The Bridal Hunt (Brides of the Hunt Book 1)

by Jeanette Lynn

  The Bridal Hunt

  JEANETTE LYNN

  © Jeanette Lynn 2014

  *Revised and re-edited 2018

  All Rights Reserved

  Thank you for purchasing and downloading this e book.

  It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and or distributed for commercial or noncommercial purposes.

  If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy.

  Thank you for your support and respect for the property of this author. It is very much appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked ownership of all trademarks and word marks mentioned in this book

  Table of Contents

  Please Read Before You Proceed

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Other books by Jeanette Lynn

  About the author

  PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU PROCEED

  WARNING:

  This book contains foul language, snarky humor, hairy man-beasts, and sexually explicit material, intended for readers 18 and older.

  It also contains ménage a trois situations, dubious consent, abduction, and violence.

  Chapter One

  M

  aking my own slightly off-key—albeit still merry—tunes, I hummed under my breath while I worked, bustling about the kitchen. As I opened the oven door and peered in, giving the golden brown contents of the two loaf pans inside an appreciative sniff, my lips curved up slightly at the corners.

  Mmm. Yum, I thought, as the warm smell of vanilla and bananas hit my nose. Shoving a toothpick into the first loaf, dead center, to pull it back out, I sighed happily as it came out with ease, the end coming up nice and clean. Sure enough, just as I’d thought, they were done.

  Lips quirking, I took both of the hot pans out using a set of ugly-Christmas-sweater themed pot holders I’d rummaged out of the kitchen junk drawer, setting that mouthwatering banana bread on top of the stove to cool. It was an old family recipe, and I loved to make a batch about this time of year. It was the perfect pick-me-up. Well, a good starting point, at any rate.

  That done, I shut off the oven, tossing my mitts off to the side. Fingers looping through my cup handle, the palm of my free hand cradled the butt of my coffee cup for warmth. Drink steaming heavily as I carefully sipped, I wandered over to the radio, mint almond milk cocoa in hand.

  Jack Frost cartoon character on my mug winking at me in co-conspirator-ship, I turned the dial on the old radio, searching for another Christmas station to help me get into the holiday mood.

  The twinkle lights I'd strung up on my tiny plastic tree blinked along cheerfully, charming in their own way. Little hand-tied bows of red and homemade ornaments from my childhood had been placed haphazardly around the tree, giving the room that holiday feel.

  God, I could use a little good cheer right about now.

  I knew George had been enjoying some goodwill towards men the last time I’d seen him. Well, in the beginning he had been, anyway. So had his secretary, Candy. Candy... Even her name screamed bimbo.

  Oh, quit being such a bitch, Mina, I groused at myself. It's not her fault she's named after sugary confections. Maybe Candy is actually short for something else, like Candace.

  Candace, in all honestly, is actually a sweet name, I thought, a little tongue in cheek, a dash of snide on the side as an afterthought. Oh, har-har, Mina. You’re a regular comedian, Miss Funny Pants.

  Unless, you know, she intentionally changed her name to Candy...

  Nose wrinkling as it scrunched up, I snorted at the thought. Hah. But I digress.

  Ugh. What a crap-tastic pile this has all turned out to be.

  This whole mess started when I'd thought to surprise my boyfriend with an impromptu trip to the mountains, just the two of us. We'd recently become engaged, and I’d wanted to do something really special. It would have really given us a chance to reconnect, rekindle the fire that's dimmed a little these past few months—let us really get our groove on without any interruptions.

  I'd thought the little funk we'd gotten into was because of our hectic schedules, not because he was decking Candy's halls. My face pulled into a grimace and I shuddered just thinking about it.

  The moment was so fresh, branded into my mind, on replay in my head as I recalled it all, like some terrible movie that never ends.

  I’d already packed up everything we would need for our trip into my truck, cleared everything with his boss—who’d thought the whole thing terribly sweet and romantic—and all was set to romance the pants off of him. When I’d entered his office, however, and found him with his pants around his ankles while Candy licked his little cane, well... I’d freaked.

  Erm, maybe that's not quite the word I'm looking for... Blew up would be more accurate.

  Hmph. Alright! Alright. So I went nuclear, ballistic, supernova, fuckin' berserk—take your pick. Did I mention I have a bit of a temper when someone totally fucks me over?

  Shit. If he was screwing me, maybe he wouldn't have felt the need to let Candy play with his Pixy stick! The more I thought about it, the madder I grew.

  Damn it—he’s not worth it.

  I may have screamed and ranted for a few minutes upon stumbling into the pair—maybe ten—drawing the attention of his other coworkers as George and his little sugar bunny—gag—(his endearment for her, not mine) tried to frantically redress. All this went on while I cursed them all over kingdom come, raving like a madwoman, swearing their babies would all come out looking like hairy little blonde monkeys.

  Candy, the skinny, emaciated blonde tart, had cowered as I’d stalked towards them, my face red and splotchy with embarrassment, tears stinging the backs of my eyes as I’d confronted my supposed boyfriend of three years and, more recently, fiancé of one month.

