Saving Red (A Naughty Beasts & Filthy Princes Romance Book 1)

by Carter Blake

  I dip my head towards hers, breathing in the scent of her; watching her eyes light up as the fireworks go off.

  She leans back into me, like she wants my touch.

  I should step away, but instead I press in closer. I’m so far out of my comfort zone with all these emotions twisting in my chest.

  I’ve got a lineup of girls that are more than happy to jump into my bed. Meaningless sex. It should be enough. But it’s not. Not when there’s Kennedy.

  “Happy New Year.” I murmur in her ear and feel a small tremble go through her body.

  She turns slightly, her mouth parted as if she’s about to say something, but before she can utter a word, my lips are on hers.

  Just a single touch.

  Soft.

  Gentle.

  But it’s enough to rock my world—or destroy it.

  “Liam.” My father’s rough, slurred voice barks out behind me.

  “Fuck.” I push Kennedy away from me a little too roughly, and her fingers go instantly to her mouth, eyes wide.

  I should never have touched her.

  She’s off limits. I don’t need him, the asshole who’s now staring at me with murder in his bloodshot eyes, reminding me I’m no good for her. Because I know it’s the truth.

  Kennedy looks up at me like she doesn’t know what she should do.

  “Go inside.” My tone is cold, harsh, because I know what the single kiss is going to cost me.

  She blinks, not moving, like she’s still trying to decide if she should leave me. She knows my father’s temper. Not the full extent of it—but she’s seen the bruises, heard his vicious words.

  “Liam?” she says softly, concern in her hazel eyes. She’s the only person who uses my real name without causing my stomach to curdle.

  I prefer the nickname the boys down at the gym started calling me after my first fight—Thunder. A single blow to the temple knocked my opponent out ten seconds into the first round.

  At just sixteen, grown men tremble when I walk into the ring.

  Yet here I am, ten consecutive wins later, and I’m still scared of the man staring daggers at me now. Every second Kennedy stands there, a shield between us, I know his anger grows.

  “Go,” I growl, then lean closer so that only she can hear. “That shouldn’t have happened. Understand?”

  A small nod is her only response, but I can see the tears gathering in her eyes.

  Shit.

  When Kennedy is gone, my father stumbles towards me. He grips my t-shirt in his fists and shoves me up against the side of the house. “I’ve told you to keep your hands off her.”

  I could easily dart out of his grasp; instead I stand there and accept the first shot, a blow to my ribs.

  Pain splinters through my chest, and I cough out a rough breath.

  Fuck.

  He’s still sober enough to make each hit count.

  I’ve learned from experience that the more I fight back, the worse the beating.

  Could I take him? Yeah, I could kill the motherfucker. But then what? The asshole is still my father, and for another five months, he’s the roof over my head.

  “She’s too fucking good for scum like you.” His breath reeks of beer, and spittle hits my face when he hisses out each word.

  I don’t need him reminding me. I know he’s right. Everything I touch I destroy. Kennedy would be no different.

  “Everything okay out here?” Tom Harper, Kennedy’s dad opens the sliding glass doors, brows drawn down.

  “Yeah, just having a little father-son talk.” Like fucking Dr. Jekyll, my father’s expression changes, an easy smile spreading across his face as he turns to meet his friend.

  Tom doesn’t smile back. “It’s freezing out here. Come inside.”

  Like nothing happened, my father follows him, leaving me alone, my ribs aching. But the pain is nothing compared to the hollowness inside my chest.

  Empty.

  Raw.

  Alone.

  I breathe out heavily when they’re both gone and pull up my shirt to take in the damage.

  The one good thing about having a drunk for a father, is his memory is shit. I doubt he’ll remember seeing me with my lips plastered against Kennedy’s.

  I drop my shirt and wince.

  Uncapping my last beer, I drown the contents. My thoughts are chaotic, and I’m not sure how long I stand there, but my fingers are practically numb when I turn to go inside.

