Heroes Ever After Boxset: Books 1-3

by Alana Albertson

  I slowly placed my hand on his shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry I yelled. I was just a little scared. Do you want to go back to the party with me?”

  His head turned to me. I wished I could rip that damn mask off of his head and read his expression. “No,” he said, his breath labored. His hands fidgeted, and then he crossed his arms.

  Cars whizzed by the street, drowning out our silence. This guy was obviously going through something. Sure, I’d just met him, but after failing to detect all the signs of my mother’s depression, I’d made a vow to never turn my back on someone in need.

  We stood there in awkward silence. “Did you have a flashback?”

  “Something like that. I’m fine.”

  He did not seem fine. His voice was shaking and he flinched at my touch.

  “It’s okay. I mean, my mom used to have episodes. I’m not judging you. Do you want to talk?”

  “I said I’m fine. Just need to relax. I don’t do well in big groups of people. I should’ve never gone to that party.” He exhaled and his shoulders dropped. Then his chin tilted up, and he placed his hand on my back. “But then, I would’ve never met you.”

  Ah. The charm was back.

  “I’m glad you went.”

  His lips grazed my ear. “Come upstairs with me.”

  Whoa, arrogant much? In any other situation, I would’ve run for the hills. Despite my reputation in Hollywood, I’d never gone home with a guy whom I’d just met. “I don’t think going up to your place is a good idea.”

  He leaned into me, his firm hand tracing mine. “It’s the best idea I’ve had all night.”

  His body was now pressed into mine, and I could feel his rock-solid cock poke through his shorts.

  Ah, damn. I knew what he wanted—and I’d be lying to myself if I said a part of me didn’t ache for him too. Lust aside, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I walked away from him now. I needed to be assured he was okay.

  But I wasn’t stupid—I recognized that I didn’t know this man. I wanted to just talk to him, somewhere safe, somewhere public. “Do you want to grab some coffee with me? There’s a café a block away. Or if you’re hungry, there’s this great hole-in-the-wall Thai restaurant around the corner.”

  “I’m not going anywhere but home. And you’re coming with me.”

  Damn. I should’ve told him off, but the ache between my legs compelled me to stay.

  “But…I don’t even know your name.” Nor had I seen his face. I refused to walk away without getting a glimpse of the man behind the mask.

  His fist clenched. “Are you coming upstairs or not?”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, but just for a bit. My friend’s at the party.”

  His head tilted to the side. “I didn’t see you with a friend.”

  “Yeah, well, she ditched me when we got there.”

  “Some friend.”

  Hulk had a point. Even so, I took out my phone and texted Marisol my location just in case I ended up in a bad situation.

  We walked upstairs to the second floor, and he opened his apartment door. His place was masculine and modern—IKEA-style black furniture, a huge flat-screen television, and a small balcony with a tiny barbecue. Instead of the room smelling musty, like most guys’ rooms I’d been to, his smelled like lemons and pinecones. It was immaculate. He must’ve either had a maid, which was unlikely, or he was a complete OCD neat freak. The creative slob in me was impressed. I sat nervously on the sofa and he stood in the kitchen, watching me.

  What on earth was I doing? “What’s your name?”

  He just shook his head. Okay, I was in a strange apartment with some psycho, nameless Marine who just had some war flashback. I’d probably end up in a ditch, the subject of a future episode of Dateline. Well, at least my dad would get the opportunity to pitch the story about my disappearance and murder to Vanity Fair—a boost and paycheck he needed for his slumping writing career and mounting bills.

  “Okay, Hulk. Are you okay? Do you want to talk?”

  He didn’t say a word, just opened the refrigerator, and grabbed two beers. He handed me one, then leaned against the granite kitchen island, his hips jutting out, and I couldn’t help but stare at the bulge in his shorts.

  I took a swig of my beer, the bitter taste filling my mouth. Awkward. I didn’t know what to say, but I didn’t want to leave. In addition to my immense attraction to this man, I wanted to know his story. I had to see if his face was as breathtaking as his body.

