by Alana Hart
“Shh,” he said in her ear, his voice quiet and shaking. “Don’t make a sound.”
She watched in the mirror as his hips smacked against her ass, he pulled her head back against his shoulder, and his mouth opened, his fangs grazing her neck and shoulder.
It shouldn’t be like this, she thought; he terrified her. He wasn’t human. Yet, she felt her response building as he quickened his pace, slamming harder into her, bringing tears to her eyes from the exquisite pain of it.
She had been very, very wrong about rough sex. Or maybe, it was the man behind her?
It happened in a small explosion. Connor bite into her shoulder, drawing blood, and she fell apart. Her orgasm ripped through her. She bit his hand, hearing him growl in response, the sound so inhuman, and yet so sexual. She felt him tense as she came down from her climax, his own ripping through him, spilling inside her.
Shit. They hadn’t used a condom.
He pulled out and stepped away. Casey sat, squeezing her legs together, feeling the heat of him inside her. She should go take a bath, try to get as much out as she could.
Instead, she touched her shoulder, and her fingers came away bloody. She stared at him in horror.
“I didn’t bite deep enough.” His voice was ragged, spent. He buttoned himself back into his jeans and ran a hand through his hair. “You do that with Frankie, you might just convince him.”
She’d forgotten that she was supposed to give herself up to Frankie Sway. Maybe it had been easy to do it with Connor, for reasons she wasn’t prepared to think about, but there was no way she was going to be able to do that Frankie, the murdering bastard.
But, she nodded, not meeting Connor’s intense eyes.
He returned the nod and left. Leaving her alone, bloodied, stinking of sex, and sick with what she had just done.
Before Frankie could come in and start something with her, she ran to the bathroom, started the shower, tore off her shirt and boots, and climbed in, letting the hot water scald her skin.
Chapter Nineteen
Connor took a two-minute shower in the main bathroom, getting the smell of sex off of him. He didn’t need to alert Frankie to anything suspicious before he figured out what he was going to do. He toweled off and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Part of him felt sick. Part of him felt nothing. Part of him felt something he didn’t understand.
He had sealed Casey’s fate when he’d had sex with her, bitten her. She wouldn’t turn, he hadn’t lied about that, but if the alphas, or anyone from his pack got near her, they would know, they would sense it. She could shower for days, and they would still be able to smell and feel that he had bitten her, spilled himself inside her.
She knew about him, about his pack, and they wouldn’t let that go. He would do it himself and make it quick. Hell, he could fuck her again and kill her mid-orgasm. She could die happy. The thought of killing her while he was still inside her made his stomach turn.
His pack didn’t believe in turning humans into shifters. Those who were bitten, rather than born, were volatile, violent, and unpredictable. They had no loyalty to anyone, not even their maker. He wouldn’t be allowed to turn her, not that he’d want to. That was a fate worse than the death he was going to have to deliver soon.
He would kill her before he took out Frankie and his crew. At least she would be spared from having to witness that carnage.
There was a part of him that wondered what it was she was doing here. He didn’t believe it was for the money anymore. Maybe he would find out before he killed her, just so he would know, satisfy his curiosity.
With what felt like a stone in his heart, Connor dressed and headed outside, breathing deep the fresh, night air. The air in the Berkshires felt good. It made him sad to think of what he had to do here.
Perhaps he could let her go. Scare her into running far, maybe to another country. He didn’t know for sure, but he thought the alphas might leave her alone if she was far away.
Then again, they might hunt her down and kill her. Who would they send if he couldn’t do it himself? One of his brothers? Emmett ? He hoped it wasn’t his cousin Emmett . That kid had a special place in his heart filled with hate for all humans. He would make it hurt.
No, he couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t keep her, though why that thought crossed his mind, he didn’t know, and he couldn’t let her live. Like Frankie and his crew, Casey Keene’s fate was sealed.