  Instead of going through the house, I take the back stairs to get to the basement where Kennedy and her friends were hanging out before I pulled her out here.

  Opening the sliding door, I freeze when I see her. Or rather them.

  My brother is stretched out, legs in front of him, a giant smirk plastered on his face, because curled up next to him fast asleep is Kennedy. His arm is wrapped around her shoulder, possessively, and the way she burrows closer to him in her sleep makes my stomach twist.

  If she wasn’t practically attached to his body, I’d punch the smirk right off his face.

  “Got a problem?” Colin’s eyes narrow on me.

  Yeah, a huge one. Him.

  Emotions from the darkest part of my soul well up inside me.

  Resentment.

  Jealousy.

  Hatred.

  You’d think I’d be used to it by now. Colin swooping in.

  The white knight.

  The good brother.

  That it wouldn’t feel like a rusty nail to the heart seeing him with her, knowing he’d probably comforted her when she came in here with tears in her eyes—because of me.

  My father would have no problem with Colin touching her. Shit, he’d no doubt encourage it. But with me, nothing I do will ever be good enough.

  Not for him.

  Not for Colin.

  And especially not for Kennedy.

  Chapter 1

  Present

  Thunder

  I hate being back in the city.

  Mostly because everything reminds me of her. Especially this damn café.

  We used to come here after school—Kennedy, Colin and me. It was just a donut shop then. Now it’s one of those fancy shops, where the cup sizes are written in French and it takes ten minutes to brew a damn cup of coffee.

  It’s only the beginning of November, and already trickles of laughter mingle with the faint hum of Christmas carols being pumped through the shitty sound system, the smell of cinnamon and peppermint another reminder of Kennedy.

  She loved this damn holiday. Even after her father’s death, the foreclosure on her house, and her mother’s unsteady mental health, she still found joy in the small things, like decorating a Christmas tree, or baking cookies that she’d force Colin and I to eat.

  “Sir?” The pink haired barista with multiple piercings and tattoos looks at me impatiently.

  “Thanks,” I mutter, taking the paper cup she hands me.

  Five minutes home, and I’m already torturing myself with memories I’ve spent the last several months trying to forget.

  I need to get back to my apartment. Unpack. And try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life, now that fighting is no longer an option.

  One bad kick, and my career is over, my knee permanently fucked up.

  My manager insists that it’ll just take time to get my strength back. That if I give myself some time to heal, I’ll be back in the ring.

  The thing is, I’m sick and tired of fighting.

  I mean what’s the fucking point? I’ve already got more money than I know what to do with—and no one to fucking share it.

  “Careful,” I growl, my coffee sloshing over the side and burning my hand, when a woman carrying two armloads of shopping bags bumps into me.

  “Sorry,” she says in a sing-song voice that only annoys me more.

  The place is packed with Christmas shoppers, and I scowl at the happy faces that look up at me when I pass.

  “Holy crap.” A balding, middle-aged man corners me b
efore I can make it to the door. “You’re Thunder Forrester.”

  A few heads turn and look in my direction.

  Shit.

  “Wrong guy.” It’s not really a lie. The guy he thinks I am, that Thunder Forrester died along with his career. I try to push past him, but he sidesteps me and places a hand on my shoulder.

  “Sorry to bother you. But I’d love to get an autograph for my son. He’s a big fan.”

  A quick glance at the freckled-faced kid staring wide-eyed up at me, and I cave.

  “Fine,” I mutter, taking the pen and paper the kid hands me, and scribbling my name.

  “Thanks, buddy.” The man slaps me on the back. “What’re the odds meeting both the Forrester brothers on the same day. “You think I could get a picture with you both? I’d really…”

  The man keeps prattling on, but all the noises of the café turn to static when I follow his gaze towards the far corner booth.

  Bent over a cup of coffee, forearms stretched out on the table, my brother frowns at the woman sitting across from him.

  Even though I can only see the slight profile of her face, I know it’s her.

