“You love her,” Marc lets out a rough chuckle that turns into a cough.
Kayn’s brows shoot to his hairline in surprise. Again, I ignore him.
“What?” I snap.
His head is back; his one useful eye is heavy on mine while he stares up at me from his chair. He gives me a bloody smile, and it makes a chill run up my back. “I said you love her.”
Love? That word sounds minimal compared to what I once felt for her. She was life. She was … everything.
It’s freezing out here on this mountain. My hands and legs are on the verge of going numb even with all my gear on. “Come on, we’re almost there,” I say, pulling her behind me.
“I can’t feel my feet,” Bunny whines.
I chuckle, but mine aren’t far off from hers. “Just a little farther.”
My boots dig into the firmly packed snow. I make it to the spot and turn to face her. She has her arms crossed over her chest, briskly bouncing up and down to keep warm. She wears a white snowsuit and jacket. She has the hood up and a pink scarf wrapped around her face, covering her mouth and nose. All I can see is her pretty blue eyes.
“Let’s go.” She gestures to the skis that I hold in my hands. “I wanna get down the mountain and then get a cup of hot chocolate.”
I drop them, and they fall to my sides.
“Avery …”
I kneel down and look up at her.
She takes a step toward me, narrowing her blue eyes on mine. “We don’t have time for this, babe. It’s freezing …”
I pull the white box out of my pocket, and her words come to a halt.
She reaches up and pulls down her scarf to show me her pink lips. “Avery,” she whispers. “What are you …?” She looks around as if this is a joke. As though someone is gonna jump out and say gotcha. I get it. We’re young. But I love her. Presleigh Joanna Clarke is the one for me.
“Bunny, I love you!” Tears instantly spring to her eyes. I clear the knot in my throat. “Will you …?”
“Yes!” She squeals before running and jumping on me. I go tumbling backward into the snow, laughing as her lips touch mine.
I pull myself out of that memory from so long ago. Yet so much changed right after that. Not sure what I was thinking anyway. She was seventeen, and I was nineteen. Too young to be engaged. Too young to be in love. And just months later, she left me.
I look down at him, and that sadistic smile is still on his face—as if he can read my mind. See my thoughts.
He’s fucking with me. He has to be. How would he …?
“I can see it written all over your face,” he muses and then coughs, blood spilling out of his mouth and running down his chin.
I run a hand through my hair and let out a growl. This can’t be happening! “Get ready to leave,” I tell Kayn, and he frowns at me, not knowing what is going on. He doesn’t know about her. The woman I loved to the bitch I now hate. If anyone is going to have her, it’s gonna be me.
The man in the chair chuckles. “When he finds out you have Presleigh, he’ll kill you, and then he’ll take her. All bets will be off.”
He’s telling the truth, but he underestimates me. Just like they all do. That’s why he is about to die, and I’m not. I pull my cell out of my pocket and hit number two on my speed dial, dialing my pilot’s number. “Hello?” he answers sleepily.
“I want wheels up in an hour. We’re going to New York.” I hang up and hand it to Kayn. He takes it without a word. “Now, where were we?” I ask, twirling the pliers in my hand.
CHAPTER TWO
AVERY
“HEY, YOU’VE REACHED PRESTON. Leave a message …”
I hang up, walking onto my private jet. Going straight over to the minibar, I pour myself a glass of scotch and then sit down on the white leather. I’ve showered and put on clean clothes. It delayed my departure by an hour, but after I butchered the man in my cellar, I needed to do a few things.
Kayn comes to sit across from me. “I got the information you asked for, sir.”
“What did you find?”
He flips open a white folder. “Presleigh Joanna Clarke. Age twenty-eight. Female. Blue eyes—”
“I know all that,” I growl, interrupting him.
He nods and then scans over it some more. “Marital status. Single.”
My brows lift. “Divorced?”
“No, sir.”
“Widow?”
“No, sir.”
Interesting.