Chapter Twenty
Casey allowed herself ten minutes of misery. She sat in the tub, under the hot spray from the shower, letting it pound on her back, and rested her forehead on her knees. Knowing that Connor was a werewolf—a shifter– scared the shit out of her. Yet, she couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through her belly when she thought about what they’d just done.
She was a practical woman; sex was a means to an end. No strings. No attachments. Just a cool goodbye and on to the next for both parties.
So why was she feeling so miserable now? She’d just had a fucking mind-blowing orgasm, but for some stupid reason, she was sobbing on the floor of the bathtub.
She didn’t like him. He was scary, a liar, and mean. He’d only had sex with her to prove a point. The best thing for her to do was forget Connor McKinnon. Convince Frankie she was there for him, and then get the fuck out as soon as he let her out of his sight. Not that he was watching her now, but she had no doubt that if she tried to run, one of Frankie’s men would stop her.
Finally, Casey rinsed, letting the cooling water wash the tears from her face. The bruises on her hips were vivid, and her face warmed. She slipped into a long, flowery dress and a soft cardigan to hide the faint bite mark on her shoulder, leaving herself naked beneath. It was for Frankie, she thought, as she looked in the mirror. Although, she had to admit that the blue-green color of the flowers matched the color of Connor’s eyes.
By the time she joined everyone outside it was full dark. A heavy wooden table sat inside a square of flowering hedges just off the kitchen, laden with corn on the cob, baked sweet potatoes, pasta salad, a huge green salad, and baked chicken that smelled like lemon and basil. Strings of lights crisscrossed overhead, and classical music played softly from unseen speakers.
It would have been a lovely sight, and probably an enjoyable dinner if her stomach weren’t squirming with snakes.
Frankie smiled when she came out of the house, leaving behind the coolness of the ceiling fans for the chill of the mountain night.
“We’ve been waiting,” Frankie said. He nodded to the others. “Help yourselves.”
The others were Victor, who shoveled bites of food into his mouth as he filled his plate, two of Frankie’s cousins, and Connor. Casey kept her eyes averted, afraid to look at him, and took her seat between Frankie and one of his cousins.
“Feeling better?” Frankie asked, covering her hand with his. She almost flinched, but thankfully caught herself, and instead turned her hand in his, linking their fingers. She offered him a smile.
“Much better.” Did she sound too satisfied? Bored? Guilty?
Frankie’s smile was warm, his dark eyes drinking her in, and she felt her stomach clench. He was good at this game, maybe better than she was. Did he know that she was aware of his suspicions?
She returned his smile, and he let her go. Somehow she managed to force down a plateful of salad and sweet potatoes. Anymore than that and she might not be able to keep it down, and she needed to if she was going to let Frankie do what he wanted to her.
With that thought came the memory of Connor behind her, inside her. She felt her face warm and was glad for the dim lighting. She glanced at him, and felt a jolt run through her. He was staring at her from the corner of his eyes. Quickly she put her eyes back on her food, afraid Frankie might have seen them looking at one another. Though, why he would think anything of it she didn’t know, but where he was already suspicious, she didn’t want to give him any more ideas.
When his staff had cleared away th
e dinner plates and brought out bowls of strawberry ice cream with chocolate sauce, Frankie turned the conversation from the subtle renovations he’d done on the farmhouse.
“Jenny,” he said, and her shoulders tensed. She pushed her ice cream around in her bowl, watching it melt. She turned adoring eyes on the man. “Are you excited for the fight in a few days?”
Her stomach turned, her dinner threatening to make a reappearance. She smiled. “I’ve never seen one before.”
“It’s quick, it’s vicious, and it’s a rush like no boxing match can give.” Frankie watched her, his smile easy, but there was wickedness in his eyes. She had to work hard to keep her expression interested and not sick.
“I’ve never seen a boxing match either.”
He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. “Such an innocent thing.” He gave Connor his attention. “How about you, Mr. McKinnon?”
