Headlong: The Hellbound Brotherhood Book Two

by Shannon McKenna

  She placed hers over it, and squeezed. “Don’t try to lay down the law. I’ve had enough of that from Dad. Granddad, too. I won’t be dictated to. That doesn’t work for me.”

  “So what does work for you? Spell it out for me.”

  “I don’t know,” she said impatiently. “If I knew, I’d be, I don’t know. Happy. Fulfilled. In my dream job. Married with kids. But no. I’m a hot mess. My own father tried to sell me out for a bag of cash. Someone else tried to cut me to pieces. My parents were both killed by the Prophet’s Curse. I thought you had it tough, but I just might have you beat. Don’t take this on, Eric. Get into your fancy Porsche. Go back to your perfect life.”

  Eric stroked his hands tenderly down her arms, then back up over her shoulders.

  “Marriage, kids, dream job, happiness, fulfillment,” he said. “All doable, with hard work and some luck.” He kissed her knuckles. “Our luck has sucked lately, but I can feel it starting to turn. I think we just might beat this. If we stick together.”

  The feeling of his lips against her hand was a shimmer of delight, and now it wasn’t just her hands that were shaking. It was her face, her chest, her throat. She vibrated with emotion. As if she were about to do something deadly dangerous.

  “Are you running us off another cliff?” she whispered.

  “No. We’re on solid ground now.” He pressed more kisses to her hands. “Let’s not waste any more time. We have things to do. A curse to break. A life to build. Together.”

  She didn’t dare to speak. Just bit her shaking lip.

  “I stopped fighting the way I feel about you a while ago,” he admitted. “I can’t pretend anymore. I love you, Demi. I’m yours. Forever.”

  The look in his eyes was too much to take. “But…I told you. I’m a mess.”

  “You’re incredible,” he said fiercely. “I’ve compared every woman I’ve ever seen to you. No one even comes close. Let me stay with you, Demi. For as long as we get. I will destroy anyone who fucks with that. I will grind them into paste.”

  “Aw,” she murmured. “That’s sweet, Eric. I’m, ah…touched.”

  “I’m serious.” There was a hint of impatience in his voice.

  “I know, but what about your company? Your jet-setting tech mogul life?”

  “What about it? I’ll work from here until we get this sorted out. Video conferencing works fine. I don’t need to be physically there every day. Later on, I’ll commute. When I’m sure you’re safe. Everything in my life is negotiable except for you.”

  She pressed her hand to her mouth. The feeling was breaking over her like a huge wave. Terrified happiness. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He sank down onto his knees. “So say yes.”

  “Oh, Eric,” she whispered.

  “This is the ring I told you about the other night.” He pulled a small black velvet-covered box out of his pocket, opened it, and held it up. “But if you wanted something different, we could always—”

  “No,” she broke in.

  Eric froze, looking guarded. “Uh…no to what, exactly?”

  “Sorry,” she said, gazing down at the flashing, back-lit aqua blue of the boulder opal with wet eyes. “What I mean is, I don’t want any ring in the whole world except for that one.”

  “You like it?” His eyes lit up.

  “It’s perfect. That blue. It’s the Kettle River, right? And the waterfall?”

  His smile made tears well into her eyes. “Right.”

  “But…diamonds?” she said, laughing through her tears. “God, Eric. What were you thinking?”

  “I was making a grand gesture,” he said simply. “You’re worth it.”

  “You’re nuts, you know that?”

  “For you, absolutely.”

  “Eric!” Anton came back into the kitchen, still staring at his phone. “I’ve got Mace’s flight itinerary here, but he says it’s going to take him at least three days to get back to Nairobi, so we’ll have to—oh.” He rocked back on his heels abruptly when he saw Eric on his knees in front of her, ring in hand. “Holy freaking shit.”

  Eric just lifted an eyebrow. “Remember to breathe,” he advised.

  “Oh, fuck me.” Anton backed away so fast, he ran into Nate, who stood behind him, grinning widely. “You could have warned me, bro.”

