H.A.L.O. Undone (Broken HALO Book 1): A Broken HALO Novel (Broken H.A.L.O.)

by Jillian Neal

  “I have a private pool?” Clearly, the remaining members of Team Seven really thought I needed to get laid.

  “Yes, sir. You also have access to a twenty-four-hour chef and your own personal concierge. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Here’s some information on the bachelor auction tonight and the shows going on at the hotel during your stay.” She thrust another stack of brochures into my hands. “You can leave your bags here. I’ll have someone bring them to you.”

  “Nah. I got it.” People waiting on me generally set me on edge. It certainly wasn’t something I was accustomed to, and I’d spent the last few years nurturing the chip on my shoulder. I wouldn’t even let the nurses push my chair in rehab.

  Heading toward whatever these Villa Suites were, still avoiding onlookers, I flipped through the first brochure hoping to find a map. When Jizz Stain’s face greeted me on the show brochures, I dropped all of the information on entertainment into the nearest trash can cleverly disguised as a boulder.

  There was no mistaking the distinctive ringing of slot machines and collective rise in volume as I neared the hotel casino. Around another few turns, I passed fancy-ass murals and sconces down another hallway and was almost to the door that would lead me to whatever exclusive room I’d been assigned when all noise was vacuumed from the very earth itself.

  My mouth was suddenly drier than the desert I was standing in. “Holy fuck.” My own gasp seemed to sucker punch the rest of the air out of my chest. I stared at the back page of the brochure that contained a short paragraph about the designer who’d redone the Villa Suites. And there she was. Her headshot stared up at me.

  Owner and Lead Designer, Hannah Hagen, of Palindrome Design out of Denver brings her own brand of sensual class and refinement to The Obelisk Villa Suites. There was even a quote: ‘I wanted to create a retreat within the hotel itself. I kept the themes of understated elegance, indulgence, and forbidden romance in every hand-picked detail. I wanted couples from every stage of life to rediscover what made them fall in love. It’s the kind of place I’d love to spend a week with someone I love.’

  This time the blare of alarm bells wasn’t coming from the slots. They were lodged in my skull. There was no fucking way. I never told anyone about her. No one. Her father was the only one who knew about us, and he’d made it abundantly clear that I was never to tell anyone else. How the hell had T…? No. It was all some kind of sick coincidence. It had to be. ‘If you’d get over yourself for the better part of a minute, maybe you’d figure out that you need to do this.’ T’s insistence slammed through me again along with the fact that he’d rented me a fucking Jeep to drive around this week. My bag tumbled down my arm and fell to the floor. The hotel surrounding me swam in my vision. The words forbidden romance and her wishing she could spend a week here with someone she loved backstroked through the bile in my gut.

  Holy shit. If T knew…who else had figured us out? There was no fucking way Smith knew about this. Not with all that shit he was shoveling about my new equipment. Not with the way he’d been damn near giddy about me coming here.

  My hands shook as I fished my phone out of my pocket. How could T have done this? How could he have traded one brother for another? That’s not how we worked. That was fucked up beyond all recognition. The damned phone slipped from my sweaty grip and landed on my bag. Get your shit together, Haywood.

  Finally managing to call T, I paced in the corridor. If the next words out of his mouth weren’t, “What the hell are you talking about Hannah for,” I was going to fly home and murder him. Four rings and then voicemail. Fucker. It took several deep breaths for me resist the urge to hurl my phone against the nearest indoor tree.

  “Sir, if you have a key to the Villas, I’d be more than happy to escort you to your room.” One of those twenty-four hour concierges offered me a concerned smile. His deep British accent and thinning black hair made me wonder momentarily if I was about to be whisked away to a few London rooftops via an umbrella and a song. I was fairly certain I’d already lost my mind, so I probably looked like an escaped psych ward patient out for an afternoon stroll. I had to know if she was here before I went about accusing the men who had never let me down.

