Table of Contents
Dedication
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
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more Entangled Select Contemporary titles… Without Words
Firefighter Roberto DeRosa’s career is over. After an accident leaves him struggling with words, communicating with people is difficult, but Dani Hodge has a way of seeing through the walls he’s put up, and being with her makes him want to try. Spring Secrets
Winning Love
Hot for the Fireman
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Sheryl Nantus. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Select Contemporary is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Candace Havens
Cover design by Cover Couture
Cover art from DepositPhotos
ISBN 978-1-64063-175-5
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition August 2017
For my husband Martin who never fails to support me, who is always there to comfort me when I feel the walls closing in and who doesn’t mind pizza five times a week. You’ve always had more faith in me than I’ve had in myself at times and I hope to never let you down.
Chapter One
Skye Harris turned off her car’s engine and sat, listening to the thumping beat emanating from the nearby nightclub.
The Devil’s Playground.
Her stomach churned with nervous energy as she stared at the line of people waiting to get in, streaming down around the block.
She didn’t want to be here.
She should be at the hospital, holding Robby’s hand.
But something had to be done, and she’d be damned if she’d wait a minute longer.
Skye checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. The dark circles under her eyes made her wince. The last week had leeched most of the color out of her face, and she ached all over, as if she’d been running a marathon non-stop.
The only real answer to her problem was inside this building.
She took a deep breath and got out of the car. It was another hot night, the dry air sucking the moisture from her throat as she took her place in line. Around her people laughed and joked, taking selfies and chatting about the band, the nightclub, the wonderful time they were about to have. The men wore dark shirts and slacks. The women toyed with their barely-there dresses and whispered to each other as they sized up the men.
Skye pressed her lips together tightly, holding back her comments. She wasn’t here for any of this, and if there were another option, she would have taken it.
But there wasn’t. And as the line moved forward, she bit the inside of her cheek and kept quiet.
All she could think about was a frail, thin body lying in a hospital bed, battered almost beyond recognition.
For you, Robby.
I’m going to kill a man for you.
…
Finn Storm leaned on the railing and looked down on the dance floor. The nightclub was jumping tonight with a live band on the stage jamming some great tunes for the capacity crowd. He tapped his foot to the beat, enjoying the energy swirling around him.
“Finn.” The comm link in his ear crackled to life; his boss Dylan’s voice came through loud and clear. “Stop grinning like a hyena and get your ass over to the bar. Faith just called in. Someone’s there with a card.”
Finn made his way to the long bar that ran the length of the ground floor. The crowd parted before him, instinctively picking up on the black T-shirt and jeans that marked him as a club employee.
He edged up to the bar next to a pair of eager young women, barely legal drinking age.
One looked him over and licked her lips before glancing at the dance floor.
He shook his head, gently turning her down.
Faith, the bartender, eyed him as he leaned on the varnished wood. “Boss send you over?”
Finn nudged his thumb up toward the office. “You know it. What do you have?”
“A headache, and I’m a waiter down. Mark called in and quit, the latest casualty of my bad luck at keeping staff,” she replied. “But that’s my problem. Yours is the woman at the far end of the bar sipping on her club soda. She flashed a card, so I called it in. Good luck.” Faith gave him a nod and moved away.
Finn scanned the bar and spotted the subject in question.
He let out a curse under his breath. If he hadn’t been busy daydreaming, he would have spotted her before Dylan.
The woman was out of place, almost painfully so. A bobbed cut kept her black hair up off the collar of her white silk blouse. In another time and place, he’d have offered to buy her a drink and find out what she was all about.
She glanced toward the stage then away, wincing as another round of hard bass notes shook the air around them. Her eyes were dark and sad, her lips pressed into a tight line as she gripped her drink like she was drowning and the glass her life preserver.
Her discomfort was evident. She didn’t want to be there. It was enough to keep the space around her clear of suitors, the men giving her a quick glance before heading away, seeking more fertile ground.
The embossed business card lay face down on the bar, soaking up some of the condensation from her drink. To others it might seem like a leftover from a prospective lover, but to Finn it was a beacon screaming for help.
Help only the Brotherhood could give.
…
The club soda tickled Skye’s nose, the bubbles almost making her sneeze.
It wasn’t that she didn’t drink—on the right day she could drink with the best of them. But it didn’t seem wise to order anything alcoholic given the situation.
Skye studied her watch and frowned.
This isn’t going to work.
Five more minutes and she’d leave, write the evening off as a crazy idea. If she hustled, she might be able to get back to the hospital before Pat went off shift.