  “Sorry.” Eric sounded unrepentant. “Guys. Do you mind? We’re in the middle of something here.”

  “We’ll be outside,” Anton said. “Let us know when it’s safe to come back in.”

  The front door slammed a moment later, somewhat harder than it needed to.

  “Poor guy,” Demi murmured. “Such a shock.”

  “He’ll live. Back to us. You like the ring. That’s excellent. But I’m still waiting for that magic word that will change everything for me. I’ve waited seven years. I don’t want to wait anymore. Please, Demi. Have mercy on me.”

  She slid her hands into the buzzed off hair at his nape. “Eric, are you for real?”

  “It doesn’t get any realer than this.”

  The love in his eyes made her throat close up. She couldn’t speak, but she could sink down to her knees, wrap her arms around his neck and hang on, dragging him as close to herself as she possibly could.

  “Yes,” she whispered, as their lips met.

  * * *

  WANT MORE? The saga of the Trask Brothers rages on in Hellbent, The Hellbound Brotherhood Book Three, Anton’s story! Now it’s Anton’s turn to grapple with the Prophet’s Curse, along with a searing passion like he’s never imagined….

  Available for preorder now!

  Turn the page for more…

  HELLBENT

  THE HELLBOUND BROTHERHOOD

  BOOK TWO

  She thought her tormenter was dead…

  Find out why New York Times bestseller Maya Banks hails McKenna’s books as “A non-stop thrill ride...”

  He couldn’t forget her...

  Famous bad boy DJ Anton Trask stays the hell out of other people’s business. He learned that lesson long ago and paid for it in blood. But when the gorgeous, prickly Fiona Garrett shows up at one of his nightclubs asking for his help, he can’t say no, and it throws his inner world into chaos. He and Fiona grew up together at GodsAcre, a remote doomsday cult in the mountains. She was only fifteen when he helped her escape that hellhole, but she’s all grown up now. Anton hates to lose control, but Fiona’s direct gray gaze, her soft red lips and her gorgeous body make his heart race and his temperature rise.

  Pursued by a ghost…

  Fiona (Fi) Garrett is on the run. Brutal killers are looking for her, and she doesn’t understand why. All she knows it that it must tie back to GodsAcre and the people who died there years ago. She hates asking Anton for protection once again—she owes him her life already—but he’s the only person who might believe her. Still, Fiona is not prepared for the effect that Anton has on her senses. His big muscular body, the hypnotic glitter of his silvery eyes, the controlled, masterful power he exudes…it sparks a desire inside her that she’d never imagined—and she can’t control the blaze.

  Anton just wants to leave GodsAcre and its painful memories in the past, but they have to face it down to save Fiona—and as danger ignites all around them, all he can do is keep her close.

  And the closer she gets, the less he ever wants to let her go…

  * * *

  Available for preorder now!

  Turn the page for a peek at Hellbent…

  HELLBENT - CHAPTER 1

  Hellbound Nightclub

  Seattle, WA

  The lightshow that accompanied the first set in the nightclub downstairs sliced like a razor straight into Anton’s aching head, but he didn’t allow himself to close his eyes or turn his head.

  Don’t flinch. Only pussies flinch from pain. Jeremiah’s harsh, drill sergeant voice echoed in his mind.

  Get the fuck out of my head, old man. You’re dead and gone.

  The past had no hold on him. He rep
eated that to himself often. Most of the time, it was true.

  It didn’t feel true today. Going back to Shaw’s Crossing for his foster father Otis’s funeral last week had stirred up all the old, toxic memories in his mind. He’d left the place at the first opportunity, right after the funeral. So had his youngest brother, Mace. But not Eric, his middle brother. Eric had lingered in town, all hung up on a woman there. He’d been madly in love with her seven years before, but things had ended badly. A total clusterfuck. Eric had barely survived it.

  But had he learned his lesson? Nope, not Eric. He was drawn to Demi Vaughan like a moth to a flame. He just couldn’t wait to self-immolate.

