Kane

by Davis, Jen

  KANE

  COOPER CONSTRUCTION SERIES

  BOOK 2

  By Jen Davis

  KANE

  Copyright © 2019 by Jen Davis.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: February 2019

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-523-2

  ISBN-10: 1-64034-523-X

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  David, Catie, and Michael: You are my life’s greatest gifts. I couldn’t do this without your love and support.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Amanda

  Nathan’s fingers dug into the tender skin of Amanda’s inner arm. “How many times do I have to tell you? Fundraisers for my office are not opportunities for you to run your mouth.”

  She clenched her jaw against the urge to tell him to fuck himself.

  “Do you have any idea how many women would give their eye-teeth to be in your shoes?” he hissed, tightening the pressure of his grip.

  More than she could count, most likely. In his late thirties, society considered Nathan Shaw one of Atlanta’s most eligible bachelors—handsome, rich, and from a political powerhouse family as old as time. His perfectly styled blond hair framed an aristocratic pale face with blue eyes and expertly arched brows. He never left his penthouse dressed in anything less than befit his station. The man was practically Georgia royalty.

  He was also an arrogant, entitled bastard.

  “Actually, Abe,” he mocked her voice in a high falsetto, “I think the money would be better spent on a domestic abuse shelter.” He shook her so hard her teeth clacked together. “We might as well flush it down the toilet.”

  “He asked my opinion,” she gritted, her head beginning to ache.

  Nathan slammed her against the wall, the back of her skull bouncing off the plaster. “My opinion is your opinion, and you damn well know it.”

  He let go of her, and she slid to the floor. Hanging his tuxedo jacket on the back of one of the tall chairs he kept tucked under the island in his high-end kitchen, he appeared to be done punishing her.

  Her instincts screamed otherwise. She curled herself into a ball, protecting her head, as a vicious kick landed to her lower back.

  “If you are going to be at my side, you will behave as your breeding should dictate.” His voice no longer betrayed his anger. He locked it down, replacing it with a honeyed cadence of practiced ease. Measured. Controlled. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Only one answer would allow her an escape from this. She lifted her head. “Yes,” she murmured.

  He graced her with a serpent’s smile. “Excellent. Now get off the floor. You’ll ruin your dress.”

  Her hindbrain shouted to scoot away from his outstretched hand, but the rejection might set his blood boiling all over again. She fought her instincts and wrapped her fingers around his.

  He pulled her to unsteady feet, then released her hand. His fingers tugged on the strands of dark red hair escaping the simple chignon her stylist had created. “Your hair looks all tumbled, pet.”

  Fuck.

  Slowly, he unpinned the rest of her locks, the look on his face growing heated. By the time all her hair rested thick on her shoulders, she could make out the tent in his pants.

  She swallowed back the bile burning her throat.

  “Gorgeous,” he said huskily. “I want to unwrap you.”

  Before she could move away, he yanked down the side-zipper on her shimmering strapless silver gown. It pooled on the floor at her feet.

  So much for his concern about it getting ruined.

  The cool kiss of air against her exposed skin made her shiver. All she wore now were her high heels and the tiny scrap of black lace masquerading as underwear.

  Getting naked with him was never part of the deal. She bent quickly to grasp the expensive fabric and pull it up. It got as high as her waist before he locked his hand around her wrist.

  “I think you need to be reminded who wears the pants in this relationship.” His voice dipped lower. “Perhaps what you really need is for me to take what I want and fuck your sweet ass. Maybe that will teach you your place.”

  Gritting her teeth, she shook off the embarrassment of standing there half naked. “No.”

  He probably could have forced her. Obviously, too many highballs had him crossing lines he’d only skirted in the past. There had been times he’d squeezed her arm too hard or pushed her away with a little too much force, but he’d never hurt her the way he had tonight.

  Still, she’d been firm in the past declining any invitations into his bed. Her resolve wouldn’t change now. Or ever.

  “Let me go.” She squared her jaw. “Unless you’re willing to do this against my will.”

  A snarl twisted his face, and he clenched her wrist tighter. She stopped breathing, a cold sweat dotting the curve of her back.

  Maybe she’d miscalculated. A dozen worst-case scenarios shuffled through her head. Nathan breaking her wrist. Breaking her arm. Forcing himself inside her.

  Should she scream? Run?

  Before she could even form a plan in her head, he blanked his expression, then let her go. “You know me better than that.” He gave her his back and moved languidly toward his bedroom. “I’m headed to bed. Don’t forget to leave the dress.”

  She didn’t breathe until he left the room. Shaking all over, she kicked off the heels still binding her feet, then slid the dress off completely and draped it over Nathan’s jacket. It wasn’t hers to take home, just a rental he’d made for the night.