  I looked at him. “Will you take off your mask for me?”

  He grunted. “Only if you take off your clothes.”

  Whoa. Did he just say that? Who did this guy think he was? With that body, he clearly had no problem getting women to spread their legs for him. Was this his game? Play the damaged vet card to gain sympathy from unsuspecting coeds?

  Not that he needed a ploy. This man was incredibly hot. Hands down the best body I’d ever seen. Like one of those fitness models who graced the covers of my romance novels.

  “No way, Devil Dog.” I gathered my purse and stood up. “Look, I made a mistake. I wanted to make sure you were okay, but you’re clearly fine and all, so I’m going to see myself out. It was nice meeting you.”

  I walked toward the door, but he grabbed my wrist. Before I could protest, he pressed his body against mine, shoving my ass against the black granite countertop. His huge cock pushed against my crotch, and my core ached.

  “Don’t leave.” His voice was deep, sexy, guttural, as his fingers traced my side.

  I was unable to speak, my adrenaline spiking. I could race out of here, slamming the door on any hope of taking this further. Or I could stay and see this night through. Our interaction had started out so promising. He’d given me a rose, seemed to be interested in more than just a hookup, even though he’d asked me to leave the party with him after we’d just met. Maybe I’d read him wrong and he’d been about to ask me out on a date? It wasn’t his fault that an ill-timed firework ignited and ruined our moment. Why should any connection we might have become a casualty of his pain?

  At the same time, he did seem cocky, which turned me on yet frightened me. He’d clearly had many hookups and knew what to say to get a woman into bed.

  Rebelling against my common sense, I kept my feet planted on his laminate tile floors. He pulled off my wig and wig cap, my hair cascading in my face. His hand undid the zipper of my catsuit and peeled it off my body, kneeling to slip it off my feet.

  I did nothing to stop him.

  He stood back up and unhooked my bra, his rough hands teasing my nipples. I gasped when his fingers slipped into my black lace panties, which within seconds fell to my ankles.

  He didn’t ask me if it was okay—he acted as if he owned me, which was sexy and scary at the same time. Lust waged a battle with my brain. My body yearned to be touched, my head urged me to flee, yet my nerves sensed no danger. I felt strangely safe. Like I could tell him no or leave at any time.

  I stood in front of him, buck naked, as he eye-fucked my body. After giving him more than enough time to stare at me, I squeezed his shoulder and lowered my voice. “Take off your mask.”

  For a few seconds he didn’t move. His hesitation tortured me.

  Then, without a word he ripped the mask off and looked me dead in the eye. His shoulders back, his chin up, as if he was standing at attention.

  I battled the urge to recoil in horror. A wave of nausea hit me, and despite my best effort, I let out a gasp.

  Ay dios mío! What the hell happened to this man?

  Grady

  Iraq—Two Years Earlier

  The blazing Iraqi heat incinerated me, my flak jacket serving as my own personal oven. The pounding in my head was relentless, and it wasn’t just from the popping of the nearby AKs. I flicked a sand flea off my chest and took a swig from my hydration pack, but the few drops of water did little to quench my thirst. The dehydration, bug infestation, torching sunbeams, and constant sounds of gunfire ensured that
the sandman had refused to pay me a visit for days.

  My men and I were clearing houses. I was a fucking grunt in an infantry unit, the backbone of the Marine Corps. A human sandbag. I’d joined hoping one day to become a scout sniper—and more than ever wished I were prone on some building offing these terrorist motherfuckers before they assassinated my brothers. At least I was happy to have my friends by my side—Trace, Preston, Diego, Beau, and Rafael. These men were my brothers—and out here, the dirty water that bound us together was thicker than blood.

  One more house. We’d already cleared two and this was lucky number three. This one was two stories and even had a fucking roof. I threw the purple magic cloud in the air to disorientate the enemy and the smoke grenade detonated. “Let’s go!”

  Diego went in first, and we hustled behind him. The rancid air smelled like a putrid mixture of gunpowder, shit, and sour goat’s milk.

