by Sara Cate
Hunter chuckles, but his smile fades when I feel the pressure of his hand over mine. “I think you’re fucking brave. And strong. I think the people around you have no idea how special you are. And I think the people who don’t see that can go to hell. I also think if I could change how we met, I would do it in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t trick you or force you. I wouldn’t deceive you into sleeping with me. I’d do it the right way and show you I’m a fucking decent guy with a fucked-up head and an untrusting heart. And I would warn you I’m not a good person but hope you would give me a chance anyway.”
I stare back at him, my eyes filling with tears. “How can you like me? After everything I’ve done, how can you—”
“You’ve survived a lot, Cat. I know a survivor when I see one. I’ve been there. Feeling alone. Desperate. Angry. Those feelings weren’t on me. They’re on the people who were supposed to shield me from such emotions. Same with you. You need to stop blaming yourself. You deserve so much better. We both do. And maybe after all this, we can do it together—”
I don’t get to respond. Detective Hallstead, the lead officer on our case, walks in. “I figured I’d find you in here. How are you two feeling?”
Hunter lets go of my hand and sits back in his chair. “We’re amazing. How else would anyone feel after being attacked and almost murdered by a psychopath?”
“Hunter…” I warn.
“Are you here to tell us you’ve found him?”
A question that has been lingering with us for the past forty-eight hours. The pool and surrounding rooms were swept for Mr. Gibson’s body that night, but he was never found. “We’re doing everything we can. We have an APB out. His name and face are plastered all over the news, along with a no-fly list. If he’s alive, he won’t get far.”
“Clearly, he has, if you haven’t found him. He could be out there waiting for her,” Hunter barks.
“You both have officers outside your door and at your parents’ house. If he tries to come near any of you, he’ll be caught.”
William and Mom got away with minimal injuries. Per their statement, Mr. Gibson jumped them when they attempted to leave. When they came to, they were tied up in the garage. The police concluded he had planned to return to the home and dispose of them but never got a chance.
When they got free, William was able to call the police, but that’s not what saved us. Hunter did. When Mr. Gibson took off after me, assuming Hunter was as good as dead, Hunter rushed up and dialed 9-1-1 from the desk phone before racing out to stop him from reaching me. Thank God they traced the number, finding suspicion in the late-night call coming from a school, and sent a team over to check it out. If they hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to us.
“We’re doing everything we can. I just wanted to let you both know. Also, two other girls have come forward. It seems your teacher had quite the following of young, eager students willing to do what it took to get a good grade.”
My body is racked with chills at the disgusting news. Hunter reaches for my hand to comfort me.
“You both did a brave thing. I hope you know that. We’ll be in touch.” At those parting words, he nods and disappears.
Silence fills the room until I can’t take it any longer. “What happens now?”
So much unknown hangs over us.
Hunter gives me his attention, those blazing eyes like the deepest parts of the ocean. “We become strays together. I’ve always felt like a stray myself. Maybe you can teach me your ways.”
“I’m serious, Hunter. Where do we go from here?”
“We survive, Cat. We become stronger, and we survive. Together.”
Epilogue
Catalina
One year later. . .
“Thanks, Carrie! I’ll see you tomorrow.” I wave and hurry down the steps of the English building. I shouldn’t have stayed so late studying, but I need to get a good grade on this thesis paper. My scholarship depends on it. A brisk wind rushes past me, and I tug my backpack up my shoulder. Remind me why I chose a college that’s always windy? Keeping my head down, I hurry through campus. The sun will be gone soon, and I hate the feeling of being alone in the dark. It’s where monsters linger. And no matter how hard I try, they won’t go away.
Two more blocks.
The wind picks up, sending a chilly breeze through the old oak trees. A whistle hisses through the branches, and I tense, staring off into the forest. It’s just the wind. No one is out to kill me.
One more block.
I try to ignore the unease inside my chest. The oncoming panic of being wide open for the taking. Why did I walk home alone? I should have walked with Carrie or gotten a ride. It’s been a year. I need to get over this. I need to move on.
My building comes into view, relieving some of my discomfort. I know I’m being silly. Mr. Gibson is gone. Detective Hallstead assured us there was no way he could have made it out alive without seeking medical care. Due to his injuries, they presume him to be dead.
But I won’t sleep until they find a body.
Exhaling a massive breath of air, I jog up to my building’s stairs and reach into the side of my backpack for my keys. I’m sliding the key into the lock when heat presses against me from behind, and an arm locks around my waist. I open my mouth to scream when I feel his warm breath. The scent of mint and cigarettes, a habit he picked up to cope with his own healing from that night, fills my nostrils.
“So jumpy. Need a hot date to calm your nerves?”
I instantly relax and fall back into the comfort of his arms. “Sorry, I’m actually taken. My stepbrother’s inside, naked, waiting for me to ride him all nasty style. Raincheck?”