  Slowly, an idea formed in my mind. “Yeah. I have the key.” I held up the set I’d been given.

  “Right this way, sir.”

  As I followed the dude in a three-piece complete with white gloves down the corridor, the only available option I had locked into place.

  “My house isn’t this big,” tumbled from my mouth when he opened the French doors to the suite. That got me a polite chuckle. Another thought dogged my already addled mind. “Does everyone involved in this auction have a suite like this?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, sir. Can I get you anything? Draw you a bath? Perhaps give you the tour of your suite? Fix you a drink? You must be tired after your flight.”

  “I’m fine and also capable of bathing all on my own. Who’s paying for my suite in particular? Thomas Byrd? Does that sound familiar?” Hannah had more talent in her tiniest toes, the ones I most loved to suck, than I’d ever hoped to have in my lifetime. But she better not have spent her hard earned money on this for me. Shaking my head, I tried to forcibly remove the idea that she was even there. That was insane.

  The ponytailed woman who was racing through the airport sprinted through my mind again. There was no fucking way.

  The concierge drew a measured breath. “I wouldn’t know, sir. That kind of thing is handled with the front desk staff.”

  “Right. One more question, is anyone else assigned to this suite with me?” The army did it regularly. Maybe Homefront Heroes figured we could all bunk up. That would explain all of the space.

  “This is your suite alone, sir. No one else will be here unless you should invite them to stay.”

  There went that idea. Excitement and panic took sides and duked it out in my gut. I dug in my pocket and slammed the tip into his gloved hand. “Can you just…go?”

  “Certainly, sir. If I can be of any assistance, don’t hesitate.” He pointed to a phone on the table near the massive seating area. “If you’d like to turn on the pool heater, just flip the switch by the back door.”

  I spared the suite a quick glance. I could see a massive bed in the bedroom off of the seating area. The room looked to be half the length of the entire suite. If I didn’t know every intimate detail of my Hannah, I would never have recognized her in that suite. But every single thing my mind registered reminded me of my baby.

  A small table by the door for setting down your keys. She made everyone in her presence welcome no matter where she was. Her softness was there in the flannel blanket on the sofa. The covering on the bed complete with a folded blanket at the end. Pink peonies in an antique vase were situated on the eating table. They were her favorite. The bed was full of thick white throw pillows, the kind I usually teased her about owning too many of. The motion in the scrolled iron of the deck chairs reminded me of the sway of her hips. The turquoise water in the pool beyond was the precise shade of her eyes. If she wasn’t there now, it was obvious she had been.

  Shaking my head, I waited on the concierge to leave me to lose the rest of my mind. As soon as the doors closed, my plan took shape in my mind. If she was there, she’d have a room. There were at least a dozen ways to get a room number out of a hotel attendant without making them suspicious. None of them were legal, but that would never matter. I just needed to figure out some reason to get an attendant to call her room. If someone made a call to a room from inside the hotel, they never used a standard ten-digit number. When they called, the last three or four numbers would almost always be the number of the room they were dialing. The best way to get information out of people is to make them believe you already know more than they do. If I could convince someone she was already in the hotel and that I expected to meet her, there was a good chance they’d be forthc
oming with info. I just needed a believable backstory.

  8

  Hannah

  “I’m sorry but can you drive any faster?” I begged the Uber driver currently taking me to the hotel. I could’ve pedaled a bike faster.

  “Traffic’s bad. We only get paid if we’re moving. I’m getting you there as fast as I can.” The guy made precious little effort to pacify me.

  “Sorry.” I hoped I’d get more flies with honey. “I just need to already be at The Obelisk. They had to gate check my luggage and apparently that means you get your luggage very last.” And then you took fifteen minutes to show up at the airport even though the app thingy said you were two minutes away. I ground my teeth.

  “Yeah, I get it. You’re in a hurry.” He made sure I saw his eye roll in the rearview.