  "Why?" I’d demanded bluntly, not bothering to try and hide the tear that’d slipped from the corner of my eye to trail down my cheek.

  It is not weak to cry, damn it, I could clearly recall promising myself. So sue me, I was emotional. And if they didn't like it, well, tough shit!

  "I, uh... that is... erm..." George had spluttered at the rage in my face, sweat beading his high forehead, his hands nervously wringing together. Gaze yo-yo-ing between us, he’d licked his lips and let out a rough, short laugh.

  My lips had tightened as his voice died off, my jaw clenching tight, the look on my face turning less than pleased.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop my train of thought once it got going, my mind worse than a train wreck.

  There was no pause button on the personal-life-regrets reel come to life, the warped little home movie my brain cooked up just kept trudging on. Lost in my own irksome thoughts, I was, for all intents and purposes, stuck—no delete or rewind in sight.

  Maybe I needed to think
about all this again, though, so as not to be fool enough to make the same stupid mistakes again, I tried to tell myself.

  Before I knew it, I was right back to that day, as if it was all actually happening again. No cabin or cocoa, no cooling banana bread on the stove, I was back in that stupid office with George and Candy.

  Tensing, I shuddered as my skin prickled.

  George swallowed audibly, the sound eating up the silence that ensued as I waited.

  I was just about to march out, head held high, when he made a strange, alarmed noise—a cross between a bark and a squeak.

  "This isn't how it was supposed to be!" the blonde weasel blurted, trying to step towards me.

  "Who's the fat chick, Georgie?" Candy screeched in her alarmingly high-pitched, whiny voice.

  She knows exactly who I am—that bitch—she’s his secretary, for crying out loud! There are framed pictures of us together on his desk. I mean, nobody could possibly be that damned brain-dead.

  Candy squeak-screeched again and I winced, jerking slightly, startled senseless at the sound. It was almost impossible not to. Sweet baby Jesus! It was like listening to nails on a chalk board. I winced again as her grating baby-voice droned on, tormenting my poor eardrums.

  "I was his fiancée," I snapped—emphasis on was—glaring at my spineless twerp of an ex, even more pissed when he looked genuinely hurt by my reaction.

  Un-be-lievable!

  Hah. Of all the idiots in this world, I had to pick the cream of the crop, didn't I?! Shaking my head in disgust, I pulled off my engagement ring and tossed it to the wench.

  "Here you go, Connie," I called sweetly, purposely flubbing the silicone-enhanced, walking blow up doll’s name, smirking when the ring landed—accidentally, of course—in the dip of the v of her very fake breasts.

  Eyes gleaming, Candy greedily dug through her cleavage, searching for the—now meaningless to me—rock the bastard had presented me with just a few weeks ago.

  "Maybe you'll have better luck with him, and that," I gestured towards the ring, "than I did." Spine stiff, shoulders tense, I raised my head high, nose in the air, and glided past George's wide-eyed boss, all of the other employees at the firm, and a few of their clients, too.

  Screw them all! Stare at me... hope they got a freaking eyeful! And an earful!

  "Busybodies, all of you," I muttered angrily, marching past the lot of them as George tried to chase after me.

  Candy was bringing up the rear, my old engagement ring clutched tightly in her bony hand, her fake breasts squashed in so tight to her revealing top they didn’t bother jiggling once as she tried to keep up without tripping on her hooker heels. I couldn’t help the derisive snort that slipped past my lips as she eagerly tottered along after us—two mini dodgeballs suffocating in dark blue Rayon/Lycra—whatever the shit that blend is—leading the way.

  They were like cemented in flotation devices, really—her overdone titties—I thought absently, maybe a bit uncharitably—bitter, angry bitch that I am at the moment. But I wasn’t feeling very charitable towards the tramp I’d just found Hoovering my man. No, ex man.

  And, geesh, not to harp here, but I'd hate to fall with a pair of those puppies latched onto my chest. Yes, I just had to go there, even as my conscience begged the question, is this really necessary? I didn’t even need to think about it. Yes, yes it is. I’ll smother the little goody-goody prattling on in my head about ‘cheap shots’ and ‘low blows’ later. Would they explode, though? Implode? Would Candy? Ouch.

  In all honestly I had to admit, if only to myself, the idea of escaping gravity’s inevitable pull, however briefly that lasted, did have its aesthetic appeal. Not full blown bazookas on board like George’s... whatever she is to him, but just a little nip here, maybe a tuck there, a plump up or a plump down, put things back where they once were, maybe.

  Unable to help myself, I peeked over at Candy again, watching her baby-step along—trying not to topple over as she kept pace with George—and shook my head.

  Doesn’t she know how to walk in those damned things? Heel first, then toe, otherwise one looks like they’re clomping along, like a horse—like right now.

  "Can't we talk about this, pumpkin?" George gasped out pleadingly, bright red lipstick smeared all over his face, as he went to grip my shoulder.

  The picture he presented called to mind a handsome, rather well-dressed blonde clown. I snorted out loud at that, then snickered, sneering at his little nickname for me—pumpkin. Awww. How touching, I thought caustically, ready to gouge his pretty hazel eyes out.

  Pumpkin? Hah! I’ll pumpkin him!