I squeal as Hunter tightly grips my waist, his fingers digging into my skin, and tickles me. “That bastard must be a lucky guy. Do you talk dirty to him?”
I turn in his arms as he takes my lips. “I do, and he likes it. He wants me to moan ‘Asshole’ while we fuck. It turns him on.”
“Mmmm,” he moans into my mouth. “Sounds hot. Maybe I can watch.”
My lips curve into a playful smile, and I wrap my arms around his neck. “Don’t you have homework? You should probably work on that. I can let you know how it goes. Or you can just listen. I’m a loud one when I fuck.”
“Damn, I’m hard as hell and about to fuck you on these steps. We better hurry up inside, or this whole campus is going to get a show.”
I giggle into his mouth as he bites on my bottom lip. “After you, brother,” I say, poking at the unconventional way our journey started. After the aftermath of Mr. Gibson, we came clean. We no longer had anything to hide. It took William some time to understand. He saw us for who we were: two kids drawn together by similar pasts and a traumatizing experience that blossomed into love. He accepted us and gave us his blessing. Mom wasn’t so willing. She couldn’t get past the disgust of us, even though we weren’t related. Maybe it was just because of me. Her hatred for me ran so deep, I don’t think we would have ever mended our relationship. William finally wised up and realized what a cold-hearted witch she was. He filed for divorce shortly before we left for college.
It’s a slow process, but Hunter and William are working their issues out. All isn’t forgiven, but they both are trying. As for my dad, the last time I spoke to him, he informed me Janette was pregnant. He seemed a bit spooked, which he should be. He doesn’t have what it takes to be a dad. But I know that my dad will be there, and I’ll be there for my half-sister or brother when the time comes.
Hunter pulls me from my thoughts when he smacks my ass. “Oh, no, after you, sis. I like watching your ass move up the stairs. When we make it to our place, I’m going to show you just how much.”
The anticipation always sets fire to my core. Knowing how high he’ll take me with his hands, his tongue, his cock. We were once two lost souls, begging to be seen and shown the love we deserved. Together, we escaped a life that was drowning us. We held on to one another and survived. We coped with the trauma, even though som
e days it seems Mr. Gibson will forever haunt us. But most importantly, we freed ourselves. From the rejection of our parents. The neglect. We fought hand in hand, and it made us better. Stronger. Whole.
“We better get upstairs then. I hate keeping my asshole stepbrother waiting.” My thighs quiver as I dash up the stairs. Hunter is close behind, and a knowing smile spreads across my eager face at what I have in store for me and just how greedy my stepbrother gets when he feasts on me.
* * *
The end
Sneak peek
Twenty-three hundred miles west…
“I can’t believe you’re willing to help me, Mr. Geller. These private sessions are going to really improve my grade.”
“I take pride in all my students, Rebecca. And please, call me Samuel. . .”
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About the Author
Creative designer, mother, wife, writer, part-time superhero...
USA Today Bestselling author J.D. Hollyfield is a creative designer by day and superhero by night. When she is not trying to save the world one happy ending at a time, she enjoys the snuggles of her husband, sons, and doxies. With her love for romance, and a head full of book boyfriends, she was inspired to test her creative abilities and bring her own story to life.
J.D. Hollyfield lives in the Midwest and is currently at work on blowing the minds of readers, with the additions of her new books and series, along with her charm, humor, and Happily Ever After's.
Illicit Hearts and Broken Virtues
BY A.R. BRECK
“Illicit Hearts and Broken Virtues”
A foster-father romance
* * *
All it takes is one moment; one simple breath, and everything you’ve ever known will change…
I never realized how deeply I was drowning until I was pulled to the surface.
The hopelessness I was submerged in faded the moment I met him.
Brutally handsome. Infinitely powerful.
Lynx.
President of The Seven MC. Ruthless. Killer.
There was blood on his hands, but it didn’t stop me from aching for his touch.
He shattered my innocence, and I’ve never felt more alive.
There was only one problem.
He’s twice my age.
It didn’t seem to bother him until my world flipped upside down.
Everything changed.
The man I want can never be mine.
Because now… he’s my foster father.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
* * *
Copyright © 2021 by A.R. Breck. All rights reserved.
Cover design by Books and Moods
Editing by Nice Girl Naughty Edits
Created with Vellum
Content Warning:
Illicit Hearts and Broken Virtues contains mature themes that might make some readers uncomfortable. Foul language, criminal activity, drug use, physical and sexual abuse are included in this book. People with triggers should read with caution.
Chapter 1
My alarm blares, and I roll over, pulling the chord on my alarm clock so it disconnects from the wall. Tugging the threadbare sheets over my shoulders, I shiver, goosebumps popping along my thighs as the chill in the air seeps beneath the covers.
Fuck, I do not want to go to school today.
Not at all.
I close my eyes, burrowing my head into my paper-thin pillow and roll toward the wall. It’s useless, though, because after minutes of shivering and shaking under my sheets, I realize there’s no way I’ll be able to fall back asleep.
