by Brynne Asher
He slams into me two more times then, stills, coming hard.
When my knees come out from under me, he follows, never losing our connection. He supports most of his weight and presses his lips to the top of my head where he says, “I have news.”
That’s strange because I have news, too. I let him go first and crane my neck around to look at him. “What?”
“The project I bid out in Las Colinas signed today. It’ll almost double my business. I need to hire more people.”
I smile. “That’s great. Will you have to move out of Ellie’s building? I think she likes having you there.”
“I don’t think so. Most of my employees will be on-site. Plus, I like where I am now.”
“Mmm.” I arch my back and press into his groin. “I have news, too.”
“Yeah?” he mutters into the skin where my shoulder and neck meet. “You taking over the world?”
I take a breath and turn to him. “Not quite. But I am making it bigger.”
He stops and leans up on his forearms, saying nothing but looking perplexed.
“By one,” I add.
His face—I’ll never forget the look in his deep, dark eyes as long as I live.
“With your help. You deserve a little credit, too,” I finish.
“You’re serious?” he asks.
“I’m as serious as my closet full of shoes. I went to the doctor today—I’m seven weeks.”
I went off the pill and we decided to see what happened. We agreed to not talk about it because that would stress us out and we have enough stresses in life.
He pulls in a breath before expelling it in such a huff, I’m shocked when he pulls out and rolls off me at record speed. I’m pulled on top of him and his face is frowning as he wraps me up in his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
My wet hair is starting to dry crazy and hangs between us. I lean in to kiss him. “Because I wanted to tell you now, like this.”
“But I worked you out hard. And just now, I fucked you even harder.”
“I know.” I grin and kiss him again. “I was the one getting her ass kicked and getting fucked. It was perfect.”
“But—” His head falls back and he looks up to the ceiling before scraping a hand down his face. “Shit. I wasn’t careful with you.”
“I’m pregnant, not fragile.” I pull his hand away and make him look at me. “The doctor said I can continue to workout. I promise you’re not going to hurt the baby.”
His frown deepens. “I never would’ve worked you out like that had I known.”
My grin fades and I climb up to straddle my naked husband. “You’re going to be a great dad.”
He captures my face in both his hands and pulls me in for a deep kiss. When he lets me go, he states, “We’re building a daycare facility in your building. It’ll be state-of-the-art and the most secure in the country. And we’re moving. We need a yard. And a dog. But we’re living in the city, we don’t need horses or a ranch.”
My smile returns. “Okay, city-boy. We’ll forego the country life.”
He exhales and shakes his head. “You’ve made me fucking happy.”
I lean down to kiss my man. “I’m going to need a house with big closets, don’t forget that.”
“Baby,” he starts and declares in all seriousness. “You can buy all the baby shoes you want. I’m so happy, I don’t give a shit.”
This makes me laugh. My man—he knows me and loves me in spite of it.
*****
Three years later…
People
The Scoop Section
Rare Sighting of Dallas Power Couple
Last week in Highland Park, Texas, Elijah and Jensen Montgomery-Pettit, were sighted on a Sunday morning stroll, exiting a local donut shop, with kids and dog in tow. Jensen Montgomery-Pettit, CEO of Montgomery Industries, has been in the news recently for shaking up the refining industry by working with the EPA to encourage companies to institute new technologies for a cleaner production process. She was seen last week on Capitol Hill meeting with lawmakers on how to fairly encourage the industry as a whole to update their facilities and plants. Mrs. Montgomery-Pettit has been a trail-blazer, proving oil and refining can be profitable yet responsible to the environment. She has sat comfortably on the Forty Under Forty Forbes list for the last several years and is outspoken in the corporate world about the importance of women breaking the glass ceiling and competing for jobs at the top, alongside their male counterparts.
Her husband, Elijah Pettit, is best known for his role as a former Special Agent with the FBI, working undercover to take down the MacLachlan family years ago. He’s since left the Bureau and started his own private company, Statum Security and Investigations. He keeps his list of clientele as close to the vest as his family, but it’s rumored he’s branched into professional sports, including the NFL, NBA, and NHL.
If they aren’t speaking about their businesses or their philanthropy that raises money to fund Alzheimer’s research—a subject the two are passionate about—the couple is exceedingly private. When approached by our reporters, Pettit stepped in front of his family to deny comment.
Our fashion staff did note that Jensen is as couture on a family walk as she is in the boardroom. Donning a pair of Hoxton Skinny Ankle Pants with the side-stripe and raw hem, they can be found exclusively at Saks Fifth Avenue. It’s topped with a casual 3.1 Phillip Lim cashmere sweater and her shoes are a smart choice for a mom pushing the pink stroller carrying their infant of just a few months—a low-heeled bootie by Chloé. Their two-year-old son, sitting atop his father’s shoulders, is outfitted in a simple Ralph Lauren sweater from their new fall collection, corduroy pants, and toddler hiking boots. Unlike his wife, Pettit is an unassuming man, outfitted in a pair of either classic or vintage Levi’s and a long sleeve t-shirt with the Chicago Bulls logo.