  “Clear,” Trace yelled out after he checked the first room. Luckily, the second room was vacant also.

  I sprinted upstairs, my men close behind me. As we turned the corner and entered the room to the left, the distinct popping of the enemies’ AKs went off.

  “Get down!” I crouched in the corner of the room, desperate to get the fuck out of here. Alive. With all my men. Diego returned fire, clouding the room with gunfire and smoke.

  And that was when I saw it flying through the window.

  A fucking hand grenade. Right next to Rafael.

  We were all about to fucking die.

  “Grenade!” I screamed. “Get the fuck out.”

  I’d always believed that you could never predict how you would act in a deadly situation until the Grim Reaper knocked at your door. Nothing could’ve been truer in that moment.

  I was about to die. All my friends were about to be blown up by these motherfuckers.

  Not on my watch.

  Limbs shaking, tears choking in my throat, I flung my body down on the grenade preparing to shield my men from the blast.

  Rafael tried to drag me away, but I remained still, praying for mercy and a quick death. I counted the seconds until my life was over—until I would meet my maker.

  A stream of gunfire ricocheted through the building, headed toward Rafael, who had refused to leave my side. His heart-wrenching scream echoed through this shanty house as his head split open before my eyes, his brains splattering on my cammies.

  “No!” I screamed. It was too late—despite my sacrifice, my best friend was dead.

  Boom!

  Agony ripped through my chest, my heart spontaneously combusting, as I let out a desperate scream.

  The world was black. I thought I was dead.

  But I wasn’t fucking dead; I could never be that lucky. I was alive, trapped in my own body. Cries desperately trying to be heard, tears burning my skin, every nerve in my body short-circuiting, lying in my rotting flesh. Metallica’s song, “One,” played on repeat in my head. The smell of ammonia and bleach filled the white room. Maybe I’d been committed to an insane asylum.

  My only working eye made out the image of a man in a white coat walking into the room, a reluctant smile hiding the pity on his face.

  “Sergeant Williams, I’m Dr. Evanson. You’re at Walter Reed Medical Hospital. You’ve been in a coma for three months; we didn’t think you’d make it. Congratulations, son, you’re a hero.”

  It was a smile I would get to know intimately, for that same condescending smile would end up gracing the face of every politician asking me to pose for a photo, every active duty Marine praying they wouldn’t end up like me, every woman I propositioned.

  It was a look that said simultaneously “Thank you for your service” and “This poor bastard.”

  Isa

  Guilt from my initial reaction to his injuries tormented me.

  At first I was determined not to stare at his face, horrified that he’d be insulted by my reaction. But the second his face came into focus, I held back a sob, and a lump grew in my throat.

  The right side of his face was mangled, taut raw flesh accented with blue and red scars. His jaw was uneven, and his right eyelid slumped, filled with what must’ve been a glass eye. The remnant of his ear was dappled and twisted. But the other half of his face was clean-shaven, handsome and rugged—a bright turquoise eye, strong chin, black hair shorn in a Marine Corps high and tight haircut.

  Flashes filled my brain, stored images I must’ve retained from newsreels and graphic war movies. Had it been a roadside bomb? An outmanned firefight? Some type of chemical attack? I wouldn’t ask him. For now, I was content with the trust he had shown me by unveiling his scars.

  “I guess I should’ve gone to the party as Two-Face,” he said, his voice somber.

  “No, you’re beautiful. You make a sexy Hulk.” I caressed his face, my fingers tracing its divots. “Plus, then you’d be DC, and I’d be Marvel. We would’ve never had a chance.”

  He let out a small laugh, but flinched at my touch. “You’ve seen me now. You’re free to go.”

  This was my chance to end this night safely and in control.

  Or I could get wild—do what I’d only ever read about in my books.

  Cut loose.

  I’d always admired those women who owned their sexuality, like Marisol. Indulged in pleasure without any guilt or shame. I wondered what it would be like to live in the moment.

