Boxed Set: Traitorous Heart Volumes 1-6 (The Traitorous Heart Series)

by Wilde, Breena

  TRAITOROUS HEART

  Volume 1-6

  Breena Wilde

  Breena Wilde Books

  www.breenawilde.blogspot.com

  COPYRIGHT

  Traitorous Heart: 1-6

  Copyright © 2014 Breena Wilde

  Breena Wilde Books

  Kindle Edition

  This book in its entirety is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard word of this author.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written consent of the author, Breena Wilde, P.O. Box 1408 Bountiful, UT 84011.

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

  Cover by: Steven Novak www.novakillustration.com

  Edited by: MJ Heiser www.cleanleaf.weebly.com

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to rock star groupies and to those who thought life would turn out one way, but it ended up totally different.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Traitorous Heart: #1

  Traitorous Heart: #2

  Traitorous Heart: #3

  Traitorous Heart #4

  Traitorous Heart #5

  Traitorous Heart #6

  COMING SOON

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Breena’s Books

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to my awesome cover artist, Steven Novak. To my editor at Clean Leaf Editing, Mary Johnson Heiser. To Timi Heiser for the lyrics, and especially to my family. You’re all rock stars to me.

  Sex with a rock star

  plus a murder

  equals Katie Jayne’s life.

  TRAITOROUS HEART

  Volume 1

  CHAPTER 1

  Katie

  I climbed the steps, swiped my bus pass, and slumped into a seat near the back. The driver pulled into traffic. I glanced out the window, not knowing where the bus was headed. Anywhere or nowhere, it was all the same. I couldn’t help but watch the skyscrapers rush by and wish for the hundredth time that I’d gone into something other than law. There were high rises full of people with a law degree. There were dozens of people walking down the street with the same fucking degree I had, doing the same fucking thing I wanted to do.

  Yet I didn’t stand out. At least, not enough for the handshake and “Welcome To The Team, Katie” speech.

  It was embarrassing.

  It was unacceptable.

  I had a plan, one that included marrying my fiancé, making partner by thirty-five, and then having kids.

  Why couldn’t the Universe see how hard I was trying and give me what I wanted? That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  The bus came to a stop, momentarily sucking me out of my misery. I watched as a couple of laughing teenaged boys got on. They looked like potheads. They reminded me of my parents.

  And that pissed me off even more. I’d spent the last seven years putting space between them and me and their desire to raise a child that was just as hippy-dippy as them.

  Every time I was forced to take a call from my mom she made sure to mention that I needed to chill, that life was too short, and that my plan was too big.

  It was bullshit. I knew it. Someday when I had everything I wanted, they’d know it as well. Just like when I wanted to win the national spelling bee title, I studied my ass off. I spelled words in my sleep. And I won.

  Effort plus hard work equaled success; that was how it’d always been, how it should be. So why the fuck couldn’t the law firms I interviewed with see that and hire me? I had all the credentials: straight As, extra-curriculars, even an article published in a law journal. I’d done everything exactly the way I was supposed to.

  The bus came to another stop. The sun was setting, its dying rays pushing light between the buildings. They glowed directly into my eyes. I turned away, shading my eyes with the back of my hand.

  The five-carat princess cut solitaire Reid gave me scraped against my forehead. I flinched. I wasn’t used to wearing it yet, but that little pain was all it took to push my emotions over the edge. Tears formed and spilled onto my cheeks. I dug in my bag for a tissue, but couldn’t find one. Part of me wanted to put the bag over my head; that way I could cry in peace.

  The elderly lady carrying a bag covered in daisies sauntered slowly toward the back of the bus. I knew she was going to sit in the seat next to mine. The thought that I should put my bag there, efficiently telling the woman I didn’t want her to sit there, flitted across my mind, but I pushed it away. The woman was hunched over and needed a seat. So I waited. We all did, until the lady was situated.

  “Hello, dear,” the woman said. The bus pitched forward and into traffic.

  I wiped at my tears and nodded.

  She reached into her big tote and pulled out a package of tissues. “Here. Keep it.”

  Her kindness made the tears come faster. “Thank you,” I mumbled, taking the packet.

  She patted my hand. “There. There. It’s okay, honey.”

  I pulled a tissue from the package and blew my nose. Took another and wiped my eyes, then stuffed the remaining tissues in my bag. From my peripheral vision I noticed her smiling and turned.

  “One thing I’ve learned in the past eighty-five years of life is that nothing is as bad as it seems.” She pulled a fifty-dollar bill from her wallet and pressed it into my hand.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t take that.” She had on a faded shawl and a dress that’d seen better days. I tried to give the money back but she wouldn’t take it.

  “Treat yourself to something nice.”

  The bus stopped and the old woman pulled herself up.