With a question directed at Connor, Casey allowed herself to look at him. Those steely eyes passed over her briefly and then met Frankie’s with such ease and camaraderie that Casey felt a pang of dread. He was also playing this better than she was.
“Looking forward to it,” Connor said, and then smiled greedily. “I put what you’re paying me on the match, so I hope your dogs are as good as you say.”
Frankie chuckled. “They’re the best.”
“Then I’ll be taking a vacation after this bike is finished.”
At this, Frankie launched into descriptions of his favorite vacation spots. Casey, meanwhile, retreated into herself.
She was fucked.
Connor could play his part so well that there was no way she was going to be able to convince Frankie it hadn’t been her who hacked his computer. She was terrified, and pretending to be coy wasn’t as easy when she was waiting for someone to kill her as it had been when she was sunbathing.
She could still convince Frankie that she was there only for him. Of course that would leave Frankie believing it had been Connor, but he was doing all he could to point the blame at her, so she would just have to do her best to get Frankie to look at him.
Jennifer Cartwright’s background was solid, and it would take a hacker as good as herself—or as good as Aidan McKinnon—to find the connection between Jenny and Casey. But Connor’s background was spotty now that Aidan had removed much of it. If she could just get Frankie to look into Connor’s past and leave Jenny’s be, then she would have a chance at getting away.
Connor could handle himself, she thought. He was a damn werewolf. He had the supernatural on his side. What did she have? Hacker skills. A lot of good those would do in a fight against Frankie.
No, it wouldn’t come to that. She needed to convince him of her undying love, get him suspicious of Connor, and get the fuck out. It was convincing him of her love that would be a problem.
Maybe if she just imagined Connor when she was with Frankie. She didn’t love him, didn’t even like him, but sex with Connor had been amazing. If she could just keep that in mind, she could pretend to enjoy Frankie.
“Jenny?” Frankie’s voice startled her. “You look exhausted. Why don’t we call it a night?”
He stood and reached for her hand. She took his, proud to see that hers didn’t shake, and let him lead her to the kitchen door.
“See you all for an early breakfast.”
Before slipping inside, Casey glanced back at the table where moths had begun to flutter over the lights. Connor remained in his seat, his eyes hidden in shadow, but she felt them on her, felt them even as she climbed the stairs to the room on the third floor.
Could Connor hear her still? Could he hear her heart pounding in her chest? Smell her fear? Her disgust?
Would he hear everything they were about to do?
The thought made her shiver.
Frankie turned once they were in the room and took her shoulders in his hands. “I’m so glad you came,” he said, his voice low. He hadn’t put a light on so all that lifted the darkness of the room were the lights outside.
She smiled up at him. “I’m glad you invited me.”
He gave her shoulders a small squeeze and then let her go abruptly. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back on his hands, his eyes on her.
“How glad?”
She swallowed, thankful for the dark, and walked over to him. Her legs shook, but they were hidden by her dress. She took off her cardigan; it would be too dark for him to see the mark Connor left on her. Her hands were trembling now, though, so she began to breathe fast, acting as though she was all hot and bothered over him. The button on his jeans took a few tires, and then his hard length was in her hand.
So far he had only sat back and watched her. When would he take over? Connor was convinced that Frankie was going to use sex as a way to make her spill the truth; why hadn’t he done so yet?
Not wanting to sit around with his dick in her hand, Casey stroked him and lifted her dress, preparing to slide onto his lap, but Frankie stopped her. Her took her chin in his hand and ran a thumb across her lips.
“Put your mouth on me.”
Fuck. She hated blowjobs and had managed to keep from giving any to Frankie. He must have known she’d avoided them on purpose, otherwise why would he want one now? The moment to prove herself had come.
She dropped to her knees between his legs, swallowed the bile in her throat, and slid her lips over the head of his cock.