“She got a GED at the age of nineteen.”
“She didn’t graduate from high school?” That’s surprising.
“No, sir. She also has no record of current employment.”
I take a sip of my drink. “So she doesn’t work.”
“Maybe she gets paid under the table in cash,” he offers with a shrug.
“Maybe.” But that doesn’t sound like her. She had dreams. Growing up, she was always painting. She wanted to be an artist. And she was good. Great even. I never doubted her talent. But her family had money, so maybe she lives off that.
“As far as medical, I didn’t find much. She has a physician there in New York City along with a psychologist, but that was years ago.”
“For what?” I wonder.
“Doesn’t say,” he answers, looking over the paper. Then his eyes meet mine. “She also has an OB-GYN. A hysterectomy was performed but no date given.”
I tighten my hand on my glass.
He continues. “Past procedures include rhinoplasty done back when she was eighteen.”
“Rhino?” I ask confused. “She had her nose done?”
He nods.
“Breast augmentation a year later.”
She got a fucking boob job? What the actual fuck? She wasn’t conceited, but she was never ashamed or wanted to alter her body in any way.
“Oh, and she was in a car wreck when she was eighteen. Resulting in a coma for two weeks …”
“Give me that!” I yank it from his hands. My eyes scan over the medical report as I hear the engines of my jet roar to life. Three broken ribs. A broken nose. Punctured lung and broken wrists. Jaw wired shut. Goddamn! “That’s all it says?” I growl, going to flip through the pages, but there are no more.
He shrugs. “As I said, sir, I couldn’t find much. I didn’t have much time.”
My eyes go back down to scan it over again. “Does it say who the doctor was?”
“No, sir.”
I sit back in my seat, taking another drink, and then order, “When we get back, find out more.”
“How long are we gonna be in New York?” he asks while we make our way down the private runway, accelerating for takeoff.
“As long as it takes.” I take a drink, enjoying the burn before looking out the window into the Vancouver night.
“As long as what takes, sir?”
I take another drink, ending this conversation.
I’m coming for you, Bunny. And you have no fucking idea how much your life is about to change. For the worst.
CHAPTER THREE
AVERY
I SIT AT THE ROUND TABLE tucked back in the corner of the dark club. My right ankle is propped up on my left knee, and my arms span the back of the circular booth.
Being here reminds me why I hate these places. Music so loud you can’t hear yourself think. Neon lights so bright they’re blinding. And the drunks. I’ve never cared for them. They’re annoying, to say the least. I’m a drinker, but I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember. My father always said that alcohol would cure anything. That was why he was always shoving it down our throats. I had developed a tolerance by the time I was fourteen.
The brunette at the bar, the one who brought me to this God-forsaken place, gets my attention when she throws back the shot.
She looks so different than I remember. She used to have blond hair; she called it highlights. And she kept it short, right above her shoulders.
Now it’s a rich brown and long. She stands at the bar,
her back toward me, wearing a silver glittery dress that the neon lights bounce off—making it easy for me to keep an eye on her. It’s shorter than any dress should be—attracting attention from every guy here.
Her six-inch fuck-me black heels make her look taller than I know she is. I’ve been in New York for five days, following her every move. She stays home all day, and every night, I’ve ended up at a smoky bar or a packed club. She drinks until she stumbles out of the establishment and goes home with a man. The past two nights have been the same guy. I’m not sure what relationship they have or if they’ve recently met, but he’s not here tonight. I looked. Not that I’m worried. Even if she does have a man in her life, it won’t complicate things. I’ll still get what I want.
Her!
I’ve always wanted her!
That’s my problem.
But now I have a reason. An excuse to take what I want.
She was what I once thought I wanted. Needed. But things change. She throws back another shot and spins around to face the dance floor. My eyes go to her tits. They’re on display like all the other nights. The dress has a plunging neckline, showing off what I now know were paid for.
My cock starts to harden, and I grind my teeth in annoyance. I’m not the kind of guy who thinks with his dick.