  Eric had gotten himself all wound up with Demi again last week, and then he and Demi had proceeded to almost get themselves killed by a band of murderous thugs up at the moldering ruins of GodsAcre, the long-defunct doomsday cult in the mountains where they’d been raised. It was a miracle they were still alive at all.

  None of it made any sense, but according to Eric, they had to go back to that godawful place and figure out what happened before more people died. According to Eric, GodsAcre was their responsibility. Their property. Their sacred charge.

  Damn. Eric had always been afflicted with a pain-in-the-ass hero complex, but Anton was not so afflicted. Why the hell should saving the town of Shaw’s Crossing be their job? What had that place ever done but relentlessly kick their asses?

  He wouldn’t abandon his brother, of course. He’d go back and offer what help he could. But the whole thing made him so fucking tense, his teeth were grinding.

  He stood by the viewing window that covered the entire wall of his private office and stared down at the gyrating crowd below, and mused upon the young DJ on stage doing the opening set. The kid had talent. He was young and green, but he could instinctively manipulate a crowd. It was still early, but the dance floor was already packed.

  A nearer source of light assaulted his eyes as the door to his office opened. Nate Murphy, his head of security, leaned inside. “Anton,” he called. “The hot redhead’s back at it again. She says—”

  “I said to get rid of her,” Anton snarled.

  Icy silence followed his words. Anton turned and saw Nate lounging casually against the doorframe, just waiting. He appeared to be relaxed, but his eyes were hard.

  “You get a free one today,” Nate said. “One free one. Just because you’ve been bereaved, and it’s been a weird week for you. But I am not your fucking butler.”

  Anton blew out a sharp sigh. “Yes,” he said tightly. “Message received.”

  The two men gazed at each other. Anton lifted his hands. “So?” he said, with deliberate calm. “About the redhead? You were saying?”

  “Yeah, her. She had a personal message for you.”

  “Don’t they all.”

  Nate’s face stayed impassive. “She says her name is Fiona Garrett. And she says that she’s in trouble. Ring a bell?”

  Anton stood there, mind totally blank. Shocked stupid.

  Fiona.

  The heavy beat from downstairs made the building throb dully. The way a wound did when the painkillers started wearing off. He couldn’t seem to breathe.

  Nat’s eyes narrowed. “I guess that answers my question. Is everything OK?”

  “Fiona?” Anton repeated, the name seeming to stick in his throat like a rock. “You’re sure she said Fiona Garrett?”

  “I’m sure. What’s up with her? She pregnant? Do you owe her money? Does she want to break your kneecaps? Does she intend to sue you or shoot you or castrate you?”

  Anton shook his head. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

  Nate’s puzzled frown deepened. “Dude. You do not look OK. Is there something I need to know about this girl?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s old stuff. Ancient history. We grew up together. In the mountains.”

  “You mean, she’s from GodsAcre?” Nate’s eyes widened. “Holy shit!”

  “Yeah.” Anton strode over to the bank of security monitors on the wall. “Where is she now?”

  Nate pointed at one of them. “She’s waiting by the staircase near the back bar.”

  Anton leaned toward the camera feed Nate had indicated. It was the girl they had told him about before. The hot one who’d asked for a private meeting with him earlier.

  As his celebrity had grown, he’d gotten accustomed to the sex continually on offer. It got boring sometimes, but it was convenient. When he felt the urge, he barely had to reach out his hand. And with a minimum of mental acrobatics, he managed not to feel guilty about it. They came to him begging to be used. Sometimes he obliged them.

  Two things he made sure of. One, any woman he fucked understood that it started and ended there. Two, any woman he fucked walked out of his presence weak-kneed with sexual satisfaction. He made it absolutely worth their while. It was a point of pride.

  When he saw the redhead, he hadn’t seen her face. He’d been tempted by the long legs, high-riding breasts with tight nipples poking out the stretchy fabric of her dress. In those spike-heeled boots, she’d only be a few inches shorter than his six-foot-five frame.

  Plus. He liked that long red hair. And the freckles that usually came with it.

  He’d thought about having her brought to him. Imagined fingering her into whimpering readiness. Making her come repeatedly before he bent her over the big desk in his soundproofed lair, her pussy hot and slick and utterly primed.