  Shoving my hand into my massive handbag, I reveled in the smooth cardboard binding on my sketch pad. Digging deeper, I landed on my favorite worn Brazilian leather case Smith had sent me when I’d graduated from art school. I kept my beloved set of Blackwing pencils in there. I rubbed my thumb back and forth over the stitching. My typical soothing technique wasn’t quite cutting it that day. Not to mention the fact that I was going to have calluses on my thumb.

  Cocktails were being served at five and the silent auction dinner was at seven. Winners were announced at nine.

  Relinquishing the pencil case, I grabbed my cell phone and touched T’s name on my favorites list.

  “He’s called me three times. He knows something’s up,” was T’s greeting.

  My heart sank through my stomach and landed somewhere near the paint-splattered kicks I was wearing. “What did you say to him?”

  “I haven’t answered. I don’t know what he knows. I guess if something went wrong with the hotel, he might try to call me. Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Regret ate at T-Byrd’s words.

  I hated for him to blame himself for anything. He’d helped me so much. “We’re the only people who know I’m on my way there.”

  “Yeah, so maybe he’s calling about something else.” T didn’t sound like he believed that any more than I did. Somehow, he’d figured something out. He was a Green Beret and as their slogan says, they are second to none. Something must’ve tipped him off. “You know, he could be trying to back out of the auction tonight. I could see his wheels turning this morning when I dropped him off at the airport.”

  “You think that’s it?” Hope reared once again in my chest. Maybe he hadn’t figured me out.

  “Could be. He’d probably try to get me to agree to forget about it in light of him making a donation to Homefront Heroes. If I agreed, it would alleviate his guilt.”

  “I’m almost to the hotel. I’m going to pray you’re right. If he calls you again, answer and tell him he has to be there tonight.”

  “You got it, sweetheart. Just promise me you’ll find some way to make this work so that Smith doesn’t end up hating all of us. Remember we’re family, okay? And we’re the only family Griff has.”

  “Believe me, I would never do anything to break up The Sevens. I have no intention of playing Yoko in this situation.”

  T’s chuckle eased a little of my nerves. “Good. Because that did not end well for John.”

  “Let me get through to Griff. Then I’ll work on my brother.”

  “Then go make it happen, Hannah Banana.” he teased.

  “I’ll get you for that later. We’re pulling up to the hotel.”

  “Good luck.”

  “I’ll get out here,” I opened the door before Uber-guy had fully stopped. “Thanks!” Slinging my handbag over my shoulder, I grabbed my suitcases and raced through the side entrance doors. My computer case bounced against my knee. Grimacing, I rearranged the bags quickly, and continued my sprint.

  Thankfully, people who saw me coming got out of my way. I gave my typical grin to the bronze mermaid statues near the atrium. I loved the motion in the sculptures. Their desired liberty evident in the arch of their spines with their breasts exposed and their hair thrown back. It was both invigorating and depressing. Freedom allowed only if it was captured in hardened, immovable bronze. I understood them.

  Counting the seconds until I could escape to my suite to wash my hands and put in my contacts, I shoved my glasses back up my nose and rushed toward the front desk. I’d been here so many times it was second nature now.

  Batting a leaf from the indoor rainforest out of my way, I whipped around some old lady demanding a photograph with two overly-muscled men in Hawaiian shirts. They seemed to be debating giving in to her request. She took it upon herself to pinch their asses. Only in Vegas. I rolled my eyes.

  “Man, listen, I don’t know what to tell you. The delivery is outside the kitchen doors. Your manager has tried calling her cell a dozen times. Hell, I’ve been calling her all morning. I don’t know where she is but we’ve got to find her before you start checking people into rooms that don’t have whatever the hell is in those boxes.”

  My feet froze just prior to my heart stalling. Air trapped itself in my lungs and refused to vacate. His voice. My God I would know that voice anywhere, a raspy rumble with a liquid chaser of pure sin. I peeked out around the clump of palm trees and there he was. My previously stalled heart flew. My head spun. Even thirty feet away, I could make out the harsh angle of his jaw and the expanse of muscle threatening the cotton trying desperately to keep him contained.