Not anymore.
I once loved her, but she cured me of that disease. Now I only fuck women until I throw them away—just as she did with me. She taught me well.
I reach forward and grab my scotch. I take a sip, sitting back in my seat, and watch as she pushes off the bar to head to the dance floor. Her brown hair flows down her back, and she spins around, placing her hands above her head while her hips sway to the music.
I adjust my slacks while she dances as if no one is watching. My eyes lower down over her ass and to her thighs, remembering what it felt like to be between them.
She may be a whore now, but I had her before anyone else did. A part of me is proud of that, and the other part is just ashamed. I worked so hard for it, and now she gives it away to anyone who throws her a smile.
She’s smaller than she used to be. She reminds me of a runway model fresh off the stage in Paris. Over the years, I’ve grown to prefer a woman with curves, but there’s something about the way she dominates a room—she demands attention, and no man can deny her that. Even the women stare at her with envy.
A man gets my attention when he sits down at the bar in the seat she just vacated. He looks around quickly before pulling his phone out of his pocket and snapping a couple of pictures of her on the dance floor.
My jaw tightens, knowing he will be jacking off to them later. As if he has that same thought, he places his hands between his legs and adjusts himself. His black eyes look her up and down before he bares his teeth and runs his tongue over them. He’s salivating like a bitch in heat.
I quickly look at her to see she is still dancing and then back at him. Now he’s looking down at his phone, typing away on it, and I know he just sent that picture he took of her to his boss—Damon. The same man who I’m trying to keep her from.
He gets up off the barstool and pockets his phone before throwing her one last look and then making his way through the crowd and out the front door.
Tonight is her lucky night.
Once my threat is gone, my eyes go back to her, and I watch a new man approach. Wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him, he thrusts his hips into hers, and my anger rises when she pulls him to her instead of pushing the stranger away.
What did I expect? This is what she does. Gets drunk and takes a random guy home to fuck. Thankfully, that other guy took his pictures and left. Otherwise, I’d have to act sooner than I had planned.
She’ll be mine soon, though.
She wraps her arms around his neck, and he lowers his lips to hers while he pulls her flush to his body. Her hips grind into his, and his hand drops to cup her ass. I take another drink of my scotch.
My hand tightens around the cool glass when her head falls back, lips parted and eyes closed. I wonder if she ever thinks of me like I do her.
“Avery.” She cries out while lying on her back as I hover over her. Our bodies slapping, and our breaths ragged.
Music fills my bedroom to try to drown out her voice, so my brothers don’t hear her screams of pleasure.
“I’m coming.” She pants, her nails digging into my back. “Oh, God …” I lower my lips to hers to swallow her words. The music not helping much.
I’ll find out soon.
The song “You Don’t Own Me” by Grace comes to an end, and she leans in, speaking into his ear before she walks off the dance floor toward the ladies’ room.
I finish my glass and set it down on the table. I get up and make my way over to him, shoving the people out of my way in the process. Grabbing the back of his shirt, I pull him over to the far corner in the darkness. He trips over his own feet but manages to stay upright.
I slam his back against the black wall and stare down at him. “Find your own whore. She’s mine. Understand?”
Brown eyes look up at me, wide with terror, and he throws his hands up and nods quickly.
I punch him in the face just because I fucking can. I yank him from the wall as blood runs from his nose and shove him forward. He takes off into the crowd while the music continues to pound the floor under my feet.
Going against my better judgment, I take off down the hallway to the women’s restroom. I walk on in and find two girls who look too young to be in this club. Their eyes widen in surprise when they notice me. When I snap my fingers and point at the door, they run out without a word. I lock it behind them, then turn around and lean against it. Placing my hands in the pockets of my slacks and crossing my ankles, I wait for her to exit the stall, trying to look unaffected even though my heart is pounding at the thought of coming face to face with her. After all this time … I swore I’d never call her. Never chase her. She made her decision, and I had to live with it.
