Falling for Hadley: A Novel (Chasing the Harlyton Sisters Book 2)

by Jessica Sorensen

  Great, another problem to deal with.

  They’re really starting to pile up.

  This is why I didn’t want to get involved with Hadley’s mess. But, for reasons I’m not sure if I fully understand yet, I can’t just leave her to fend for herself.

  “We really need to get you to pass that driving test,” I tease as we hike across the parking lot toward my SUV.

  “I’ve tried to, like, five times already.” He stares at the road. “I don’t think driving is in the cards for me.”

  “Nah, you just need more practice.” The truth is I don’t think Jaxon wants to drive and keeps failing his test on purpose.

  I think that might have something to do with how our mom died.

  It was in a car accident. Jaxon was with her but survived with only a few minor bumps and scrapes. They had been out of town when the accident occurred, while Mom was overseeing some stupid project my dad’s men were on. Why he sent her remains a mystery, since he never involved her in his work. And why she agreed to go when she never helped him with his work before is something that still bothers me.

  But the reality is that she went, and she never returned. Somehow, she took a wrong turn and ended up driving straight into an illegal drag race going on in some Podunk town and crashed into one of the racer’s cars. That’s about all I know of the incident, and I only have those details because I overheard what the police told my father that night of her death. To this day, my father refuses to talk about it.

  Still, I often wonder what happened to the person she crashed into. Did they survive? Do they feel bad for causing the accident? I’ll probably never find out, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop wondering.

  My mom may not have been perfect, but when it came to parents, she was the best one any of us Porterson brothers have ever had.

  Hadley

  If photos were included in dictionaries, a photo of Austin would be located right underneath douchebag. It’d be a selfie he took because, let’s face it, he’s cocky enough that I’m sure he believes only his own photos would be good enough. He’d probably have one of those stupid duck faces going on but would be totally oblivious to the fact. And his shirt would be off because, “ya know, gotta show off the eye candy.”

  How do I know he’d say that? Because the second we step into Austin’s spacious condo, he peels off his shirt, grins at me, and says exactly that.

  I shield my eyes with my hands. “Please put your shirt back on. My eyes are allergic to curly man hair, and with how much you have, I’m worried I might go into anaphylactic shock.”

  “Don’t pretend like you don’t like the view.”

  “I can assure you that I don’t.”

  “Well, I’m not putting my shirt back on, so either you can stand there stiffly with your hand over your eyes until my dad shows up or sit your ass down for a few minutes and try to relax. If I were you, I’d try to relax, because the moment my dad gets here, shit’s going to get crazy.” Feet scuff against the hardwood floor. “I don’t want to freak you out, but my dad’s kind of insane.”

  “Must run in the family,” I mumble, lowering my hand from my eyes.

  The idiot is still shirtless, his hairy chest on full display, and he’s standing closer to me than he was when I covered my eyes.

  I crinkle my nose. “Can’t you wax or something? I mean, I’m sure you can afford it.” I peer around the wide space of his living room decorated with floor-to-floor windows, a fireplace, and leather furniture.

  “This is what real men look like.” He cocks his head to the side. “My bet is you haven’t seen a real man, though.” He steps toward me, appearing way too intrigued. “I bet you haven’t even seen a man.”

  “If you’re asking that in the literal sense, then you’re as stupid as you look.” On the outside, I’m the freakin’ calm before the storm. But on the inside, the storm has already ripped through and torn a path of destruction. I’m freaking out and having a really complicated time trying to keep that concealed.

  “You’re feisty.” He reaches out to graze his thumb along my cheekbone. “I kind of like it, which is odd. Usually, I like my woman cooperative and quiet.”

  “As in passed out, I bet.”

  He narrows his eyes and pinches my side with his free hand. “I don’t have to drug anyone to get laid.”

  It takes a lot of effort not to wince.

  “And I don’t have to have a weapon to injure a guy who’s getting too handsy with me.”

  “Go ahead.” He pinches my side harder, watching my face intently. “Just know that, whatever you do to me, I’ll return the favor.”

