by Lola StVil
Copyright © 2018 by Lola StVil
All rights reserved.
Formatting by Dallas Hodge, Everything But The Book
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Hard edged and tormented cops like me don’t deserve good girls like her. How long until she sees that and walks away?
I'm Cash Hunter, a special agent in the DEA. It’s my job to go undercover with sadistic, violent drug traffickers for months at a time. That’s why I know I can’t be the man for Skylar Marshall. Skylar is a hot, bonafide good girl; kind, warm, and innocent. I don’t want to drag her into my dark and twisted world. But I’m not strong enough to let her go. Our love is all that matters but what happens when my past threatens to destroy us?
This steamy romance is a roller coaster ride that will make you laugh, make you hot, and even make you shed a few tears. It's a full-length standalone novel. You do not have to read the book that came before this one. NO cheating, NO cliffhangers, and a guaranteed Happily-ever-after! This book has adult content for ages 18 and over.
Books in the "Hunter Brothers" series (All stand alone novels and can be read in any order)
Anything For Love (The Hunter Brothers, book 1)
Anything For Her (The Hunter Brothers, book 2)
Anything For Us (The Hunter Brothers, book 3)
This book is dedicated to:
You.
Thank you for giving this series a chance. Enjoy!
Lola
I love cake. Seriously. That’s why I don’t keep any in my apartment. I’m fairly certain that if I did, I’d gain enough weight to warrant my very own documentary on the Health channel. So when my very best friend, Kenzy, places a slice of cake before me, she pretends to be shocked that I don’t dig in. She knows damn well why I’m hesitating to eat it—it’s a penis-shaped cake.
Earlier this evening, we wanted to try a new restaurant, and we stumbled into the Red Oak restaurant in Manhattan. It turns out the place was closed for a bachelorette party. But Kenzy—who has never met a party she didn’t enjoy—walked us right in. They were happy to have us, and now, we’re surrounded by a bunch of loud, happy, drunk women.
“Skylar, eat it. It’s chocolate-truffle. It’s so good!” Kenzy insists.
I look into her mischievous eyes and can’t help but smile. Kenzy Kym and I have been best friends since first grade when she kicked a boy in the nuts for pulling my hair. She’s Thai and Nigerian. Her skin is the color of shadows, and her dark almond shaped eyes add to her beauty. Kenzy is fearless. I love that about her. But it also makes me worry. She never sticks to the same job, apartment, or guy for too long.
“Kenzy, no. I can’t!”
“C’mon, you can do this,” she teases.
“Nope, I can’t eat a penis cake.”
“You are such a prude,” she says as she leans over and takes a bite from my plate.
“I’m sorry; I can’t castrate an innocent piece of ‘man pastry,’” I tease. She leans in closer and tilts her head slightly to the side.
“Weren’t you the same woman who complained this morning that nothing new ever happens to you?” she reminds me.
“Are you sure that was me?” I reply, knowing full well it was.
“She looked like you. And she hasn’t had sex in three years, so I’m pretty sure it was you.” I quickly place my hand over her mouth as I die of embarrassment.
“Shhh!” I warn her as I look around to make sure none of the others overheard her. She frees herself from my hold.
“I’m just saying, how can something new happen if you keep behaving the same old way?”
“So you’re saying eating this penis cake will somehow cause something exciting to happen to me?”
“I’m saying it’s a start,” she says as she lifts the plate up to my face.
I shove the entire hunk of cake into my mouth. She squeals with excitement, and I can’t help but laugh. Kenzy is right—it’s been three years since I’ve had sex, but I’m not a prude. I love sex. It’s just that letting down my guard—even for a few hours—has proven to be difficult, if not impossible.
My ex, Josh, cheated on me. I can’t even think of getting involved in a serious relationship. The drama, the arguing, the lies…no thank you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t get laid, right?
Exactly.
Yet when I have a chance to hook up with a guy, I just don’t take that leap—even if it’s only for one night.
“Damn, I gotta go. Tony’s home early. And I need some—bad,” Kenzy says. She and Tony have been on-again, off-again for years. It’s the way Kenzy likes it.
“Are you okay here on your own?” she asks.
“Kenzy, I’m in a room full of women and cake. It’s not like you’re leaving me in a biker bar to fend for myself.”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean…are you really okay? I can send the car away, and I can sleep over at your place, and we can talk—”
“No! You go be with Tony. Have fun. I’m gonna hang out awhile. I’ll get a cab when I’m ready to go. Stop worrying about me.”
“It’s not every day a woman finds out her ex is getting married, Sky.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t care. I don’t love him anymore. I just wish…”
“Wish what?” she pushes.
I found someone worth taking a chance on.
“Never mind. Go and say hi to Tony for me.”
A few moments after Kenzy is gone, I wish I had asked her to stay. The bride’s fiancé dropped by unexpectedly to steal a kiss from his soon-to-be wife, and I feel a dull ache inside. It’s not like I’m dying to get married; I just miss that feeling of hope that comes with it.