“Screw this.” I whip the sheets back, leaping from my mattress and rush through the tiny apartment, straight into the bathroom. I can barely see my reflection in the mirror as I glance at it, filled with grime and splattered with toothpaste and dots of mascara.
I’m the only one that cleans this place. My mom and her revolving door of boyfriends don’t give a shit whether it’s clean or dirty as long as they have a place to fuck and do drugs. That leaves the housekeeping duties to me, but between school and trying to stay as far away from here as I can, that leaves a small window for cleaning.
I try to close the door behind me, but it bumps against one of my mom’s high-heeled shoes. Kicking it into the hall, I slam the door closed as another shiver works its way up my spine.
I can guarantee our heater is broken again. It’s rarely used here in San Diego, but we have a cold snap this year, and heat is damn well necessary. I asked my mom to call the landlord last week, but she most likely forgot about it. I refuse to call Bo myself. He’s a creep and a pervert, and every time I have him come over to check on something when my mom’s not home, he wants to check something out in my room. With me in it.
Yeah, fuck that.
I whip my tank over my head and tear my shorts down my legs. Turning the knob on the shower, the old pipes in our apartment squeak and groan. It takes a minute, the faucet sputtering before a weak river drips down.
Cold.
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I groan, another shiver making my limbs twitch. I jump in, a cry breaking from my throat as the ice-cold water beats down on my back. I wash my hair and body as quickly as possible, then turn the knob, hopping out and wrapping the towel around me that barely covers my butt.
My life is… less than favorable.
I grew up in San Diego and Los Angeles, hopping from apartment to apartment with my mom. She’s an aspiring actress, though I don’t know of anything she’s acted in besides amateur porn films. I also think she was probably stripping or selling herself for a while, though she firmly denies it. It doesn’t matter; I only have this last year of school until I graduate and I can get out of this shit hole.
Thankfully, I’m her only child. I never had to be a young mom to younger siblings or deal with an asshole older sibling. It was just me and her.
Yeah, my father, or more like sperm donor, couldn’t even be bothered enough to stick around and raise his own child. The moment he realized my mom wanted to suck every penny out of him and get as much child support as humanly possible, he disappeared off the face of the earth. Where he is, I don’t know. Probably dead.
Hopefully dead.
With a shaky sigh, I open the door, the water not even warm enough to slightly steam up the bathroom. I hop over my mom’s mess as I rush back to my room, my towel feeling more like a washcloth as I run through the cool hallway. It scratches like sandpaper against my cold skin. I head to my dresser, pulling out the first outfit that I can find. Not that there’s much in my dressers anyway. Half of the drawers are empty.
Any spare money my mom gets goes to herself and herself alone.
I pull on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt as I glance outside. The palm trees sway in the slight breeze, and a homeless person walks with a Target shopping cart down the road, filled with trash bags upon trash bags of junk.
It’s almost Christmas, so I shouldn’t have such a negative outlook on life. But it’s hard to think positively when I know Christmas will be filled with me by myself and nothing to look forward to. I’ll be lucky if I even see my mom.
With a sigh, I comb through my hair with my fingers and grab my beaten backpack as I make my way through my apartment. If I don’t head to the bus now, I’ll surely end up missing it. And walking the three miles to school is the last thing I want to do.
Chapter 2
“Everyone have a great Christmas break! I’ll see you in two weeks!” Mrs. Holloway says, her eyes already flitting to her phone, and an eagern
ess in her voice that shows she’s ready to be done with school just as much as all her students are.
The classroom is almost fully cleared by the time she finishes her sentence, but I take my time packing up my backpack. I don’t have anything to do. I go to one of the nicer schools in town, and that means a long bus ride to my apartment before a full night of silence.
I don’t have many friends here. None that I allow to get too close. The friends I have used to be much closer, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve built a wall around me. I have enough shit on my plate, dealing with my mom. I don’t need to add drama of high school to that list.
With my books and pens thrown in my bag, I zip it up, and Mrs. Holloway snaps her head in my direction, a slight blush tinging her cheeks. “Iris, what’re you still doing here? I figured the entire school would be empty by now.”
I shrug my shoulders, a sad smile quirking my lips.
Her face falls. It’s not hard to know about my life. I’m the one who comes to school with the same backpack every year, wearing the same clothes and shoes. Half of the time, I’m flustered, turning in homework with bags under my eyes because my neighbors kept me up all night with their loud music. My life isn’t a cakewalk, and I think everyone around me is completely aware of it.
Mrs. Holloway grabs a pencil and a scrap of paper and starts scribbling on it. “How is everything going at home, Iris?”
I shrug. “Fine.” Adjusting the strap on my backpack, I look out the classroom door. Okay, now I’m really fucking slacking. I really can’t miss my bus. It’ll take me forever to walk home.