  I actually consider it, kicking him between the legs, since I don’t have a set of balls he can smash his foot into. But Bailey and I got into a fight once and the little brat vagina-punched me. It hurt like a bitch, enough to bring tears to my eyes.

  “That’s what I thought.” He withdraws his hand from my side then wanders into the kitchen adjacent to the living room. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks as he takes out a bottle of vodka from the fridge. It’s a brand I’ve never seen before, more than likely too expensive for my dad to afford.

  I cross my arms and sit down on the back of the sofa. “No thanks. I’d rather not be doped up right now.”

  “It’s just one drink,” he says, twisting the cap off.

  “One drink with a side of roofie probably.”

  “I already said I don’t drug women,” he snaps as he fills up a glass a quarter of the way full.

  “And I have blonde hair,” I quip. “See? Look how easy it is to lie.”

  He narrows his eyes, but a smug smile plays at his lips. “Just so you know, I can keep going all night long with this little bit, baby.”

  “Good for you. Your dad must be so proud that he has a son so talented that he can spend a couple hours arguing with a girl.”

  I must’ve hit a sore spot because he strangles the vodka bottle so hard I think the glass actually might crack. “You better shut your mouth.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or you’re going to find out exactly what I’m talented at.”

  Fear lashes through me, but my expression remains neutral.

  “Look at you, so tough—”

  The front door swings open and relief washes through me. I may have appeared as calm as a mother effing boss, but I was getting really worried. Then again, the moment I lay eyes on the person who waltzes through the door, I wonder if maybe I was better off dealing with crazy Austin.

  Extremely tall, with dark hair, broad shoulders, and a thick neck, this guy gives a whole new light to the term steroid freak. It doesn’t help that he’s carrying a knife in his hand. Seriously, who does that?

  People who murder people, Hadley.

  I swallow hard, wishing I hadn’t let Austin bully me into leaving my bag and phone in his car.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of the term knocking, Liam?” Austin says coldly to the giant of a man—Liam, I’m presuming.

  Liam only grunts in response, like he’s part grizzly bear or something.

  Awesome.

  This is so bad.

  Austin picks up the glass of vodka and downs it in three gulps, looking as tense as I feel. Great, even Hairy Chest Douchebag McGee is uncomfortable around the beast of a man looming in his entryway.

  “Where’s my father?” Austin asks, setting the glass down on the countertop. “He said he’d be coming, not one of his minions.”

  Liam responds with yet another grunt. Then his gaze skates to me and a tiny trace of a smile forms on his lips.

  What the actual fuck?

  “Hello, lovely brother of mine.” The girl who was at my house earlier this morning—I think Blaise said her name is Amelia—strolls into the house, swaying her hips and blowing a kiss to her brother.

  Austin’s brows knit. “What’re you doing here?” Shaking his head, he sets the glass in the sink. “You should probably leave. Dad’s going to be here soon.”

>   She dismisses him with a flick of her wrist, tossing her handbag onto the countertop. “I’m fine seeing Dad. In fact, I have a pressing matter to discuss with him.”

  “Really?” His brow skeptically curves upward.

  “Yep.” She plops down on a barstool and crosses her legs. “Now please pour your favorite sister a drink. I’ve had the roughest of days.”

  “I bet you did.” Accusation rings in Austin’s tone, but he grabs the bottle of vodka and a clean glass to pour her a drink.

  “Aw, now, don’t be jealous, brother of mine.” She grins. “It’s unbecoming on you.”

  He slides the drink across the counter toward her. “And red lipstick looks whorish on you. You should really stop wearing it.”

  She flashes him a grin. “Why would I do that? Whorish is what I’m going for.”

  “You’re such a little brat.” He smiles at her, and she returns the smile wholeheartedly.

  I can’t get a vibe on these two, whether they’re joking around or utterly despise each other. Maybe a bit of both. Or maybe, like Blaise said, they’re just a bundle of straight-up crazy.