Now, to be fair, I have hope too—I hope I won’t have too much paperwork when I get to my office. I hope the train won’t be too crowded when I head home during rush hour, and finally I hope that the bar stocks a decent bottle of whiskey. They do. Thank God. I order a shot and sip it slowly while I watch the future bride.
I’d never let myself say it out loud, but sometimes being single sucks. That doesn’t mean everything about it is bad. I love going where I want, when I want. And I love that I don’t have to play detective like I had to do with my ex. There are days I’m glad to come home, know that the remote is where I left it, call for take-out, and if the mood hits me, please my damn self. But a girl can only survive off vibrators for so long until…
Yes, sex right now would be good. But love, I mean, real honest-to-god love, would be better. But I don’t dare ask for love. I’ve been there before, and that price is just too damn high. The maid of honor stands up and toasts the couple. I should go home right now. I know I’ll only feel worse if I stick around.
So, why am I still here?
Well, I promised myself that I was going to try new things. I turned twenty-four last month, and I vowed that once a week, I’d try something new. And this week, I’m going to stay out past midnight at a function that is not work-related, even if it kills me. I look at the display on my cell. It’s not midnight yet. I have ten minutes to go.
Sigh.
C’mon, midnight.
***
I knew our informant, Ray Simpson, wasn’t ready for undercover work. But someone higher on the food chain thought it would be a good idea. And no matter how much pushback I gave, they wanted this Ray to go in. Now, he’s seconds away from blowing his cover and getting his ass killed.
It’s ten minutes until midnight in the Meatpacking District. The team and I are in an unmarked vehicle, just outside the apartment building. We’ve been on this Op for over
three weeks. Nine of the suspects were strung-out idiots, but the three guys that actually run the operation know enough not to touch the shit. That way they stay clearheaded and focused when doing a deal. So they would be quick to note if something is off or strange. Like a buyer who keeps looking down at the floor and saying “um” every five seconds like a teenage boy who’s seconds away from losing his virginity. Some part of him wants to see how it plays out, but mostly he’s terrified and wants to run away.
“What the fuck are you doing? Stop looking at the floor,” I yell at the monitor inside the car, knowing he can’t hear me.
The dealers exchange an uneasy glance amongst each other. But they continue with the deal. Ray begins to shift his weight and look out the window as if he expects to see the fucking cavalry enter at any moment. I swear to God if the dealers don’t kill him, I will. These guys aren’t the smartest criminals we’ve run up against, but they aren’t stupid either. Anyone with half a brain can tell something is off.
He’s gonna blow it.
The informant isn’t my only concern. We have a new guy with us tonight—Doyle. He’s not ready. I know it in my balls—this guy is too excited and he’s running way too hot. I didn’t want him on the team because while he’s good on paper, out in the field, he’s too high-strung. There’s a difference between being alert and being on edge. And this guy, Doyle, is on the fucking edge.
Once the dealer’s eyes start darting back and forth from the window to Ray, I know we can’t wait any longer. I signal for the rest of the team to get out of the car; we stay low and surround the structure. It has multiple entry points, which only makes things more difficult to contain. It’s one thing to bust a few dealers; it’s another thing to go into a house full of tweakers. It’s unpredictable, and shit gets messy very quickly if we’re not on our game. That’s why before we set out on this raid we had a blueprint of the house, and I assigned positions to all my men.
So, imagine my fucking surprise when Doyle repositions himself. His sudden movement must have alerted the dealers because without warning, bullets shatter the windows and all hell breaks loose. We break down the door and gunfire erupts from both sides. We enter a home filled with what must be at least a million dollars’ worth of cocaine and ecstasy.
My men and I secure the first floor. Doyle and the second team head upstairs. Doyle shouts down to us and says the second floor is secure. He’s wrong. A tweaker, gun in hand, bolts down the steps and out of the nearest open window. I take off after him.
The tweaker turns back and takes shots at me, but his aim is off. However, the little shit is fast and amped up by the drugs he’s ingested. He takes off down the dark streets like he’s got a damn rocket up his ass. He turns down the alley that leads to West Sixteenth Street in an attempt to get lost in the sea of club-goers.
He feels me gaining on him; he desperately looks for another option. He doesn’t need to look too far. Just as he’s making his way through the alley, a young woman exits through the back door of a restaurant and walks right into the tweaker’s hands.
Damn it!
He grabs her, puts a gun to her head, and turns towards me. I stop cold but still keep my gun aimed at him. The woman’s hair is blocking her face, but I don’t need to see her expression to know she’s terrified. Her small five-foot-six frame is shaking, and her skin is deathly pale under the streetlight. The tweaker smiles at me, letting me know he’s enjoying this. My guys approach. I signal for them to stay back.
“You and me, we’re gonna figure this out,” I inform him with a firm but calm voice. He laughs and tells me there is nothing to figure out. He warns me that if I don’t drop my gun, he’s gonna shoot her head off.
I believe him.
“I’ll tell you what, let her go, and I’ll talk to the court, see what we can do about reducing your sentence,” I offer.
“Bullshit!”
“Before you do anything... anything at all... you should know this: I don’t miss—ever,” I warn.