Our sources say the couple live in a Highland Park estate with their son, Samuel, newborn daughter, Anna, and dog, whose name we don’t know, but our reporters did hear him answer to “Bud.”
From the bottom of my humble and grateful heart, thank you for reading.
Read Cam Montgomery’s story in Athica Lane
Read Grady Cain’s story in Paths
Stay tuned for the next book in the
Montgomery Series.
Acknowledgements
Where do I start?
Since I forgot to thank my husband in my last book, I’ll begin by falling at his feet with gratitude for eating frozen pizzas and folding all the laundry I throw at him while he’s watching football. Does love get any better than that after twenty-three years of marriage? No, it does not.
To my kids, who love frozen pizza, it’s an honor to be your mom.
To Zoe, who thinks she’s a person, yet is afraid of most text tones, thank you for keeping me thoroughly snuggled while writing this book.
To my best friend, Elle, who pushed me and believed in me through this project and every one before it. I couldn’t do this without you.
To my world class, super-sonic, too-legit-to-quit beta team, thank you for sticking with me. Ivy, Laurie, and Gi, your help, time, and feedback means the world. To Kolleen, Carrie, Penny, Gillian, and Pat, I don’t know what I’d do without your eagle-eyes, but mostly your friendship.
Kristan, you continue to pretty up my words like a rockstar. I had no idea I’d end up with a friend for life in my editor.
Jodi, Athica Lane brought us together and now you’re stuck with me forever. Your cover and teasers for Bad Situation blew me away and your talent knows no bounds. One day I will hug you! Thank you for all you do for me.
Layla and Sarah, thank you for everything. Your friendship means the world and I don’t know what I’d do without you.
Finally, but most importantly, to my ARC team and readers, thank you for wanting my words, coming back for more—book after book—and supporting me. Without YOU, I wouldn’t be living my dream.
The Carpino Series
Beautiful Life – The Carpino Series, Book 2
Athica Lane – The Carpino Series, Book 3
Until Avery – A Carpino Series Crossover Novella
Killers Series
Vines – A Killers Novel, Book 1
Paths – A Killers Novel, Book 2
Gifts – A Killers Novel, Book 3
Standalones
Blackburn
A Preview of Styx by Layla Frost
Prologue
Demon Denny
Denny
Nine years ago…
They’re fighting.
She doesn’t want me here.
As soon as we’d arrived at my grandmother’s house, my dad had ordered me into the living room.
I snuck another peek around the corner to look where they stood on the porch.
She looked calm.
He looked angry, just like always. His face was red and tight.
He looks like a cartoon devil.
I covered my mouth to keep from laughing. Comparing him to the devil—even a cartoon version—was the ultimate insult.
The sound of the door closing made me jump away to stand in the middle of the room.
My grandmother came into view, muttering and shaking her head. She stopped when she saw me.
Neither of us spoke as we stared.
She looked like a regular grandma. Her navy-blue pants and floral blouse looked exactly like what a TV grandma would wear. And her hair—more gray than blond—was cut short and was a little poofy. Although her blue eyes were darker than mine, there was still a strong family resemblance. We had a similar nose and face shape, but creases and wrinkles lined her mouth and eyes.
My best friend’s mom called them laugh lines. I didn’t think that was the real name, though, because my dad was getting them, and he never laughed.
His were scowl lines.
I wonder which kind of lines hers are.
Remaining silent, I waited for her to tell me what to do. I was hoping she’d order me to a room for the weekend—out of sight, out of mind. I’d snuck some library books into my bag and would happily hide away to read them.
Doing chores wasn’t something I opposed, either, but her house was already clean. I didn’t see what I could do.
Her eyes moved down my body, stopping at my feet.
Looking down, I cringed.
My shoes were filthy. Holes had formed where the formerly white canvas split from the plastic.
I should’ve taken them off before stepping into her house.
She didn’t even want me here, and now I’ve dirtied up her floor.
“Come with me a second,” she said finally, turning away.
Apprehension and curiosity filled me as I followed her down a short hallway.
If she’s showing me to my room, maybe that means she’s not mad.
Or maybe she’s getting me cleaning supplies, so I can scrub the floor while reciting scripture.
My stomach churned at the thought.
The truth was, I didn’t know what to expect. At twelve years old, I’d only met my grandmother a handful of times. They’d been short visits, and each time, I’d sat quietly while her and my dad had talked. I’d only spoke when spoken to, which had usually been to politely answer questions about school or my hobbies.
We were strangers.
Or maybe enemies, if she was anything like her son.
Stopping in the hallway, my grandmother pushed open a door and stepped inside.
I couldn’t hold in my gasp.
Books lined the wall. Some were open on shelves and the small table. There were even four on the massive recliner—two on the seat and one on each arm.
“Do you like to read?” my grandmother asked me.
“I love to,” I breathed before remembering my manners and tacking on, “grandmother, uh, ma’am.”