  Amelia sips vodka. “So, where’s your guest?”

  When Austin’s gaze lands on me, Amelia spins around on the barstool. She gives me a once-over, tilting her head to the side.

  “She’s prettier than I thought she’d be,” she muses, eyeing me over again, more slowly this time.

  “Isn’t she?” Austin agrees, biting his lip as he stares at me.

  I hold up my hands. “Okay, whatever this weird, creepy twin thing is that you two have going on, I want no part of it. Got it?”

  Amelia thrums her manicured nails against the countertop, assessing me. “She’s got claws, too? I think I might really like.”

  “Oh, that’s mild in comparison to some of the shit she’s been saying,” Austin tells her.

  “Do tell.” Her gaze bores into me and, for a strange instant, I feel the oddest sense of familiarity.

  “If I told you, it’d scar your innocent ears,” Austin teases, bumping the fridge door shut.

  Amelia grins, but her eyes remain on me as she lifts her glass to her lips and takes another small sip of vodka. Her unblinking attention is making me feel all sorts of squirrely.

  “Will you stop doing that?” I finally say. “It’s annoying.”

  She lifts a brow, her gaze never wavering. “Doing what?”

  “Staring at me like a weirdo.” When she continues to stare at me, more amused than before, I massage my temples with my fingertips. “How much longer am I going to be here? Or am I ever leaving?”

  Her expression softens. “You’ll be able to leave …” Her voice drifts away as the sounds of rumbling engines rise from outside.

  Motorcycles maybe? Or muscle cars with really beefed up engines.

  “Oh yay, Daddy’s here,” Amelia says flatly.

  “And let the fucking mind games begin,” Austin mutters then downs the rest of Amelia’s drink in one large gulp.

  They appear nervous. These two, weird, creepy lunatics are afraid of their dad, which means …

  I’m really, really in over my head.

  Hadley

  A few slamming heartbeats later, the sound of growling engines begin to fade. Eventually, the air grows quiet again, and I free a shaky breath. False alarm. It must have been just a few motorcycles driving by.

  “Don’t relax yet, princess,” Austin says when he notices me starting to relax.

  As if on cue, the front door opens and in walks a man who somehow makes Liam the Grizzly Bear look like a cuddly, little Teddy bear. And that’s only the beginning. One by one, people file into the house, both men and women, and all share one trait.

  They look scary as hell, all bulky muscles and scars. And of course, don’t forget the weapons, some carrying a knife while others have guns tucked into holsters. The more people who cram into the room, the heavier the air gets.

  I can’t breathe.

  I’m going to die.

  Holy shit, I’m going to die.

  Who the hell’s going to take care of my sisters when I’m gone?

  Are these people going to go after my sisters when I’m gone?

  I should’ve warned them instead of keeping them in the dark and trying to handle everything by myself.

  As the last of the people enter the house, Amelia gets up, crosses the room, and sits down on the back of the sofa beside me. “Relax. The more you panic, the worse this will be.”

  “I’m not panicking,” I lie, my voice coming out as smooth as melted chocolate.

  The corners of her lips tug upward. “That’s good. You sounded convincing. This might actually work.”

  “Huh?” I stare at her, totally lost. “What might work?”

  She leans toward me and whispers, “Getting you out of this mess.”

  I roll my eyes. “Like you’re actually—”

  She places a hand over my mouth, her grin growing. “Yes, I am. Now stop arguing and agree with everything I say, got it?” She waits for me to nod, and I do, but I don’t really mean it. “Good girl.” She traces her finger along my bottom lip. “Your lips are so soft. I bet Blaise likes that.”

  I lift my hand up and pry her hand off my lips. “Blaise hasn’t touched my lips,” I lie.

  “Really?” She appears positively pleased by the idea. “Then who has?”

  “Are we really going to sit here right now and talk about my kissing life?” I give a pressing glance around the room that’s filled with … well, for now I’m going to call them mobsters.

  Her smile is so blinding I swear the damn thing glows. “Austin is right. You’re feisty.” She wets her lips with her tongue. “I’m not surprised, though, that you turned out that way.”

