by Stacy Gail
HOUSE OF PAYNE: STYX
(House of Payne #9)
Stacy Gail
HOUSE OF PAYNE: STYX
Sydney used to make plans. All her life she’d trained to be a ballerina, but that “plan” had turned out to be nothing more than a pipe dream. Reality now consisted of hunting down petty thieves and refusing to make any more pie-in-the-sky plans for her life. That’s why she’s never approached the sexiest man she’s ever laid eyes on. Never again would she be crushed by pointless dreams.
Fate, however, has plans for her.
Styx Hardwick isn’t big on plans. As a tattooist at House Of Payne, he’s the black sheep in a family full of pragmatic cops. Now that his twin brother’s getting hitched, all eyes turn to him, the last of the single Hardwick siblings. Getting through his twin’s wedding is gonna be hell.
Or so he thinks.
When a pocket-sized goddess crashes into him with terror in her eyes, Styx’s world turns upside-down. Even scared out of her mind, Sydney is still the hottest thing to have ever graced his life. He offers her a deal—pretend to be his girlfriend until the wedding, while he does his damnedest to protect her from the danger closing in.
As a plan, it’s almost foolproof.
Almost.
97,000 words
***This standalone contemporary romance contains mild violence, a dash of instalove, and multiple sex scenes in lots of fun and possibly gravity-defying positions. No cheating, no love triangles, no cliffhangers. HEA guaranteed. Due to adult language and sexual content, this book is not intended for people under the age of eighteen***
Discover Other Titles by Stacy Gail:
Bitterthorn, Texas Series (Carina Press):
Ugly Ducklings Finish First
Starting from Scratch (novella)
One Hot Second
Where There’s A Will
Earth Angels Series (Carina Press):
Nobody’s Angel
Savage Angel
Wounded Angel
Dangerous Angel
House Of Payne Series:
House of Payne: Payne
House of Payne: Scout
House of Payne: Twist
House of Payne: Rude
House of Payne: Steele
House of Payne: Max
House of Payne: Tag
House of Payne: Ice
House of Payne: Styx
Scorpio Duology:
Year of the Scorpio: Part One
Year of the Scorpio: Part Two
Brody Brothers Series (Carina Press):
Branded
Braced
Bruised
Novellas:
Crime Wave in a Corset (Part of the steampunk holiday anthology, A Clockwork Christmas)
How the Glitch Saved Christmas (Part of the Sci-Fi holiday anthology, A Galactic Holiday)
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Copyright
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Characters and names of real persons who appear in the book are used fictitiously.
Copyright ©2019 Stacy Gail
Cover image ©2019 Satyrenko. Shutterstock photo ID number: 1072911311
Acknowledgments
I’d like to give a HUGE shout-out to Shelby Barker, friend, skating student, and fab secret shopper for a major grocery store chain here in the wilds of Texas. When you recounted how you were chased down a freeway by crazy, pissed-off shoplifters, the idea for Sydney was born. To be clear, I’m so sorry you had to go through something so terrifying. But damn, girl, what an awesome story! Thank you so much for giving me permission to use it, and for letting me ask you a million questions about your job. (Oh, and just in case you missed it, I used your initials for my heroine, heh. Love ya, sweetie!)
Thank you to all the Russian skaters I’ve met throughout my life (Irena, Elena, Eteri, Yulia, Mischa) for sharing stories of how you were tested as children in Soviet Russia. It’s hard to imagine having the government tell you what you’re going to be for the rest of your life. If you made it to the States (where I met all of you) that means you were strong enough to believe that no system could tell you what you were supposed to be. My life is better for knowing you.
Many thanks to Kristi Metcalf, who knew just how to bring Polo and Max into the same room. That hook-up was for you, Kristi!
Special thanks to the three ladies who helped me name Sydney’s friend, Zemi Blue-Sky. Kelli Bos, Nancy Reibis, Angel McDougal, thanks so much for all your help! I love her name!
To the Sunday school teacher who terrified me when I was five years old, thank you. I don’t remember your name, but I’ll always be thankful for the memory of the first time I ever stood up for myself. I’m so proud I got kicked out of class!