  “I thought Ms. Hagen’s work for the hotel was already completed.” The attendant looked utterly confused. Poor guy. He had no idea who he was up against. Every plan I’d so carefully orchestrated shattered like glass in my hands. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I didn’t have a Plan B. I hadn’t arranged for any contingencies. He was supposed to see me at the banquet tonight. I was going to bid on him and spend the next week in bed with him. We’d fuck, and talk, and make love, and fuck some more, because there was a difference and we both knew it, until I convinced him that there wasn’t anyone else I would ever want.

  “If her work was done, would I be standing here?” Griff gestured to a mostly empty tool belt slung around his waist. Where the hell had that come from? It didn’t matter. Him in a tool belt would fuel my fantasies for the rest of my life.

  It took entirely too long for the panic to make its way into my stubborn brain. What was I going to do now?

  “I don’t think she’s checked in yet. Let me try the suite she usually stays in,” the attendant lifted the phone receiver, and Griff leaned in.

  My traitorous feet eased two steps closer to him. I didn’t have my suite yet or anywhere to hide. I could make an escape to one of the bars or the casino, but I was carrying all of my luggage and all of the pretenses and the lies I’d told myself about this week suddenly weighed even more than all of my bags.

  Griff popped the knuckles on his right hand while he intently watched the man dial the phone. It was his tell. He did it when he was about to do something that made him nervous. What had I done?

  The man brought the receiver to his ear, but obviously no one was in my room to answer. A moment later he hung up. “I’m sorry, sir. She’s not in her suite either.”

  “It’s fine.” Griff stepped back. “I’ll find her. Thanks for your help.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t help more.”

  “You gave me everything I needed to know.” Griff stated cryptically. He’d just gotten my room number. The attendant may not have known that, but he probably hadn’t grown up with a pack of Green Berets.

  Ice cream splattered jeans, a worn out shirt, paint-covered tennis shoes, and my glasses was not exactly what I wanted to be wearing the first time he saw me, but it was going to be now or he would set up camp outside my suite. It was who he was.

  “Griff.” I stepped out of my makeshift hideaway as he passed by. “I’m right here.”

  9

  Griff

  “Hannah?” I choked. She had to be some kind of mirage. “What are you…? How are you�
�?” Fuck it. I didn’t even know what I wanted to ask her first. All I seemed capable of doing was staring at her.

  Her long blonde hair was indeed pulled back in a ponytail. The synapses in my brain seemed to all fire at once. Part of me had to know how this all had come to pass. Other parts, larger parts, wanted to drag her into my arms and refuse to ever let her go again. Wait. Where was the fucker she was supposedly so happy with now?

  “You know, it’s probably not great for business for my clients to think I’m not where I’m supposed to be.” She gestured back to the man I’d just effectively conned her room number out of. That little mischievous grin that always turned me inside out was planted on the most beautiful set of lips in this galaxy.

  “Guess I should’ve thought of that.” Those six words were entirely too difficult to push from my mind to my mouth. What the hell was wrong with me? “Boyfriend?” Great, now I’d resorted to caveman vernacular. At least the word I’d managed had two syllables. That was something.

  “There was never a boyfriend, Griff. I lied to my father and told him I was getting serious with some prick First Lieutenant he set me up with. It was all a lie. I wanted him off of my back. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I tried to call and explain. I’ll only ever want…” She halted abruptly.

  “What?” She’d only ever want what? Surely not me. That…just couldn’t be. We could never be a thing. Life didn’t like me that much.

  She shook her head. “Are you angry with me?” Devastation cast those pale blue eyes of hers, the ones I swear I wanted to drown in, the very ones framed by her adorable tortoiseshell glasses that I rarely got to see her in. Angry? How the hell could I ever be angry with her? She was my own personal conquering angel sent from heaven to pull me up out of the seventh ring of hell.