  He’d have her keep those silver boots on while he put it to her from behind. Deep and hard.

  But no. Shaw’s Crossing and Otis’s funeral and that vicious attack on Eric had left a lingering bitter taste in his mouth. He was bad-tempered and ugly and not in complete control of himself. Best not to fuck anyone in that mental state. Bad things could happen.

  He was sick of drama.

  The redhead’s back was to him in the camera, offering an amazing view of a world-class ass. Her back was straight and upright. The long, wild mane of fiery hair looked right, but he couldn’t see her face.

  “Who’s closest to her?” he asked.

  Nate muttered into his Bluetooth. “Wong is close,” he said, after a moment.

  “Have him ask her to look up at the camera. I need to see if it’s really her.”

  Nate’s eyes widened, but he relayed the message without comment. Jim Wong, one of his security experts, entered the camera’s view, a hulking Asian man, immensely tall and broad, with a thick neck, a goatee and a long ponytail hanging down the back of his leather jacket. He approached the redhead, spoke into her ear and politely gestured toward the video camera mounted on the wall.

  The girl’s long hair swung out around her like a cape as she turned to look at him. Her big, bright eyes were painted up with smudgy black, blazing and intense. He couldn’t make out the color in the camera, but he remembered it perfectly. Stormy slate-gray on the outside of the iris, fading to light gray and then a sunburst of amber gold right around the pupil. Amber that matched her hair and her freckles. Fi had been covered with freckles.

  He stared into her eyes. Their brightness sparked a restless, uneasy stirring inside him. Lust, fear, all mixed together, way down deep.

  Yeah, that was Fi. There was no mistaking defensive, screw-you-too look in her eyes. The sexy shape of her full mouth. She was no longer the skinny waif with the thick red braid. She was taller now, still lean and slender, but filled out. She looked lithe and strong. Her lips were painted hot red.

  She faced the camera head on, with an aggressive, wide-legged stance like a comic book gunslinger. A glittering belt of crystal studded links hung low on her hips. She stuck out her chest, hands on her hips, elbows out. Staring him down.

  After a minute or two, she lifted her hand, fluttered her fingers at him, and blew him a kiss. Her straight dark eyebrows were arched high. As if she could see right through the camera, all the way to where he stood, frozen and dithering.

  What are you waiting for? You scared? Of me? Aw
ww.

  What the fuck was she doing here? Tonight of all nights? He was still all wound up about what had happened to Eric in Shaw’s Crossing. Dealing with Fiona would put him right over the top.

  Besides Anton and his two brothers, Fiona was the only other survivor of the lethal shitstorm that was their childhood. Everyone developed his or her own fucked up coping mechanisms for dealing with massive trauma. Evidently Fiona’s had been to morph into a drop dead gorgeous, man-killing femme fatale.

  Damn. There were worse strategies.

  “Tell Wong to bring her up,” Anton said.

  He turned to the viewing window, checking his own reflection before he could stop himself. Thirteen years had gone by. He’d changed. Last time Fiona saw him, he’d been seventeen. No tats. His hair a shaggy, dirt-blond mane. He’d looked very different.

  His current bad boy DJ vibe was edgy and hard. Buzzed off hair, designer jacket hanging open to display the tattoo art all over his shirtless chest and flaunt the eight-pack abs. His professional look was carefully cultivated, and definitely not for everyone.

  Nate didn’t miss a trick, goddamn the man. He caught Anton checking his reflection and snorted under his breath as he turned to the door.

  “Smile, loverboy,” he said. “I’ll tell you if you have spinach in your teeth.”

  “Fuck you, man.” Anton slammed the door after him, cutting off Nate’s laughter.

  * * *

  Fake it till you make it, Fi. That’s what we all do. Don’t think you’re so damn special. Imagine they’re all naked. Everyone feels scared and awkward. Not just you.

  That was her cousin Patti’s standard lecture from the old days, when she was teaching Fiona how to navigate the “normal” world after her escape from GodsAcre.