  Taking a few much needed deep breaths, I tried to rein in my temper as I made it to the parking lot, reaching into my purse to dig for my keys.

  And... no keys.

  Good grief, could this day go any worse? Of all the times to need the blasted things right this minute and I can't find them, it had to be now?!

  "Pumpkin! Willy! Lovey," George cooed, trying to sidle up close to me.

  Throwing up a little in my mouth, I stuck my elbow out, holding my arm up high as I waved it about, attempting to hold him off. The hand attached to said elbow held one side of my purse open while I searched for my friggin' ticket to freedom.

  Keys?! Where the frick are you?

  "Shut up, you philandering idiot." I barked out the words, pushing him back with a sharp nudge and an almost jab to the eye, trying my best to ignore him.

  Ah-ha! Keys at last! I thought, feeling a little triumphant, despite the predicament I currently found myself in.

  Time to get the hell out of Dodge! "Well, Cordy..." I looked to Candy over George's shoulder, lips pursing slightly, despite my resolve not to let those two have another piece of my wavering sanity. They’re simply not worth it.

  Whispering in loud but urgent tones, George, turning towards her, tried to coax her back inside, promising the leggy bimbo that they could talk later.

  Riggghhht, talk. Pfft. And I'm the tooth fairy!

  "It's been just lovely to meet you," I told the tramp sarcastically, laying it on a bit thick as I batted my lashes, wiggling my fingers in her direction. "Tah-tah!" Calling out a final goodbye with fake cheer, I waved over my shoulder one last time.

  Unlocking my driver’s side door, I pulled on the handle to jerk it open.

  "It isn't what you think, Willy! Really!" George insisted, his hand clutching the door while Candy clutched his shirt sleeve, whining at him in high-pitched squeaks to, “Let the pumpkin go.”

  Face flushing, I turned beet red at the jab at my weight. Ugh. Bitch.

  "Listen up, you walking, blonde flotation device!" Whirling around, I snarled, pointing at her warningly. "Make a derogatory comment about me one more time, my weight or otherwise, and this little pumpkin will squash your ass and send your barely fed skeleton straight to Hell."

  "She called you fat?" George blinked, frowning, face still painted with garishly smeared dick-stick—I mean, ahem, lipstick—just now tuning in to Candy FM—the whiniest voice you'll ever hear.

  Face reddening, my ex turned and glared at his secretary turned lover once more, unlatching her from his arm. "Don't talk about her like that! She's my future wife, Miss Beyburn, and I'll not tolerate her being disrespected!" Scowling down at the small, diminutive woman sternly, he cowered her with a look.

  A tart and a weenie. Hah. Oh, boy. Really picked a keeper there, George. And what was that about disrespecting me? Pfft. Laughable. What a freaking joke. Have a look in the mirror, bud.

  "You didn't have a problem with her polishing your gherkin earlier," I clipped out bluntly, taking pleasure in his slight flinch as my barb struck.

  "I told you, Pum- um, Willy, I-"

  "What? You just what?” I burst out. “Your pants fell down and she was just checking your dick for dust?!"

  "No! You don't... I just... Don't leave me!!" The fool howled out pitifully, his face twisting into a pained grimace as he went to reach for me.

  Slapping his
hands away, I was not impressed, to say the least, and I'm sure my expression said it all.

  George’s hand gripped the door frame hard enough to turn his knuckles white, his eyes wild, and with a hearty wrench he gave it a tug.

  “Let. Go.” My voice left no room for argument, my jaw set as I glowered over at him.

  “No.” Though equally as resolute, that one word was full of groveling.

  Lips pursed and tight, eyes narrowed to angry little slits, I scowled heavily, eyebrows drawn down over my eyes as a growl welled in my throat. In that moment, I hated him.

  "It's really not what it looks like, okay. I swear!" he babbled, keeping his hand pinned to the door.

  Only partially opened, I couldn’t squeeze my larger frame through the small gap left between the truck and the door to escape his spluttering ass. Wincing, I cringed at the desperation in his voice. Too little, too late. He’d made his choice, may he lay in it.

  Do I look like an idiot to him?! Do I? Really? Shaking my head, I slowly released the door handle and pivoted on my heel, turning around to square off against the demented man for the last time.

  "Really?" I asked softly, menace lacing my tone. "So... I didn't just walk into your office to surprise you with a romantic holiday, to find your secretary sucking you off?"

  George sucked in a sharp breath and flushed, shaking his head frantically. Hands reaching out to grip my arms, pulling me towards him, he latched himself onto me like a boa constrictor.

  "Don't leave me! I need you!" Reduced to outright begging, his voice cracked as his fingers dug in.

  "Release me!" I shrieked, struggling in his arms, fighting to wriggle out of his stifling embrace. “Are you insane? What the- You freak!”

  "You don't understand!" he wailed, trying to pull back enough to kiss my face, frantic, his lipstick-smeared lips puckering for an unwanted smooch.

  Getting way too close than he had any right to, I snapped my jaws at him in warning when he tried, baring my teeth in an angry snarl.

  Yelping, head jerking back, he aborted that idea right quick.