  “Wait.”

  She turned and smiled. “You can do anything. Be anything. Have faith in yourself.”

  Several passengers watched the woman with mild interest. Some snickered. Some gave her an embarrassed smile before looking away. One of the pothead kids heckled, “Go on, you old bat. We got places to be.”

  “Hey!” I stood, giving the boy the most evil glare I could muster.

  “Pssssh,” the boy uttered.

  The woman made it to the stairs and was working to step down.

  “Thank you!” I shouted.

  She stepped off the bus without responding.

  The bus pulled away. I kept watching the woman as she took measured steps, slowly making her way down the street.

  “Sit down, please,” the bus driver commanded, his voice booming.

  I did, tucking the fifty in my purse. The old lady was right. I needed to keep trying.

  And I needed to have some fun.

  CHAPTER 2

  Griffin

  “Haveyou thought anymore about my offer, Griffin?” My father asked the question as he indicated the chair across from his giant oak desk. I folded my long legs into the chair and placed one foot on my knee.

  “A full time
job would interfere with my plans.” I didn’t meet my father’s gaze; instead I watched my foot wiggle with apprehension.

  He chuckled, but it wasn’t because he was happy or thought what I said was funny. It was out of displeasure. Probably disgust too. “You’re almost thirty. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped living on my billions and started making some of your own?”

  It wasn’t a new question. My answer wouldn’t be new either.

  “I am making my own money. The band is lucrative. We will be successful. I’m close.” I didn’t say the words with any sort of conviction. There was no fucking point.

  My dad shook his head. “Six figures split five ways isn’t success. It’s a waste of your time and your talent.” My father leaned forward with measured grace. He was a good-looking man, tall and fit. Had a full head of salt and pepper hair, tanned from his afternoons spent on the golf course.

  He was also a total dick. Had been ever since I could remember.

  I knew why. I did. When I was little, my mom, dad, and I were driving out to the beach. I was crying because I’d dropped my toy. My mom unbuckled and reached back to pick it up. A car ran a red light and slammed into her side of the vehicle. She died instantly, which was a small blessing, but my dad never forgave me.

  Knowing didn’t make our interactions any less painful.

  “It’s what I love, Dad.” I pushed the Newton’s cradle sitting on the edge of his desk, momentarily hypnotized by the clack-clacking of the back and forth as the silver balls struck each other.

  “You’ve got until your thirtieth birthday to make it happen. If you aren’t making seven figures, you’ll stop playing.” He paused, forcing the pendulum to stop. “And you’ll start working for me.” He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers and resting them against his flat stomach.

  “Why would I do that?” I flicked my finger at the ball, starting the clack-clacking up again.

  “Because, you little prick!” He sat up, slapping the pendulum off his desk. I watched it hit the carpeted floor. “I’ll stop paying for your apartment, your electricity, your groceries, your sordid nights out, and your latest fucking sports car.” He walked around the desk and leaned against the edge, crossing his legs at the ankle. “In short, I’ll take your billionaire playboy lifestyle and shove it up your ass.” He pushed his hand into my arm, picked up a cigar and walked out onto the terrace. I watched him light it up and puff, the end burning red and orange against the night sky.

  I took one of his cigars out of the box, clipped the edge, and joined him on the terrace. My dad handed me his lighter. I flicked it and held the fire against the edge, watching the smoke sail into the night.

  After a few moments, I turned to my dad. “You have a deal.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Katie

  I walked the short distance from the bus stop to my brownstone and then took the three flights of stairs up to my apartment. I turned the lock and pushed the old door open. It had a tendency to stick. So sometimes it took a good kick to get it open.

  “Birdy, I’m home.” I went to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle.

  “In my bedroom.”

  I walked past our messy living room filled with mismatched throw pillows and half empty take-out boxes, down the hall, past the bathroom, and to Birdy’s bedroom. Her door was ajar. She wore only her birthday suit and was searching frantically through her closet. I avoided her naked ass and focused on the tattoo of a bluebird on her left shoulder.

  “There aren’t too many places you can get away with that outfit.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe.

  Birdy’s real name was Pamela Bird. I’d met her during our first semester at college. We became easy friends. Over time our friendship grew into a relationship so solid I considered her family. I would do anything for her and she would do anything for me.

  We’d proved that to each other through the first four years of college and then during law school.

  She wasn’t just smart, either. She was the epitome of what a model should look like: tall and thin, her hair naturally curly. She wore it short. Her eyes were hazel and her lashes were thick and long. The girl looked good with or without makeup.

  Birdy laughed. “I can’t decide what to wear tonight. Nothing looks good.” She took a red dress from a hanger and slid it over her curvy body, then turned. “What do you think?”