  “I’m not …” My words fade from my tongue as I replay what she said. “What do you mean, you’re not surprised I turned out that way? You say it like …” Well, like she knows me.

  “Like what?” she asks, sounding lost, though her sparkling eyes suggest otherwise.

  “I don’t …” My mind pulsates as images of the day my mom died flash through my mind, sharp and clipped then blurry.

  “Quiet,” a man whispers. “Everything will be fine as long as your dad pays his debt.”

  “Just be quiet,” a girl whispers. “If you don’t, my dad’s going to get mad.”

  My chest tightens, squeezing the air from my lungs. “Do I know you?”

  “We just met, remember?” She talks to me like I’m stupid while observing me closely. “I’m Amelia, Axel’s daughter.”

  I shake my head. “No, I know you from someplace else.”

  Her lips part, her expression softening, but before she can say anything, a man waltzes into the condo and an eerie hush spreads across the room. I’m not sure why. Based on appearances, the man is the least scary of the lot, shorter and less steroid-y, with styled dark hair and wearing a clean-cut suit. To me, he looks like he should be working in some office in New York, so the tension flooding everyone’s expression has me wondering what this man has done to make a bunch of beast-sized men and women look like they’re about to piss their pants.

  “Father,” Austin greets the man with a short nod and a shaky smile. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

  The man—Axel—silently stares at Austin until he becomes twitchy and squirmy. “I wish I could say the same, but I can’t.” He reaches for the bottle of vodka on the counter and picks it up. “I would’ve preferred if you’d stayed in New York so that I didn’t have to have the constant reminder of what a fuck-up my only son is.”

  Ouch. I may not like Austin, but holy asshats, that was harsh.

  “Sorry,” Austin mumbles, wrapping his arms around himself.

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s pathetic.” Axel hands the bottle to Austin. “Now pour me a drink. And try not to put too much ice in it this time.”

  “Yes, Father.” Austin takes the bottle from his dad then cowers deeper into the kitchen to get
a glass and some ice, but he ends up spilling ice all over the floor.

  Giving an annoyed sigh, Axel twists around and turns to a tall woman with blood-red hair. “Nat, will you please supervise my son with his incompetence. And while you’re at it, take him out back and try to beat some sense into him.”

  The most sinister smile spans across the woman’s—Nat—scarred face. “It’d be my pleasure.” She slips a set of brass knuckles on as she heads into the kitchen. Without warning, she cranes her arm back and slams her fist into his side. Austin groans, dropping to his knees and dropping the glass. It shatters across the floor. Nat picks up a piece and presses it against his cheek.

  My eyes widen and my lips instinctively part. “Stop—”

  Amelia slaps her hand across my mouth and hastily shakes her head, panic flowing from her eyes. But it’s too late. Axel is already turning, his dark gaze landing on mine. He studies me without an ounce of emotion in his cold eyes, causing a chill to spread across my skin.

  I’ve spent a lot of the last few years crossing paths with sketchy, bad people, but never have I seen such hollowness in a person’s eyes. It tears my next breath out of my chest. Makes me way too aware that I might not be leaving this condo ever again. Makes me regret a lot of choices in my life. It’s amazing how a few single seconds can do that to you. How a few single seconds can have such an impact on your life. How is that possible? How can you spend years not realizing a lot of things? Not knowing what you want, not being able to see things for what they really are, then suddenly, some six-foot-something man with the emotional deformity of a zombie gives you a withering stare and all that stuff you lazily wondered about abruptly makes sense?

  “You must be Hadley Harlyton,” he says calmly.

  Even his calmness is freaking me out.

  I may be able to pull a chill act out of my ass in almost any given situation, but this time, I’m not so sure how my skills are going to hold up. Deep down, a part of me wonders if that might be for the better. If perhaps I should just keep my mouth and be cooperative. But considering Austin is currently getting his ass kicked for doing just that, I decide to go the Hadley Harlyton route.