by Meghan March
Copyright © 2016 by Meghan March LLC
All rights reserved.
Editor: Pam Berehulke, Bulletproof Editing
www.bulletproofediting.com
Cover design: @ By Hang Le
www.byhangle.com
Photo: @ Darren Birks Photography
www.darrenbirksphotography.com
Interior Design: Stacey Blake, Champagne Formats
www.champagneformats.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Visit my website at www.meghanmarch.com.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
About This Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Epilogue
Also by Meghan March
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
About This Book
Greer Karas has been mine since the first day I saw her.
I walked away because she deserved better than I could offer, but I always planned to come back and stake my claim when the time was right.
But true to form, Greer wasn’t willing to wait. She threw down a challenge, and I’m meeting her head-on.
I’m not walking away this time, because sometimes you have to fight dirty for love.
Cav lied to me.
About everything.
Bile rises in my throat. How could I be so wrong?
I wrap my arms around my body, cold chills racing across my skin despite the heat of the Belizean morning. Static fills my head. Or is that the blood rushing in my ears?
My brother’s voice pierces the white noise. “He’s my fucking half brother.”
That can’t be right. Impossible.
I’m transported back to the day Creighton told me all the secrets our uncle had spewed. That Creighton wasn’t his nephew. Which meant he wasn’t my full brother. That our mother was the mistress of some mobster who would never marry her because he was already married.
And Cav is the mobster’s son too.
Every piece I fit together in my brain triggers another twist of my belly until I’m nauseated.
But one thought overarches it all, and I curl my fingers into the fabric of my shirt to keep my hands from visibly trembling as I repeat it in my head. Cav lied to me. Every step of the way.
I know I should look at him, but I can’t do it. I’m not physically equipped to face that kind of deceit head-on. My eyes won’t cooperate, studying the lines of grout on the tile floor instead.
Another shiver rips through me, and this time I almost throw up in my mouth.
Please, God, tell me I didn’t accidentally commit some kind of incest.
“Who is your mother?” I ask Cav, my voice shaking as I stare at the floor.
“Greer, look at me.” His tone is quiet but forceful.
“Don’t fucking tell her what to do,” Creighton says, the words firing like invisible bullets at Cav.
“Because only you get to tell her what to do?” Cav’s voice is laced with acid. “You have to control everyone and everything around you, Karas. She’s a fucking person with a mind of her own. Not one of your subordinates.”
The front door to the house flies open, but I don’t honestly care who else is coming in. All I want is the answer to my question and for the buzzing in my head to stop, preferably thanks to lots and lots of alcohol. I think I’ve earned it.
“Who is your mother?” I repeat, perilously close to hysteria.
It isn’t Cav who answers me, though. Creighton does.
“She was Dom Casso’s mistress after our mother, Greer. You’re not related to this piece of shit. Only I am.”
If the logical part of my brain were functioning correctly, I probably would have pieced that together myself without needing to ask, but I’m too off-balance right now. Something inside me feels broken, but I refuse to admit it’s my heart.
It can’t be.
“Greer—” Cav starts again, but Cannon interrupts.
“Crey, you ready? The airport isn’t going to let the jet sit for much longer. They want us out now.” My brother’s second-in-command—his sidekick, really—steps through the door to the bedroom.
“Come on, let’s go,” Creighton says to me, holding out his hand.
“Greer, you’re not leaving with him. Look at me, goddammit.” Cav’s tone is pure command, but I don’t make any move to comply.
“Don’t you fucking tell her what to do.” Creighton’s words resemble a growl.
White noise overwhelms my thoughts. Information and emotion overload. I’m paralyzed, my feet rooted to the floor, my arms frozen around me.
“Look at me, baby girl. Please.”
I drag my gaze from the floor at Cav’s feet and up toward his face. It could have taken five seconds or five minutes, but my sense of time is shattered. Twenty minutes ago, I was asleep with this man wrapped around me, but when I look at him now, I see a stranger.
I don’t know him. At all. I never have. The truth beats into my head like the waves crashing on the shore outside.
Creighton steps closer and wraps a strong arm around my shoulders, allowing me to sag into his strength. My big brother has never done anything but shield me from everything bad in the world. He’s the one person in my life I can truly count on. No hidden motives. Just . . . overbearing protectiveness.
“We’re leaving. And if you so much as come within two hundred yards of her, I’ll have Dom deal with you.”
Cav’s father. The mobster. Creighton’s father. The mobster.