  I was picky, but I still had needs, and right now I needed some action—and sadly these days the warm glow from my eReader was about the closest that I felt to having any heat radiating on my body. But even the artificial afterglow of one hot night with my latest romance hero did little to warm my heart. After all, I hadn’t had sex since my last relationship ended. I missed everything about being around men—their masculine scents, their non-subtle eye fucks, their rough hands. At least my book boyfriends were gorgeous, witty, and incredible lovers—but most importantly, they wanted more from their heroines than just a one-night stand.

  And I was sure this man wasn’t looking for anything more than a hookup.

  Isa, put on your clothes and get the hell out of here. This is not you. You are responsible, conservative, and goal-oriented.

  Faced with the opportunity to indulge in my fantasy of hot, wild sex with a hunky alpha male, I had to admit that the reality of the situation made me realize how rigid I’d always been.

  But somewhere deep in my soul I wanted to lose myself in this damaged man, give him pleasure to alleviate his pain, experience ecstasy and release.

  And maybe he could heal me too.

  The heat between us rose, and I erased the distance between us, like two magnets being drawn together.

  I traced his face with my fingers, running the tips over his lips. Rough, wild, and dangerous. As he remained still, my hands explored his incredible body—rock-hard muscles, deeply embedded scars, and intricate ink. All making him look like the sexiest badass alive.

  He bit his bottom lip; his pupil dilated.

  Hungry.

  Ravenous.

  Intense.

  His chest heaved, and the sight of this raw, ferocious man before me sent a shock between my legs. I ached for him to relieve the tension that consumed my body.

  I pressed my palm onto his chest, the green body paint staining my hand. “I want to stay. I want you.”

  Damn, did I just say that? My words betrayed my will.

  The left side of his mouth widened into a grin, although his right side remained frozen in time. With one arm, he clutched my ass and wrapped my legs around his waist. I gasped as his mouth covered mine. His lips were neither soft nor sweet—they were hard and hungry. The length of his cock and the hair on his chest let me know that, unlike my previous boyish lovers, I was about to be fucked by a real man.

  There was no turning back. I needed this Marine inside me in the worst way.

  His kisses were out of control. I’d never been kissed like this before, like I was an oasis in the middle of the desert. His mouth tasted mi
nty and hot, and his manliness intoxicated me. He awoke a latent desire in me, summoning my inner wildcat. I kissed him back, kissed him everywhere. His mouth, his lips, his neck, his scars. My hands explored his insanely ripped body, stroking him like he was my personal sex toy. I gripped his hair and dug my nails into his back, kneading him closer to me, never wanting to let him go.

  I’d always been the good girl, living vicariously through my friends’ hookups, only indulging in my fantasies in the safety of my mind. Whether it was from a place of fear or control, I had never allowed myself to fulfill my desires. But tonight, with this nameless sex god in my grasp, I made a silent vow to not hold anything back. I was going to let him fuck me like it was the last night of the world.

  He shoved my ass on the countertop as his hands worked their way down my body, his mouth suckling on my nipples. A moan escaped my lips. I could feel my pulse beat in my core, and the thought of his hot tongue working its magic between my legs was almost enough to make me orgasm. I arched my back as his fingers teased my pussy, his thumb rubbing my clit.

  “Oh, yes,” I moaned. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

  He groaned and dropped to his knees, his lips teasing me, showering my warm, wet flesh with kisses. He pushed his finger, first one, then two, deeper inside me, twisting and turning, and I gasped. I ran my fingers through his hair, wanting more of him, more of his tongue, more of his fingers. One wicked glance up at me, and he buried his face in my pussy. Ohmigod. His tongue danced around me, licking me into a frenzy as sensations of bliss pulsed through my body. Glancing down at this sex god going to town on me, my legs now wrapped around his neck, I felt so naughty. I didn’t even know this guy’s name, so why did he feel so right?

  “I’m gonna lick you until you come all over my face, baby.”

  Ahh. His tongue worked its magic against my clit. A rush of pleasure coiled in my core, rising and falling, desperate for release. My pussy throbbed and a wave of ecstasy exploded through my body, the sweet freedom making my body tremble.