Lastly, a big thank-you to the sister of my heart, the magnificently talented and incredibly generous author, Jade C. Jamison. Without Jade’s encouragement, I never would have written the House of Payne series. LYLAS, Jade!
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Note from Stacy Gail
About the Author
Connect with Stacy Gail
Chapter One
Gonna die, gonna die, gonna die.
Sydney’s hands were slick on her beloved Pokey’s steering wheel, and she threw another terrified glance at the rearview mirror.
The dark Caddy with no plates accelerated so fast all she could see was the car’s grill.
Ramming speed.
“Oh God, no.” She floored Pokey’s accelerator as hysteria-edged breaths panted out of her. She thought—prayed—she saw an opening in the traffic in the lane next to her. If she could just get off the freeway, she might have a chance of bringing this insane car chase to an end.
Why is this happening? Dear God, why?
She didn’t know.
Too bad she couldn’t stop and ask them.
Blindly she groped for the phone she’d left in her purse on the passenger seat. She cried in relief when she found it almost immediately and started dialing 911, only to drop the device when she had to grab the steering wheel to avoid hitting an idiotic car that cut in front of her.
Damn it.
Okay, screw the police, she thought, gripping the wheel with both hands once more while tears of frustratio
n dripped down her face. She’d get herself to safety before calling them for help. The right lane next to her was clear. She could move over. The two lanes after that, though, were full of midday workers either going to or coming back from lunch—
A crunch of metal on metal ripped a scream from her even as her poor car fishtailed with the vicious bump from behind. She almost lost control as her trusty Camry tried to deal with the rear impact while going eighty down I-90.
“Go straight, go straight,” she screamed at her car, knowing with a clairvoyant-like clarity what would happen if she was forced sideways at that speed. Her car would flip, the roof of the car would crush in like a soda can, and there would be no livable space within the car’s interior.
In short, she’d die a grisly death.
It seemed to take forever to get Pokey back under control, but at last she got it, her icy hands wrapped around the steering wheel so hard they hurt. Just as she sent fervent thanks out to whatever guardian angels she had, she spotted a sign for a familiar exit.
Goose Island. Division Street.
Screw it.
She was done with waiting for people to kill her.
If she was going to die, it was going to be because she was trying to live, and not waiting for death to come get her.
With another scream tearing out of her, Sydney hit the brakes and wrenched the wheel sharply to the right, flew across four lanes of traffic, and shot onto the exit ramp. In her wake, the sound of screeching tires and blaring horns filled her ears.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She didn’t care that the words were useless. They gave her comfort, because unlike the people chasing her, she had no intention of hurting anyone.
For a moment she was weightless as her car zoomed down the steep off-ramp. Then Pokey landed so heavily the undercarriage bottomed out and there was another horrible metallic crunching. She blew through a yellow-to-red light, turning a hard right amidst another symphony of car horns, but she didn’t bother to look at whatever she left in her wake.
The only thing that mattered now was escaping whoever was trying to murder her.
Home, her brain pounded at her, but logic overrode the instinct to hole up in what had always been a comfy, safe space. Home was one place she absolutely couldn’t go. The last thing she wanted to do was lead her attackers to her door. Bad enough they obviously knew what her car looked like. If they knew where she lived, she might as well get her final affairs in order.
What a nightmare.
In the minutes it took to shoot through Goose Island toward her neighborhood of Old Town, she racked her brain trying to figure out where she could go. A police station would have been ideal, but since she’d never been in this kind of trouble, she had no idea where the nearest station was. Second choice was getting pulled over by a cop for going sixty on a surface street, but clearly the old saying was true—there was never a cop around when you needed one.
Naturally.
Then she saw it.
A flash of a dark-colored car in her rearview mirror.
Wait.
Shit, was that the Caddy?
She wasn’t going to hang around to find out.
With her heart in her throat, Sydney swerved off Division Street, zigzagged randomly through the cross streets to wind up facing the other way on Division. With her dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree and something smoking under the hood, she parked in a lot in front of the strip mall located across the street from her apartment building.