  Kennedy.

  Yeah, what are the fucking odds?

  They haven’t seen me, and if I was smart, I’d keep it that way.

  But my feet feel like they’re glued to the floor, and despite the twisting sensation inside my chest, I can’t move.

  The man is still hammering on, and I turn and give him a scathing look that has him raising his eyebrows and taking a step back.

  Of all the fucking coffee shops in the city, Colin and Kennedy happen to be in this one. It’s like fate has it in for me. I didn’t even think the two of them were together anymore. At least that’s what the tabloids reported.

  Two months ago, Colin was photographed making out with one of the Nelson twins; Abby or Gabby, it didn’t matter which one. The media loved the torrid affair between the country’s most famous bad boy hockey player and the Barbie doll cloned b-list actress.

  I’d thought about trying to contact Kennedy when I read it, but what was the point? She’d made her choice. Time to live with the consequences.

  My fingers form into knuckles at my side as I watch them. The two people that I loved most in this world. I wonder if they know what a fucking mess I’ve been since our last encounter?

  How shredded I was when I found them in the hotel room together.

  If they even cared.

  Colin passes a small brown envelope across the table. Kennedy shakes her head vehemently and pushes it back.

  “Don’t be so stubborn.” My brother's words, clearly laced with frustration, are loud enough for me to hear.

  With her back to me, I can’t make out what she says, but whatever it is only makes Colin more irritated.

  “I know what I promised, and it’s complete bullshit. This whole situation is fucked up.” He leans in and says something that makes her shake her head. “I’m done.”

  She scoots over on the bench, and Colin reaches out and grabs her arm. “Please, I need you to—”

  “No.” The way his nostrils flare, the curl of his lip, I can read what he’s feeling—disgust. “I won't be part of this.”

  Something primal stirs in my chest, and despite my brain telling me to get the hell out of there, to let them deal with their own shit, I start towards them.

  Tossing my coffee in the trash can, I push through the line of people waiting to order, then freeze when I see Kennedy more clearly. She leans over to collect her bag, then stands so I have a perfect view of her profile.

  My breath catches in my throat, because underneath the layers of clothing, the oversized jacket, I witness the rounding of her stomach.

  Fuck. That one, small sliver of hope that she’d ever be mine…gone. Just like that, my memory flashes, and I’m back, standing in the doorway of my brother’s hotel room, watching as Kennedy comes out of the bathroom wearing only a white towel wrapped around her perfect body.

  That was months ago.

  Fuck. Me.

  I blink. Once. Twice. Not able, or willing to accept the reality in front of me.

  She’s leaving, headed through the crowd towards the door, and all I can do is stand there and watch her walk out into the bitter cold of the city streets before disappearing around the corner.

  She’s pregnant.

  Those two words play over and over in my head like a broken record. I know little about pregnancy, but she must be maybe seven or eight months with how big she is.

  My brother’s baby. That’s why she was here with him. My entire body is numb, humming with emotions I can’t even place. To think she’ll be connected to him like that, forever, it stirs a jealousy inside of me so strong that my body shakes.

  She’s not yours, I remind myself, knowing logically that I have no right to feel the way I do.

  But fuck right and wrong. Right now, all I want to do is the one thing I should have done months ago. Beat the living shit out of my brother.

  “Liam?” Colin’s voice breaks through the static that’s kept me paralyzed.

  My head snaps to where he’s standing, only a few feet from me now.

  Face pale, dark brows drawn down, he looks confused. “You’re back?”

  Anger. Red-hot and blinding blisters through me.

  “You fucking asshole.” I lunge at him, my fist connecting with his jaw before he has a chance to brace himself.

  Built like a tank, my punch doesn’t have the same impact it would have on any other man.

  Colin stumbles back a few paces, but remains standing.

  A woman’s shriek, the screech of chairs sliding back, and chaos ensues as people do their best to get out of our way.