Now she is wanted by the exact men we swore we would never become. And even though I hate her with all I have, it doesn’t mean I want her sucked into a life of slavery. A life of being raped and beaten. If anyone is going to fuck her, it should be me! If anyone is going to whip that ass, it should be me! I’ve earned it! I fucking loved her until she ruined me. And she doesn’t even care. She never looked back. But now she will. Now I get to remind her that the past always catches up with you. And she’s not going to like it.
She walks out of her stall, not even noticing me as she makes her way to the sink and washes her hands. Opening her mouth, she runs her tongue over her strawberry-painted lips, the motion reminding me just how much I used to love them on me. How they would sigh while I made love to her. How they would call out my name when she was coming. Or how they would kiss my chest softly while we lay in bed together afterward. I hate that other men get to experience that now.
After she dries off her hands, she turns to exit. Her heels clap on the floor, but she fumbles to a stop when she sees me.
And all I can think about is how much I hate her now. How much she took from me. This bitch is my heaven and my hell. My angel and my demon. And here I am, staring down the very woman I gave everything to, only for her to take it and run, never looking back.
Big blue eyes stare into mine with a look of terror. Good, she recognizes me. Even in her drunken state, and eleven years later, she still knows who I am.
Her pink lips part, inhaling sharply. Her entire body goes rigid. I take a step toward her as she pulls me in just as she always did. I never could control myself with her. But this time has to be different. I have to be in total control of myself and of her.
She doesn’t move.
She doesn’t blink.
She doesn’t breathe.
Deciding to close the gap completely, I take two more steps until my body is close enough to feel the heat radiating from hers. Her long, dark hair drapes over one shoulder, and it looks good on her.
She loved when I used to run my hands through her short hair and play with it. Now I just want to wrap it around my fists and force her to her knees. We never did fuck. We made love—always soft and slow. Now when I picture us in bed together, she is bound and gagged. That way, she won’t be able to stop all the sadistic shit that comes to mind.
I’ve become one of those men I swore to never be! All because of her.
I want her to beg me.
I want her to bleed for me.
I want her to love me.
But I’m not stupid. None of those things will come willingly. I’m gonna have to take them. And I have no problem with that. She made me who I am today, after all.
She continues to stand there like a deer in headlights. I give her a threatening smile but reach out to tuck her hair behind her ear in an innocent gesture when what I really wanna do is slap that look of surprise off her face.
Her body physically shakes.
“Hello, Bunny. Miss me?”
PRESLEIGH
Blood rushes in my ears. My heart pounds in my chest, and my palms instantly start to sweat.
If the sight of him alone hasn’t knocked the wind out of me, calling me Bunny does the trick.
I haven’t seen him in eleven years, yet here he is, standing in front of me. The last time I heard his voice was on my voicemail. He was cold, and his words were sharp like a knife—cutting me from the inside out.
Now he’s standing before me, touching me like he used to.
But looking at me as though he wants to kill me.
I swallow nervously, my tongue suddenly heavy, my mouth instantly dry.
Chest tight and wide-eyed, I look up at the man I once loved. The man who was supposed to love me back.
I finally blink, thinking I’m just hallucinating. All the alcohol I’ve consumed is playing tricks on me. Or maybe someone slipped something in one of my drinks, and I’m really passed out on the floor, having a really bad dream.
My heart pounds, and I can’t breathe. I feel a panic attack coming on. I also haven’t had one of those in years.
He leans into me, his nose tracing my jaw, and my heart stops altogether. I should yell for help, but I know it wouldn’t do me any good. He inhales deeply and whispers against my neck, “You smell just as I remember.” He pulls back and looks down at me, his eyes dropping to my cleavage. They give nothing away; he remains indifferent at seeing me. They lower to my exposed thighs, and I feel heat rush to my pussy. And I hate how my body wants what my mind and heart know is a danger.
SLAUGHTER Page 2