  Gulping in lungfuls of air, she unzipped the small duffel bag on the counter. She shoved her head into the soft T-shirt, her arms getting caught for a moment before she could cover herself completely. She couldn’t get her sweatpants and shoes on fast enough. The idea of being naked and vulnerable with him so nearby made her stomach turn.

  God, she hated this place. Hated the man who lived here.

  And hated her father for putting her in this fucking mess to begin with.

  Closing the door gently behind her, she speed-walked the hall to the elevator from Nathan’s penthouse. Her tennis shoes squeaked on the marble floor.

  The doorman nodded politely and called the valet f
or her car. If he noticed the moisture in her eyes or the darkening skin at her wrists, he studiously ignored it.

  Nathan had only tried to get her in bed once before, and at the time, he’d accepted her demure rejection with a profession of old fashion values. It fit with his image, even if his southern charm was nothing more than lip service.

  Her own condo beckoned from just a few miles away, and though the traffic in Atlanta was usually insufferable, it would be an easy drive this late at night.

  She caught sight of a shooting star as she slipped into the driver’s seat, and misery thumped harder against her chest.

  Her life hadn’t always been like this.

  There was a time she knew what it was to be loved.

  It was a mistake thinking about it. Knowing how much better it could be, knowing she’d never have it again, only made a bad situation worse.

  ***

  13 years ago

  July

  “Deny it all you want, Mandy, but I know you’re only wearing that tiny little dress to drive me crazy.”

  Kane’s dark eyes gleamed as he dragged his gaze over her body. Stalking toward her in long strides, he approached from the parking lot where his brother had dropped him off. His fingers flexed, as though he wanted to touch her, but he held back.

  Her blood heated with his regard, and giddy laughter bubbled with the nickname he’d given her. “I’m not denying anything.” Tilting her head, she fluttered her lashes. “What other reason could there be?”

  She gestured for him to step closer to the grass next to the fountain. She’d arrived at Grant Park a full fifteen minutes ahead of their date so she’d have time to set the scene, though the lush clearing and the water feature provided almost ready-made romance. Her heart beat double-time as he closed the remaining distance between them.

  Hello, gorgeous.

  Kane Hale had nothing in common with the buttoned-up snobs her father always picked out for her, which was probably part of the attraction. Frays peeked from the hem of his worn jeans, and his Green Day T-shirt hugged his wiry frame.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground before fitting his mouth against hers. Even after three months together, his kisses heated her blood.

  Butterflies danced a riot in her stomach as she ran her hand over his damp close-cropped brown hair, then gripped his broad shoulders. He smelled faintly of shaving cream, and her fingertips fluttered over the smooth skin of his cheek.

  His tongue swept the seam of her mouth, and she opened eagerly with a small sigh.

  She could have forgotten they were in the middle of a popular park if a small dog hadn’t started yapping at her feet. Her eyes flew open as a gray-haired woman pulled on the animal’s leash and harrumphed, presumably at their very enthusiastic, very public display of affection.

  Kane chuckled and took a step back. “See what you did? That old lady was practically scandalized.” Laughter danced in his eyes, and her heart swelled fuller than ever.

  She ran her fingers over her tingling bottom lip. “At least I know I won’t be the only one staying up tonight reliving our kiss.”

  He stroked her hair and tipped his forehead to hers. “You were never going to be the only one. I’ll be thinking about it all night.”

  It would be so easy to fall into his arms again, but too much distraction would torpedo all her careful planning. Squeezing her eyes shut for fortitude, she broke contact and knelt on the blanket with the picnic basket. Shadows edged the nearby trees, signaling the transition from dusk to dark. The park would be closing soon, but she’d timed their meal to avoid as much of the Georgia summer heat as possible. Even at seven-thirty, though, the thin cotton of her dress stuck to her skin, and she knew her forehead probably glistened with perspiration.

  At least she didn’t have any makeup to melt off. Kane always made it a point to tell her she was beautiful without it.

  “Sit with me. Eat one of these damn hot dogs.” She patted the ground beside her. “You know I only packed them for you.”

  Kane settled on the blanket, but they didn’t eat right away. They held hands and watched lightning bugs flit around the trees and laughed at the mom chasing a toddler making a bee-line to the water.

  Eventually, Kane fished his foil-wrapped treasure out of the basket. “One day I’m going to get you to try one. It’s positively un-American you won’t eat a hot dog.”

  Shaking her head emphatically, she swallowed the bite she’d taken from her PB&J. All the food she’d packed had been simple fare; cooking wasn’t one of her strengths. “I may be crazy about you, but I’m not crazy. Do you have any idea what’s in those things?” She shuddered.