“Hi.”
A hand fell on her forearm, and Skye froze, the soft touch holding her in place. She closed her eyes for a second before turning to face the man, readying herself.
“I’m Finn.” The words washed over her like a cool wave, wiping away her exhaustion and nervousness.
; Her mind went blank.
It was hard to corral her thoughts as she took in Finn’s handsome features. A black T-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest, and on his left, a crescent-shaped scar at his jawline marred his almost-perfect smile. His short black hair was almost too short, the military-style haircut keeping it neat and tidy.
“I hear you’ve got something to show me.” He smiled—a friendly, calming smile in contrast to the hungry grins she’d seen on the other men around her. “A card.”
“I…” She fumbled for the words she needed.
Now or never.
She wanted to flee, to run out of the nightclub and never look back.
Robby.
Skye turned over the card and showed it to Finn. There were no words, just an image of two hands clasped in a handshake.
“Can you help me?” she asked. “I need to know right away—I don’t have the time to waste. Can you help or not?”
His expression changed in a flash. Gone was the helpful, generic grin she’d seen for the first few seconds. Now his jaw tightened, the muscles on his arms tensing as if ready for a fight.
He looked at her and nodded as he pocketed the card. “Yes. I’m very sure that we can. Please come with me.”
…
Finn maneuvered the woman through the crowd, bringing her to the back of the club, where the private elevators were. A nod to one of the security men and they were inside, going up the two levels to Dylan’s office. Somewhere along the line, she’d tucked her arm into his, using him as a shield against the human traffic. He didn’t mind.
Finn studied her as the elevator moved.
She was beautiful without the need for a lot of makeup. He liked that. It was a welcome change from most of the women at the club.
He noticed there was no wedding band on the hand that gripped him more tightly with each second.
“Hey,” Finn whispered. “It’s going to be okay.”
She gave him a small smile. “I’m just nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“It’s everyone’s first time when they come here. Don’t worry.” The elevator slowed and settled on the top floor. A few seconds later, the doors opened, and he led her down the hall. “You’re safe here. Dylan’ll take care of you.”
They stopped in front of the office door, and her fingers dug into his skin. Finn knocked with his free hand.
“Come in.”
He opened the door and walked through, her vice-like grip on his arm showing no signs of letting up.
It was obvious he wasn’t going anywhere.
…
Skye wasn’t sure what she thought would happen. Maybe she’d be hustled into a car with tinted windows and a hood over her head as they whisked her to a secret location. Or perhaps they’d spirit her off to a sketchy warehouse on the outskirts of town, filled with men in black practicing martial arts.
She didn’t expect to be in an office overlooking one of the hottest dance floors in Las Vegas.
A man stood behind a large wooden desk, smiling as they approached. He wore the same unofficial uniform as Finn, the dark shirt tight on his broad shoulders and arms. His brown hair was cut short, too, adding to the military look he shared with Finn.
He leaned forward, pressing his fingertips on the slick desktop.
“I’m Dylan McCourt.” He nodded to the woman by his side. “Jessie Lyon.” He motioned at the chair. “Please, sit down.”
Skye released Finn’s arm and sat, drawing a deep breath to steady herself.
She had a mission, and she was bound and determined to see it through to the end.
Finn pulled the business card out of his pocket and placed it on the desk before moving away to lean against the wall, his arms crossed. She’d left small crimson indents on his skin with her nails. But he hadn’t flinched, hadn’t pulled away from her.
Dylan glanced at Finn, arching one eyebrow in a silent question.
Skye frowned, wondering what she was missing.
“Are you thirsty?” Jessie asked, drawing Skye’s attention away from the interaction between the two men. “A bottle of cold water, maybe?”
“No, thank you. I had plenty of club soda downstairs.” She divided her attention between Finn and Dylan, finally settling her focus on Dylan. “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to chat. I need to know if you can help me, and I need to know as soon as possible.”
Dylan seated himself. Jessie did as well, taking the chair in the corner.
Finn remained standing to her right side, just at the edge of her vision.
“Okay, then.” Dylan picked up the card. “What’s your problem?”
The carefully prepared speech she’d been rehearsing for hours on the drive in escaped her.
She glanced at Jessie.
The blonde gave her a friendly, kind smile. “It’s okay. Take your time. Let’s start at the beginning. Tell us who you are and how you got here.” She gestured at the card, still in Dylan’s strong hand. “Tell us how you got that.”
Skye pushed her thoughts back together in a jumbled mess, forcing herself to speak before she lost the nerve.