  “You look amazing.” I moved some clothes over and sat on her bed. “Where you going?”

  “Party time at The Attic. You’re coming with, right?” She pulled off the red dress.

  I covered my head with a pillow. “Jeez.”

  She laughed. “You’re such a prude.”

  “I’m not.” My voice was muffled. I didn’t prove my point by removing the pillow. I kept it in place. “Let me know when you’re decent.”

  “Fine, but only if you agree to come out with me tonight.”

  I rolled over, burying my face in the blankets. “I’ve had a crappy day. All I want is a bubble bath and cookies-and-cream ice cream. And not necessarily in that order.”

  “Job hunting woes?” She sat on the bed, rubbing her fingers across my back.

  I rolled over, moving the curtain of hair out of my eyes. She had on a white dress with small black polka dots. “No one is saying yes. Everyone is giving me the sad face and basically saying: don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

  Birdy grabbed a pillow and tucked it into her lap. “Assholes.” She already had a job if she wanted it.

  “Seriously.” I unbuttoned my navy suit jacket and yanked it off. Kicked my sensible pumps across the room. “I mean, what is it?” I stood and shimmied out of my pantyhose.

  Birdy shook her head. “I don’t know, Katie. If you want I could have my dad make some calls. You know he said he would.”

  It was true. I could do that. Birdy’s dad was the Jonathan Bird of Bird, Morgan, and Childress, the most prestigious law firm in New York. But I didn’t want a job that way. That was why I hadn’t applied at his firm. I wanted to get a job on my own merit, not because I was a friend of Jonathan Bird’s daughter.

  “No, I’m not ready to play that card.” I slumped back onto the bed.

  “Which is why I love you, but you know I won’t hold it against you. These days it’s more who you know, not what you know.” She snapped her fingers. “You know me, you know the law, and you’re going to be a kick ass lawyer.”

  “Ugh.” I swallowed my tears, not my pride. I wasn’t ready for that. But no more crying. It wouldn’t solve anything.

  “Shower. Put on something slutty and come out with me tonight.” Birdy slid on some red patent leather heels with tiny black bows on the heel.

  “I don’t want to.” I was sulking.

  “Yes, you do.” She went to her closet and grabbed a black mini skirt and a white and black halter. “Wear this.”

  “Oh, no. Reid would never approve.”

  She tossed the outfit and it landed on my head. “You think I give a shit what your fiancé thinks? Besides, isn’t he out of town for the weekend?”

  I pulled the clothes off my head. “Yeah, some family thing or something,” I mumbled, enjoying the scent of Birdy’s clothes. They all smelled like blue jasmine. Reid had been vague, which had been happening more and more lately. It seemed the more I pressured him to have sex, the further he withdrew. We spent more time apart than together. Sometimes I wondered why he wanted to marry me.

  Birdy picked up my shoes and pantyhose, then handed them to me. “You know how I feel about him. He isn’t quite right. Any man who doesn’t want to sleep with his fiancée, especially a girl who looks like you, is off his rocker.”

  I smiled, a real genuine smile. “Thanks, Birdy. He says he just wants our wedding night to be special.”

  She pulled me off her bed and pushed me toward the door. “Yeah, I know.” A strange look crossed her face, one I took to be her usual discontent with Reid. She didn’t like him. It was no secret. I’d tried f
or the last eight months to make them get along. It never worked. If anything, they hated each other more now than they had when I first started dating him.

  “He’s under a lot of pressure. His dad expects him to take over the foreign side of the business for him next year. You need to cut him some slack.” Reid Geller was being groomed to run Geller Communications International’s overseas division. I knew it was the cause of a lot of anxiety on Reid’s part. He didn’t want the responsibility, but he didn’t see a way out of it.

  “Whatever.” She walked to her closet, pulled off the polka dot dress, and threw it to the floor. “Hurry up. The limo will be here in an hour.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Katie

  The Attic started out as a dive bar located on the top floor of an old warehouse, then a couple of actors partied there, followed by the discovery of a famous band, and suddenly it became the club, the place to party on the weekends. Or, really, any day of the week. It was large, boasting the finest drinks in New York. It also had a full kitchen staff that prepared amazing food.

  Each Friday night was ladies night. Girls got in for half price, unless you were friends with Birdy, then you always got in free.

  Everyone in New York knew Birdy. Sometimes it was surreal. Her picture would show up in the social section of the New York Times at least once a month, and every once in a while a paparazzo would take her picture and she’d end up in the pages of an entertainment magazine. Tourists would take her picture; even though they didn’t know her name, they recognized her face.

  You’d think with all her connections and social status she’d be a bitch, but she wasn’t. She was one of the most generous people I’d ever known—and she wasn’t that way with just me. She was kind to everyone.