I can’t. Can’t process. The pieces aren’t snapping together anymore; they’re lying scattered on the metaphorical floor of my brain like a toddler threw a tantrum.
When Creighton’s feet move and the
arm around me forces me to step toward the door, I go.
“She’s not leaving with you.”
It’s a declaration, but I can barely hear it over the buzzing in my head.
Cannon swoops in behind me, and I imagine he and Cav are facing off like boxers in a ring. I don’t turn my head to see. My body won’t have it.
He lied. About everything. The words tumble through my brain on repeat. I gave him the most vulnerable parts of me, and he’s never given me the truth. About anything.
Every repetition is another fist to the gut. And if I’m being honest—maybe to my heart.
The static grows louder in my head, drowning out the shouting in the bedroom as I let Creighton lead me, one foot in front of the other, out the door of the beach house.
So much for fantasies becoming real.
“Get out of my fucking way.” If this slick fuck doesn’t step back right now, I’m going to knock his head off his shoulders. Greer just walked out the door, looking half-drunk from the bullshit she was fed.
I need to get to her. Need to explain. It wasn’t all a lie. She’s only getting half the story—the half they want her to hear—and now this prick is blocking my path from the bedroom.
I don’t hesitate to swing. What shocks me is how quickly he dodges the blow—like a seasoned boxer. What surprises me even more is the fist that flies toward my jaw and connects.
The burst of pain doesn’t register because everything is already black.
Cav didn’t even try to follow me.
It’s just one more thought that joins those on shuffle in my brain as we reach cruising altitude and the jet’s Wi-Fi kicks in. The static has died down, and now I feel . . . empty. Hurt. And the hurt is filling in the emptiness faster than I expected.
After digging into the bag of clothes Creighton stashed in the bedroom at the back of the jet, I change out of the dress I wore last night. The dress I wore before I gave up that last slip of my virginity . . . to a man who lied to me from the day we met.
Great judgment, Greer.
I mentally apologize to the anonymous owner of the dress as I stuff it into the tiny garbage can of the jet’s bathroom. I wish I could shed all of the hurt so easily. But no, there’s only one solution for that—alcohol.
I push open the door from the private bedroom to the main cabin where Creighton and Cannon are seated across from each other in wide tan leather seats. Each of Creighton’s jets seems to be nicer than the last, but I’m not in the mood to appreciate the well-appointed interior with its rich leather, dark wood, and brushed silver accents. No, I’m in the mood to appreciate the liquor cabinet.
Both men watch me as I walk directly to it. I ignore Cannon’s question about whether I need anything.
The only thing I need is in my hand. A fifth of Grey Goose. I don’t even need a glass. On a whim, I grab a can of cranberry juice to chase it with, not to mix.
“Is that really a good idea?” Creighton asks, his tone surprisingly condescension-free.
“It’s the only idea I have right now. Drinking until I pass out and forget the last couple of weeks sounds perfect.”
Creighton doesn’t object.
“I grabbed your purse too, on the way out,” Cannon says, jerking his head toward where my bag sits tucked under a seat.
With my free fingers, I snag that too. “Awesome.”
I lock myself back into the cabin and turn on my phone. After it didn’t work the first few days in Belize, I decided to free myself from constantly checking it and decided to enjoy being disconnected by turning it off. My battery is still at sixty-seven percent, which is plenty for my next task.
The Wi-Fi signal is strong as I log on to my Skype account. Unannounced Skype calls are the devil’s work; you just don’t do that to a girl. But Banner will have to forgive me because this is a serious situation. I don’t know what time zone I’m in, but I decide to risk it anyway by tapping on her name.
Moments later, my best friend’s face fills the screen. “Where the hell have you been? And if I weren’t so damn worried about you, I would’ve made you call back in five minutes when I didn’t look like a survivor of the zombie apocalypse.”
Banner’s hair is wild, sticking out in all directions. Eye makeup that must not have come off completely last night is smudged under her lower lashes. I don’t even know what day it is.
“Did I wake you?”
“Nah, I’m laying here wishing I could quit my job and run away with the circus. I hear those strongmen can deliver quite the pounding.”
Against all odds, a laugh bubbles up inside me. This is exactly what I need—my best friend and some booze.
I situate my phone against the stack of pillows on the bed and hold up the bottle of vodka in front of the screen.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?” My voice is faux cheerful, and tears gather at the corners of my eyes.
Banner doesn’t miss a thing. She shoves up in bed and shakes her finger at the camera.