“My name is Skye Harris.”
That was the easy part.
“I work at… Well, I work. I’ve got a lot of jobs. I clean offices, I wait tables, I work the cash register and stock shelves. Whatever pays the rent. I live in Whistling Willows, about an hour’s drive from here.”
Her voice grew stronger as she continued. “We’re in a sweet spot just off I-15, almost halfway between Vegas and Los Angeles. Lots of commuter traffic. Lots of drugs as of late. A motorcycle gang came in about a year ago and started causing trouble.” She curled her hands into fists, feeling anger begin to rush up. “Heroin.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Finn shifting positions. His smile settled into a tight line, lips pressed together.
Dylan didn’t react. He held up the waterlogged card.
“Where did you get this from?” he asked.
“I got the card from one of the nurses working on the hospital ward. Pat. She helped me settle in with Robby, listened to me tell her what I wanted to do. She told me to take this card, come here and tell you my story. Pat said you’d help me.”
She watched the glances between Dylan and Finn, acknowledging her mysterious benefactor.
Dylan nodded. “What do you think we can do for you?”
“I want your help to push the gang out of town, get them to stop selling heroin. I want your help to get Mick Smith alone, without his thugs standing around protecting him.” She drew in a deep breath, channeling her rage into words. “They call him the Wolf, and they say he can’t be killed. That what the Wolf wants, the Wolf gets. I want to prove they’re wrong. I don’t want him to get another day of life.” A snarl broke free, her anger spilling out along with the last of her energy. “I want to see him die.”
Silence hung in the air for a minute, the only sound coming from the live band beneath them.
Dylan leaned back in his chair, frowning. “I’m not sure what you were told, but we don’t condone or assist in cold-blooded murder,” he said. “We won’t help you kill a man. Even if he’s drug-dealing scum like Mick Smith.”
Blood roared in her ears, and her eyes were suddenly too heavy to keep open. “Then I’m going to…” She swallowed hard, the words clogging her throat. “I just…” She closed her eyes.
“Damn.” She heard Jessie’s voice coming down a long, dark tunnel. Skye reached out, flailing for support. Her hand grabbed something as the dizziness overwhelmed her, pulling her into the black.
Chapter Two
“Well, that was interesting,” Dylan said to Finn as they studied Skye, her petite form now stretched out on the sofa. “Good catch. Sure didn’t see that coming.”
“Woman knows what she wants, that’s for sure.” Finn shook his head. “There’s a hell of a backstory there.”
“We’ll get it when she wakes up.” Dylan glanced at Jessie, now s
eated beside the recovering woman, dabbing at her forehead with a damp cloth. “Got to be a reason behind this. She doesn’t look like the sort to suddenly up and decide to kill a man without cause.”
“Who’s Pat?” Jessie asked.
“We helped her parents a few years ago. She had our card, and she gave it to Skye. She wouldn’t do that if she didn’t believe we could help in some way.” He looked upward. “Trey, give me a biography of Skye Harris and whatever you have on the drug issues in Whispering Willows. I need it in an hour.”
Finn didn’t bother looking at the tiny surveillance camera set in the upper corner of the room. Trey Pierce, their local tech genius, was on the job. The man had mad skills when it came to computers, and he’d get the data through his sources, legal and otherwise.
Finn’s attention flashed back to the woman stretched out on the sofa. Her eyes fluttered open, and she slowly lifted her right hand to the wet cloth covering her forehead.
“Take it easy,” Jessie said. “You gave us a bit of a scare.”
Skye blinked rapidly for a few seconds as her eyes focused on the two men hovering nearby. She turned her head and stared at Jessie.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You fainted.” Jessie patted her arm. “We brought you over to the couch here. You were swaying and couldn’t walk. When was the last time you ate?”
Skye’s forehead furrowed with thought. “I went to the hospital this morning and…”
“I thought so.” Jessie looked at Dylan. “Get the kitchen to send up a burger and fries. Make it a double order. I could use some food myself.”
Dylan grunted in response and picked up the phone.
“I’m sorry.” Skye sighed. “I have to go, I have to get back…” Her voice trailed off again as she closed her eyes.
“You’re not going anywhere until you eat.” Jessie wiped her forehead again with the damp cloth. “You’re no good to anyone in this condition.” Her tone left no room for discussion.
Finn hovered over her. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you so fixed on killing this man?” He shook his head. “I can understand you’re upset about them dealing drugs in your hometown, but there’s a hell of a difference between sending them to jail and killing the gang leader.”
Hard Run Page 1