  I’m about to take another swing when Colin comes at me, hitting me with the full force of his two hundred and twenty pounds.

  My fist lands a kidney shot, and he retaliates with an uppercut to the jaw that leaves me seeing stars. I grunt as my back connects against the wall.

  “What the hell is your problem?” He’s got me pinned.

  His fists grip the collar of my shirt, and he looks like it’s taking all his strength not to hit me again.

  “She’s pregnant,” I hiss, tasting blood.

  His grip loosens slightly, and I see it. The guilt. A quick sideways glance, the way his lips purse. There’s no denying it’s his.

  “I wanted to tell you. But she asked me…” He shakes his head and sighs.

  “To what?” I shrug him off, then push him away. “She asked you to what? Keep it from me?”

  With a small shake of his head, he looks over his shoulder, and groans. Multiple people have their phones out, recording us.

  Normally I would care. Right now, I don’t.

  “You’re a real jackass, you know that?” I spit out.

  His eyes narrow on me. “You’re the one who took off. Wouldn’t answer anyone’s calls.”

  “I was dealing with some shit.”

  “Yeah. You always are, aren’t you?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He stares at me for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw clenching, his nostrils flared.

  When he doesn’t answer, I ask tightly, “What are you going to do about it?”

  His eyes narrow and his chin tilts down. “About what?”

  I have to clear my throat before I can say the words, “The baby.”

  “What am I going to do about it?”

  I can tell he’s trying to keep his cool because one eye twitches like it always does before he loses his shit.

  “You plan on marrying her?”

  He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just pure, undiluted anger. “No. I’m not going to fucking marry her.”

  “You think this is a joke? You think you can just walk away from her? From your child?”

  “That’s what you think of me?” He sucks his bottom lip back over his teeth. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

&nbs
p; “She deserves better than this, than you.”

  “Screw this. I’m done.” He turns and starts to leave.

  “That kid needs a father, and—”

  “You’re right.” He turns back, and despite the throng of people watching he gets in my face again. “But it sure as hell won't be me.”

  “I always knew you were a coward.” I keep my voice low, steady, despite the seething anger that rolls through me. Digging my finger into his chest, I egg him on, “A no good piece of shit just like Dad. The kid’s better off without you.”

  He doesn’t come at me like I hope he will. Instead, he stands there watching me, his expression unreadable.

  The tension between us is practically tangible. His mouth twists, and his breathing comes out in small bursts, but I still can’t read what he’s thinking. Or maybe I don’t want to because what I think I'd see would gut me if I let it.

  Screw him. He doesn’t get to be hurt. Not after everything he’s done. Everything he’s taken from me.

  “Here.” Colin pulls the manila envelope from his pocket and shoves it against my chest. “Give this to her. Maybe she’ll take it from you.”

  From the heaviness of it, I know it’s cash.

  “You think you can buy your way out of this?”

  “Yeah.” The corners of his lips twitch up, but there’s no humor in his eyes. “That’s what I’m doing. Buying my way out of this fucked up relationship.”

  It’s impossible to miss the sarcasm that drips from each word. The hidden meaning I clearly don’t get.

  “You’re an asshole,” I spit out, only wanting to see him as the villain in all this.

  “I’m your brother. Maybe one day you’ll remember that.”

  He turns and walks away. And I let him. Because he may be my brother, but he’s also the man that stole the only woman I’ve ever loved.

  Chapter 2

  Sixteen Years Old

  Kennedy

  “Let me see.”

  “Come on, Kennedy.”

  The Forrester brothers hover over me, their matching blue eyes full of mischief. Their sole purpose to obtain the small spiral notebook I clutch to my chest.

  “No.” My cheeks burn with humiliation with what’s written inside.

  “You always make us read your stories.” Liam—or Thunder as he insists on being called lately—sits on the couch beside me and places one arm around my shoulder. Dark, unruly hair falls over his forehead in waves, and he gives me one of his rare smiles. “Why not this one?”