“If he so much as hurt one hair on your head—or anywhere else you inadvisably have hair—I’m gonna kill him.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I want to get hammered and I need my best friend. We gotta go shot for shot or I’m never going to get enough down to forget this.”
Banner’s face crumples. “It was that bad?”
I nod.
“I’m sorry, babe. Let me get my supplies and I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
The picture on my screen bounces as Banner carries the phone with her to the kitchen. Her bright red silk nightgown obscures the picture until she sets the phone up against something on her kitchen table.
“One more sec. Gotta get the good stuff.”
She’s back in moments with a matching bottle of vodka and a shot glass. “Okay. I’m not saying I’m not gonna puke, but after last night, I can use a little hair of the dog.”
Something occurs to me. “Do you need to go to work?”
She shakes her head. “Nope, going to e-mail them to tell them Fernando the Brazilian Strongman and I are running away to Rio where he’s going to keep me so well fucked, I won’t be able to walk, let alone work.”
I tilt my head and study her face. With a choking laugh, I say, “You really did go to the circus, didn’t you? Oh my God, you fucked a carny?”
Banner’s eyes dart sideways, telling me she was lying about “hearing” that strongmen can deliver a good pounding. “I got sick of the techie guys at work. I needed a man with arms bigger than mine. Preferably bigger than my thighs. I’m not apologizing for my walk on the carny side. It was awesome. The all-you-can-eat elephant ears were a bonus.”
I cover my face with both hands and peek through my fingers. “Oh my God. Where the hell did you find a circus in Manhattan?”
This time her gaze darts to the floor and her cheeks flush.
“Banner?” I drop my hands and pin her with my best tell me right now look.
Her voice is a mumble when she next speaks. “Jersey.”
Of course.
“And why aren’t you still in the strongman’s bed?”
I need to hear more. Preferably the whole story, because at least Banner’s life is more ridiculous than mine, and it has a shot at distracting me from everything I want to forget.
She coughs and speaks into her hand. “What was that?” Lowering her hand, she admits, “They had to pack up and drive to Pennsylvania. No more strong cock for this girl. It’s heartbreaking, really. Fernando was amazing. I didn’t understand a single word he said because my Portuguese is nonexistent, but who needs words when you’ve got an eleven-inch cock with the girth of jumbo summer sausage? My pussy may never be the same again . . . but at least I’ll have the memories.”
She finishes on a wistful note, and I’m so damn glad that my best friend is absolutely nuts.
“I love you, B.”
“Love you too, girl. Now, uncap that bottle and let’s get day drunk.”
&nb
sp; I twist off the top and lift the bottle to my lips and chug. The vodka slides down my throat in a cool rush. Smooth. Silky. Deliciously mind-numbing.
Best. Idea. Ever.
Banner regales me with stories of the strongman, and I work on blocking out every memory involving Cav. She doesn’t ask for details because she’s that kind of friend. The kind that knows instinctively that I wouldn’t be swilling vodka like it’s water while sitting in the back of my brother’s private jet unless something had gone sideways in the worst way possible.
Or at least, I thought she took the hint that I didn’t want to talk about it. But no, my sneaky best friend decides to wait until I’m five shots in and my capacity for lying is nil.
“So, what the hell happened? You were here and the gossip rags slapped the label of Cav Westman’s hot new girlfriend on you, and then you freaking disappeared. I about lost my mind worrying. I stormed your brother’s office, and Cannon told me you were safe but laying low, and escorted me out of the building. Nothing else. I’ve been waiting impatiently for you to call, and now you call and want to get wasted. You gotta tell me what’s going on, woman.”
“Can we shelve this conversation for later?”
“Nope.” Banner pops the p. “Spill.”
I take a deep breath and give it all to her in one fell swoop. “Cannon shoved us in a plane and sent us to some tiny island off the coast of Belize where we fucked and ate and laid in the sun for the last however many days until Creighton showed up to drop the bomb that Cav . . .” I pause because I haven’t shared the mob connection with Banner, and I doubt Creighton would want me to. Quick thinking has me changing my words to something vaguer. “Well, he’s been lying to me since the beginning. About everything.”
Holding up a finger, Banner grabs the neck of the bottle of vodka and pours another shot. “Get ready to chug, girlie, because that deserves more liquor.”
I lift my bottle in a toast and pour more cool vodka down my throat. One shot, two shots . . . maybe more. Who knows at this point? All I know is that the bottle isn’t empty yet, and I’m still conscious.