He scowls and rages, “Man, fuck you! Drop your weapon or I’ll—” The bullet cuts into the air and enters his temple. His blood splatters all over the woman’s face. She sends a gut-wrenching scream into the air as the tweaker crumples—lifeless—on the ground.
While my team secures the scene, I race towards the hostage. She’s sobbing uncontrollably. I place my jacket over her shoulders and hold her against my chest.
She’s shivering like a puppy in the middle of a hurricane.
I whisper a promise to her, “You’re gonna be okay. I got you.”
Finally as the chaos of sirens and emergency vehicles surrounds us, I’m able to get the woman to stop crying. She pulls her dark auburn locks away from her face, and we make eye contact for the first time.
Christ, she’s fucking stunning.
Seriously, this woman is gorgeous, and not in the everyday, pile-on-the-makeup, plastic kind of way. In fact, she’s not wearing any makeup at all. Her lips are full and have a natural pink hue to them. There’s a small cluster of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Her warm, golden amber colored eyes remind me of a sunset I witnessed years ago, in a fishing village in Brazil. I remember thinking I’d never see anything as compelling or breathtaking as that damn sunset.
I was wrong.
She slowly pulls away. I look her over, first to make sure she really is okay, and then I look because…well, shit, it’s impossible not to. If her curves were weapons, they’d be the nuclear kind. I’m taken by the graceful way her breasts curve and form a delicious peak.
Cash Hunter, get your head out of your ass! Or better yet, get your dick back in line.
I’ve noticed women on the job before but never like this. I mean, for fuck’s sake, my cock is twitching and demanding to break free. My heart is beating faster than it was during the foot chase. And I find myself wanting to take her face in my hands and reassure her again that she’s okay. I need her to know that I won’t let anything happen to her.
What the fuck, Cash?
I remind myself that this woman almost lost her life. And that helps me regain some kind of composure. The other thing that gets me back on track is the fear in her eyes. My chest begins to tighten when I take in just how scared she is. I wish the tweaker were alive so that I could kill the bastard again.
“What’s your name?” I ask. It takes her two tries to find her voice again. But she’s finally able to communicate.
“Skylar Marshall,” she says.
“Ms. Marshall, it’s going to be okay. It’s over,” I vow as I force myself to shove my hands in my pockets so that I don’t do something stupid like touch those pouty, rosy lips of hers.
Seriously, what the fuck is happening?
Before we can say a word to each other, the paramedics descend on us. They ask her if there is anyone she needs them to call. And she says she has to call Eric.
Eric.
I’m guessing that’s her man. It makes sense. No way a woman like that isn’t taken. I feel something pierce my ribs and go right through to my lungs—disappointment. I’m genuinely disappointed that she’s not single.
And even if she were single, you dickhead, what would be the point? You don’t want to be tied down. And besides, she’s not your kind of girl. She seems…wholesome. Definitely not your type.
The paramedics begin to take her away. And while I hate like hell that our interaction is over, it’s for the best. She needs to get checked out. And I need to stop thinking about things I have no business thinking about. Just before they cart her off, she turns towards me and asks my name.
“Cash Hunter.”
She embraces me tightly. Her making contact with me feels far better than it should. I inhale her scent and want like hell to prolong the moment. But that’s exactly why I pull away quickly. I’m not that guy. I’m not gonna get off on some poor woman who just had the worst night of her life.
“You’re welcome. After they check you out, you might want to take a few days off work,” I
suggest.
“Can’t. The people I work with would have a tantrum.”
“Oh, so you work for assholes?” I reply.
She smiles. I feel a warm sensation hit my chest and spread throughout my body.
I don’t want to turn away and leave her. I’m serious as hell here. The one fucking thing I don’t want is to take steps that lead me away from her. But I have to. I have to remember that she’s not with me. She’s just a woman my team and I were able to help. We’ve helped a lot of people; it’s part of the job. It’s nothing more—a job.
Besides, there’s Eric. I’m sure she’s in a hurry to talk to him.
I get into the car and head for the main office. I need to have a talk with the dickhead who pushed Doyle on my team. Then, I’m gonna get my hands on Doyle and shake the shit out of him. He’s the reason Skylar almost died tonight.
Skylar.
Damn, there goes my dick again. That’s it; I gotta get laid tonight. Finding a woman to have sex with is not a problem. But something tells me no matter where I am, or who I’m with, my mind will be on one thing: Brazilian sunsets.
I look at my reflection in the mirror of the ladies bathroom. I’ve gotten the blood out of my hair and changed my shirt, thanks to a nice nurse who gave me an extra she had in her locker. A few moments ago the doctor told me what I already knew—that I’m perfectly fine apart from the bruises from when the gunman grabbed me. She told me to get some rest and that they could refer me to a trauma counselor. Mercifully, there’s no more paperwork or questions, so I’m free to go.
I considered calling Kenzy, but she’ll freak out even though I’m no longer in danger. There’s no need to wake her up and make her worry at one in the morning. I will fill her in on all the craziness later.