She almost gagged, but managed to stifle it and slide her tongue over the velvety head. All she could think, as she took him deeper in her mouth, was that this was where he pissed from, this part of him sat inside his pants all day getting sweaty and gross.
How was she going to make it through an entire blowjob?
And then she heard a deep laugh from outside the open window. Could she do this with Connor? Maybe.
What if Connor put his mouth between her legs? What if his fangs grazed the inside of her thigh? What if he slid his tongue where his cock had been?
These thoughts, the images swelling in her mind helped to drown out what she was doing, who she was doing it to. She sucked harder, faster, the sounds wet and sloppy. She imagined lying on Connor’s stomach, his mouth between her legs, his cock in her mouth, and she moaned.
Suddenly Frankie tensed, his cock jerked in her mouth, and then he filled her cheeks with his semen. She did gag now, and spit before she thought better of it.
Casey sat on the floor, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, staring up at the dark eyes over her, wondering if she had just blown it.
Frankie leaned forward, his face a mask. He took her chin in his hand, squeezing painfully, and shook his head.
“I don’t believe you.”
She knew he had a temper, but she hadn’t experienced it before, not really. She didn’t see the blow coming until his fist connected with the side of her head. She fell, stars popping in front of her eyes, pain exploding in her temple.
He stood over her, the light from outside casting half of him in shadow, and removed his belt.
She scrambled away, black dots still clouding her vision. Frankie kicked her backside, sending her sprawling. And then his belt was around her neck, tight. She clawed at it, choking. His weight settled behind her, and he yanked her legs apart.
“Tomorrow we’ll find out who you really are. Tonight, I’m going to show who I really am.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Connor woke before the sun came up. Murky gray light filled his room, throwing deep shadows into the corners. He hadn’t slept well. The room above him was well soundproofed, despite a lack of any real security in the house. Frankie had only a few, old-school cameras filming outside for trespassers, but none that recorded sound, and none on the kennels or barn, most likely to keep from having any proof of what he does here. But that room was sealed tight, so that Connor, with his wolfish hearing, could hear only a few muffled sounds.
That didn’t stop his imagination from plaguing him all night with dreams of what Frankie was doin
g to Casey, what Casey was doing to him.
He shouldn’t care. She had no place in his life in any way. She was human, a liability, and she was marked for death. A death he was going to have to deliver soon. His stalling was only going to make it worse. It would be better if Frankie killed her last night.
Better for Connor, not for Casey.
He shouldn’t have slept with her. Though, they hadn’t slept. They’d fucked. He hadn’t even kissed her. He’d regret that once she was a corpse; she had the most kissable-looking lips.
He could have gotten himself off, it might have helped him get some sleep, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to take her into his bed and bury himself deep inside her and never leave.
But that was impossible.
Connor had never thought himself a romantic, or soft, or even as having a conscience. Since he was sixteen, he had been working for the alphas, doing jobs, taking out targets. He was one of their assassins. Not every shifter in their family did jobs like this. Liam had a special gift that the alphas put to good use. Aidan’s talent with technology made him perfect for the job, and Connor had been cold, ruthless, doing as he was told with no questions asked. Which was why it was so odd that he was stalling now.
They would know. The alphas knew that once Connor got to the farm he would have the visual evidence he needed to take out Frankie Sway, but he hadn’t done so yet. It would make them unhappy. And Connor was already on their shit list for those stolen moments in the car with Casey.
Restless, Connor tossed off his blanket and left the bed. He wore only jeans and a tee shirt, leaving his feet bare, and went to the garage. Two large packages sat wrapped on the tool bench. They were from his brother.
For a few hours, Connor sat in the garage, the door open to the cool morning air, a bright, bare bulb swaying overhead, and put the last pieces on Frankie’s bike. It was gorgeous. Before he sold it he would need to have the gas tank repainted; no one besides Frankie would appreciate the snarling dogs and blood. As the sun crested the mountains, it gleamed off the bike.