She laughed. “Call me grandma. Or Eve, if you’d feel more comfortable. But never ma’am.”
“I… okay.”
“Do you go by Haden?”
“Denny,” I said distractedly, giving her the nickname I’d been using. I clenched my hands into fists, fighting the urge to touch the books.
My dad said I ruined everything I touched. Handling the books meant I was risking destroying them. No way would I do that.
Even if I were willing to risk it, I didn’t trust it wasn’t a trap. Like, when Lucy set the football up for Charlie Brown, only to snatch it back at the last second. Only in my case, instead of the pain of landing on my back, I would have the shredding mental pain that came from viciously hurled insults.
During an anti-bullying assembly we had earlier in the year, my school counselor said most bullies learned the behavior at home. Since my dad was a bully times a million, he must’ve learned it somewhere.
Maybe from her.
For all I knew, the nice thing was an act, and as soon as I broke a rule, she’d go berserk like my dad did.
My grandmother tipped her head. “I have a few rules, okay?”
I knew it.
Stomach sinking, I nodded. “Yes, ma… grandma.”
Lifting a finger as she went, she counted off each rule. “Never close the open books. Never write in a book. Never fold the pages.” She aimed her three extended fingers at a shelf. “There are bookmarks over there.”
I turned to look, my breath burning in my lungs.
She picked up some sticky notes. “If you take a book, put one of these in its place to keep the spot. I have them in a specific order.” Her expression was warm and reassuring when she added, “But if you forget, it’s okay.”
When spots began to dance in my vision, I released my held breath with a whoosh.
She tapped a finger on her chin, her lips twitching. “What am I forgetting?”
I braced, my chest rising and falling.
She’s going to tell me she was kidding, and I can’t be in here. She’s going to call me names and tell me I kill everything I touch.
“Oh yeah,” she said, her smile growing. “Some of the books are heavy on the hanky-panky. I’m guessing you learned about that in health class?” At my nod, she continued. “Good. If you come across any of them, especially the ones on the second case from the left, shelves two through five, that’ll be our secret.”
My eyes went wide, shooting to the bookcase.
I’d seen a bay window in the living room, the sun brightly shining in. I imagined curling up there with books about love and happily ever afters.
“Before then,” Grandma started, picking up a set of keys.
Panic flared again.
She’s bringing me back to him.
I looked around the room, trying to memorize it so I could tell Lula every detail.
A glimpse of heaven before returning to hell.
“Let’s get you some new shoes,” she finished. She was still smiling, but it was different. It looked like the kind Lula’s mom gave me.
A smile that didn’t reach the eyes and were filled with sadness.
I hated them. My life wasn’t the worst. I had a house and food. I had friends… Well, I had Lula.
I didn’t need pity.
“I have shoes,” I said politely.
“Those look ready to disintegrate off your feet. In fact,” she paused scanning me again, “I think some new clothes are in order. We’ll make a whole day of it.”
“My dad…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain.
Grandma’s eyes went hard, but her voice was soft. “He’ll never know. How do you feel about sushi?”
Grimacing at the thought of slimy fish, I shook my head. “I’ve never had it.”
“We’ll fix that.” She headed for the door, going around me. “Let’s go.”
Giving the room one last longing glance, I turned and followed, feeling something I’d never felt before.
I belong here.
This is my heaven.
*****
; Six years ago…
“I hate my life,” I groaned. The toe of my dirty Converse dug into the sand beneath the swing set as I pushed slightly, making the chains clatter and the swing go crooked.
My life was crooked.
“It’s not so bad,” Lula, my best friend, lied.
It was worse than bad.
I wiped at my nose, checking my fingers to be sure there was no more blood. “He barfed everywhere, Lula. Like, blew major chunks. And then he passed out and fell into it. There’s no way he’ll want to go to the spring dance with me.”
Ayden Bash.
The love of my life.
My future husband and father to our many babies.
He just didn’t know it yet.
Even though we were only in tenth grade, there were seniors who thought he was cute. He’d hit his growth spurt early, filling out from a lanky tween to a muscular teen while most of the other boys still had voices that cracked and gangly limbs they didn’t have complete control over. His blond hair—highlighted from time outside at the skatepark—did that perfect swoop thing in the front, falling into his blue eyes. He’d push it out of the way, and my heart would go funny.
He had one deep dimple on his left cheek, long lashes, and a penchant for going shirtless at the skatepark. That was how Lula and I had found out about his birthmark in the shape of Louisiana on his left side.
In all my fifteen years, I’d never seen anyone as cute. Which was why, on my way to eighth period, I’d been staring and imagining how he’d ask me to the dance.
There’d be ollies, kickflips, and a switch heelflip. Then, after the sickest tre flip, he’d stop and ask me to the dance in front of everyone. After I said yes in a super cool and nonchalant voice so I didn’t sound desperate, he’d hold my hips and chuckle while he taught me to skate. And I’d be giggling and graceful, looking cute.
The touching part was what’d done me in. So distracted by the thought of his hands on me, I’d walked into a door, giving myself a bloody nose.