightly and then she covers herself, as if instantly cold.

  “I um, I had something to give Derrick,” she tells me, but her eyes don’t stay on me. They stray, unable to keep my gaze. I watch the cords in her neck tighten as she swallows; I can’t help but notice how her hands keep nervously playing with the hem of her shirt.

  “You afraid to see me, Babygirl?” I ask her lowly and that gets her attention. Those beautiful blues find mine and for a moment, I feel everything all over again.

  The undeniable lust, the tormented love, and finally, the loss. It all echoes in her doe eyes.

  “Should I be?” she asks me, her cadence caressing. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she holds her breath waiting for my response. That lip I used to nibble as she moaned my name. Lips that used to kiss me and only me.

  “You should leave.” I push out the words, feeling a wash of cold run over my flesh. It comes back in waves, but the loss takes so much with it.

  She swallows thickly with a nod and turns to leave without another word. Her thick hips sway and my gaze stays pinned to her until she disappears behind the double doors. She doesn’t look back.

  She never did.

  “You fucked up.” Derrick’s deep voice carries over the beat of the music. His eyes stay glued to the television that displays over eight feet of the white and blue bars of an equalizer, changing with the rhythm.

  It mocks me. The fact that everything in this place keeps moving, mocks me.

  He takes a swig from his beer bottle, not bothering to look at me.

  I have to close my eyes and breathe. Without her here, all that’s left is anger.

  I already know I fucked up. I take in a steadying breath as my teeth grind together.

  The music keeps going. The women keep laughing.

  My muscles twitch, consumed with a feeling of restlessness, the need to move, to do something.

  “We both fucked up.” Derrick’s remark makes me open my eyes. Slowly and with a loathing for all of this, for everything I’ve built since she’s been gone.

  “Boss,” Connor calls out, sliding a tumbler of whiskey over to me. I stare down at the glass, remembering everything. Watching it play out like a movie across the surface of the amber liquor.

  Rowan calls out, “Boss,” at the same time as someone else, but all I can picture is the night she left. The memory goes backward in time until I’m with her that morning, kissing her lips, feeling the dip of her waist. The voices around me lower in volume until I hear “Seth” instead.

  There’s never a minute. Never a quiet moment.

  If there was, none of that shit would have happened.

  I hear her tell me she loves me. I can practically feel her lips against the shell of my ear and the warmth that traveled down my shoulder that morning.

  I didn’t know I’d never feel that warmth again. I didn’t know. But I should have.

  It was all my fault.

  With the single bellow of a roar torn from deep in my chest, I throw the glass in my hand recklessly at the flat-screen TV. The glass shatters, falling like rain, crashing into the liquor bottles lining the bar.

  Connor and Rowan have to duck and cover their heads as I seethe, drawing in a breath and then another. I’d feel more remorse if she hadn’t spoken to them, laughed with them. I’d feel guilty if she hadn’t given her smiles to them so easily, when she didn’t have a damn thing to give me.

  I’m a bastard; I’ve always been a bastard.

  “Get out,” I say and my command ricochets in the large open space. Stunned faces stare back at me, the bar silent save for the occasional tinkling of glass shards. No one moves and that’s their mistake too.

  “Get the fuck out. We’re closed.” The low threat isn’t hidden and a sea of women in short dresses suddenly start moving. No one looks at me for more than a split second as the patrons grab their shit and head for the door.

  My crew stays where they are, their eyes on me. All but Derrick. He doesn’t look at me. He takes a swig and stares at the broken TV as if it’s still a visual for the nonexistent music. Even as Connor and Roman ask me if I’m all right, I watch him staring blankly at the broken glass.

  “If you want to help me,” I begin as I finally look Roman in the eyes to answer him, feeling the rage subside but something else still lingers as I continue, “clean up this fucking mess.”

  The two men who are some of my best friends look at me with sympathy. I see it staring back at me in their eyes and it makes me grit my teeth. With the sound of my blood rushing through my ears, I grip the collar of Connor’s shirt and bring the steadily spoken, low threat to his attention as I say, “Don’t ever let her in here again.”

  Thirteen months prior

  Seth

  * * *

  My cock is stiff in the matter of a half second watching Laura do a feline stretch on my bed. The mattress protests with a groan until she settles down cross-legged and lays the book she’s been studying in her lap. It looks heavy and uncomfortable, but I know she’ll read it until she’s tired, taking notes on that bright green pad of paper. She’ll be tired enough that she stays, though. That’s all I want.

  “Why are you staring?” she asks and then taps the pen in her hand on the edge of the book. Once, twice, before looking up at me with a cocked brow. I was going to answer, but then she slips the end of the pen between her teeth.

  She laughs at my groan and then reprimands me. “You’re impossible.”

  “Maybe I just like seeing you on my bed,” I offer her.

  Even with her tough-girl act, she smiles. “You’re cute.”

  The way she sways slightly, reveling in the small statement does something to me. It took years to get to this point. Years of me fighting and struggling to feel stable.

  Years of her by my side, carrying me along the way when I was too fucked in the head to see straight.

  She glances down at her book and then back up at me. “Are you just going to
keep watching me read?” Her tone is playful, a little taunting. It makes me that much harder.

  I have to get out of here in thirty, meet the guys and tell them what’s going down. I have time to enjoy her though.

  I’ll always make time for that.

  “Lie down and spread your legs for me.” I give her the command and wait for her reaction.

  She bites down on her bottom lip, trying to contain her smile. Closing the hardback, she places it on the bedside table, scooting her glass to the side with the spine of the heavy anatomy textbook. “You like it, don’t you?” she asks as she shimmies her way down the bed.

  “Like what?” I ask her, feeling my cock twitch and not wasting another second to remove these jeans. I kick off the denim and pull my t-shirt over my head, noting how Laura’s gaze drops down my chest, then to my boxer briefs the moment the shirt isn’t in her way anymore.

  I don’t know if she does it on purpose or not, but the way she rocks her crossed legs from side to side on the bed, like she’s impatient for me… fuck, I’m too hard.

  “You like the dom thing?” she asks in a whisper and a blush sweeps up from her chest to her cheeks.

  She asked me to try it out a few months ago. I tell her what to do. She listens.

  “Fuck yeah I do.”

  I stare at her as I shove my briefs down. I love how she swallows when she sees my dick and her breathing gets deeper when I stroke myself.

  “You already wet?” I ask her, a little cockier than I should be. With a little nod she hums an “uh-huh” in that seductive drawl she gets when I’m playing with her.

  It takes a moment. It always does. Rocking in and out of her slowly, waiting for her to adjust, my skin is fire against hers as I rake my teeth up her slender neck. I can feel my warm breath in my face, followed by hers as I lazily kiss her. Taking my time, feeling her body writhe under mine. Her kiss is tender and sweet. Her nails dig into my shoulders, sending a slight pain that urges me to go in deeper. Once, twice, then her breath hitches, her doe eyes widen, and my name is a strangled moan in the air between us.