  “You’re crazy about me?” He waggled his eyebrows and finished the second half of his hot dog in one bite.

  Her face heated. A smartass quip hovered on her lips, but she swallowed it down and went with the simple truth. “Yeah.”

  His smile widened with her quiet admission, and he ran his hand up the side of her arm. “How crazy are we talking about?” he teased gently.

  “Somewhere between Nick Nolte’s mugshot and Tom Cruise jumping on the sofa with Oprah.”

  He pursed his lips in mock concern. “Pretty crazy, then.” His fingers snaked around the column of her neck, and he pulled her closer, his breath hot on her skin. “It’s a good thing I’m every bit as crazy about you.”

  She leaned forward and brushed his lips with hers. The desire shooting deep into her core felt positively audacious in public. When she pulled away, his stare locked on her face.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered. “I need to be alone with you.”

  Great minds think alike.

  A make-out session in her backseat would not only scratch her itch, but it would provide the perfect inspiration for some toe-curling dreams in the nights to come.

  Nodding, she grabbed the picnic basket while Kane snatched the blanket from the ground. Together, they speed-walked to her car.

  She stopped short when he grabbed her shoulder.

  “Look. A shooting star. Make a wish.”

  Glancing up, she caught the tail end of the light blazing across the sky.

  I wish Kane Hale would be my first. She blinked. And my last.

  “What did you wish for, baby?” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I wished nothing will ever come between us.”

  She slapped his shoulder. “No. If you say it out loud, it won’t come true.”

  Taking the picnic basket from her hand, Kane put it in the trunk, then laced his fingers with hers. “Hush. We control our fate. Not luck. Not the stars. So, you’d better get used to this face, because it’s never going to change, and there is nothing in this world that’s going to take me away from your side.”

  She hesitated. “What about the club?”

  His father wouldn’t stop pushing for Kane to join the MC where he was a founding member. Not only were his parents deep in the life, his brother, Scott, was too.

  As much as she adored Kane, she wanted no part of his world. Those guys treated women like crap. Even the “old ladies” like Kane’s mom were second-class citizens, considered barely a step above talking blow-up dolls.

  The guys she’d met from the crew? Rude, crass, and violent. Probably criminals. And they were Kane’s family.

  “I’m not going to join. I told you. I’ve never wanted that kind of life.” He kissed her hand. “I want a real relationship. I want a home and a job and kids who aren’t embarrassed by their dad when he comes to their school to pick them up.”

  He said all the things she wanted to hear, but based on everything he’d told her before, she knew rejecting the club could drive a wedge between him and his family he may never overcome.

  “I don’t want you to lose your parents or your brother and resent me one day for it.”

  “It’s never going to happen. With you or without you, I’m never going to join.” His voice hardened with resolve. “I promise, Mandy. As long as I l
ive, I will never be part of my family’s MC.”

  ***

  Kane

  Present Day

  Blood and gore stuck to Kane’s boots as he tromped through what was once the city’s most notorious drug den. Now it bore the hallmarks of a slaughterhouse. Bodies littered the floor, all members of the crew once run by Sucre de la Cruz.

  All dead at the hands of the Skulls MC.

  His gaze met his brother’s across the dimly lit room. Scott’s tongue peeked out of his toothy grin. No doubt, he reveled in the carnage.

  Kane only came for his friend, Brick. Well, Brick and the ten thousand dollars the man had promised the MC to help him take out his drug dealer boss and the bastard’s crew. The violence didn’t excite Kane like it did Scott. He considered it a necessary evil to protect his club.

  They were his family.

  When everyone else had started killing, his job had been to hold a weapon at the drug lord’s head, so the piece of shit could watch his empire crumble before his eyes.

  He found it immensely satisfying. De la Cruz and his organization had been a stain on Atlanta for years. The guy ruled through violence, fear, and death. Now his reign was over. Not only did Kane have a hand in the takedown, he did his part without taking a single life.

  His brothers were another story. They ripped through Sucre’s men like they were made of tissue paper, and they loved every second of it. All the crazed smiles and laughter would have given it away even before they’d raided the bar and started toasting with tequila shots.

  In his years with the club, Kane had seen plenty of violence up close and personal, but he’d never had to kill anyone. Maybe it was a cop-out, but he didn’t want to start a body count now.

  He swiped one of the tarps piled right inside the front door and dropped it next to a body. Nobody could skip clean-up.

  Holding his breath against the stench of viscera and human waste, he grabbed the dead man’s arm and slid him onto the black sheet of plastic. He had to plant one foot on the tarp to keep it in place. Stealing a quick gulp of air through his mouth, he knelt and rolled the man up like a burrito. Blood coated his hands and speckled up his arms over his sleeves of tattoos.