It wasn’t home, but it was close.
The heavy humidity of an unusually warm autumn day slapped at Sydney the moment she dashed out of her smoking car, but she barely noticed as she tried to figure out what to do next. Again, her instinct was to run to a place where she knew was safe. Her best friend, Zemi, had a yoga studio, OMMniscience, tucked right in the middle of the strip mall, so maybe she could go there. Or maybe she should run into Edibles, the donut shop next to the studio, where she and Zemi usually landed after yoga class.
But to go to a place connected to her in any way could prove dangerous for everyone involved.
So no OMMniscience, and no Edibles.
But she couldn’t just stand there.
Without another thought, she sprinted past the strip mall and around the corner, eyes open wide for a random place to hide. The flash of light on a glass door as it slowly swung shut snagged her attention. Without another thought, she zipped through the glass door and into the high-rise building’s vestibule.
And crashed into a solid something that almost had her bouncing back out through the door.
“Whoa, lady.” Hands shot out to stabilize her even as a handful of mail scattered to the black and white tiled floor. “Where the hell’s the fire?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Out of breath and terrified she was going to throw up, Sydney glanced back through the glass door only to see a dark Cadillac—oh Geez, was that the same one? —drive by. “Oh my God, hide.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” the solid object demanded, but she didn’t listen as she grabbed him by his dark T-shirt and yanked him sharply to one side of the door with all the might she had in her 5’2” frame. For good measure she pivoted so that his back was to the glass door while she huddled as small as she could against him so that she was shielded by his rangy, solid body.
Any port in a storm.
“What. The. Hell.” The voice was aggravated, gruff, but he didn’t jump back or try to push her away. Instead arms came around her, and strangely, that feeling of being in a safe port while a storm raged around her increased. “Jesus. You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Apparently these were the only words her freaked-out brain was capable of producing. At least it was better than screaming.
He started to turn his head to look outside the glass door. “What are you so afrai—”
“Don’t look.” Hastily she reached up and yanked his head back around…
And looked into the face of the man she’d been drooling over for the past two months.
Oh…
My…
God.
Every Thursday and Sunday, Sydney made sure she was at Market Place grocery store, ostensibly to work. But in actuality, she did her best to keep an avid lookout out for this delicious specimen of a man, who usually could be found putting a major dent in the frozen pizzas.
While he had dubious taste in food, the rest of him was perfection—short brown hair several shades darker than her own, strong dark brows that hooded pale blue eyes with long lashes, and a mouth that turned up at the corners even when fully relaxed. But even more fascinating than his riveting face was his ink.
The man was a walking work of art.
Literally.
His black T-shirt, emblazoned with the words House Of Payne, exposed muscular arms covered with tattoos all the way down to his wrists. His neck also sported some ink, just glimpses of colorful art peeking out from under his shirt’s neckline. She’d never been this close to him, so she hadn’t known about that intriguing art going up his neck. For a totally inappropriate second she wondered what she needed to do to get him to take his shirt off so she could get an even closer look.
Then she shook her head. Wow. She must be suffering some weird sort of nervous breakdown to wonder such a thing at a time like this.
“It’s okay.” He looked down at her—way down, since she’s pretty much stopped growing around the age of thirteen—and gave her a smile that would have charmed the Devil himself. “You’re safe, all right? You got a boyfriend or something that’s hunting you down? I can take care of that shit, no worries.”
“No, I don’t have a boyfriend or anything like that.” Just to be on the safe side, she pulled him up against the wall, where all the apartment building’s mailboxes were located, and out of direct line of sight. “It’s the Brisket Bandit posse.”
He slow-blinked. “Uh…what?”
“I’m a secret shopper for Market Plac
e grocery store, though that’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone. Otherwise I’d just be a shopper, not a secret one, and I’d certainly lose my Employee of the Month status if everyone knew I was a secret shopper.” Very carefully Sydney chanced a quick peek over his shoulder, then ducked back when a chatting couple walked by. Eek. “I finally caught the Brisket Bandit. Only come to find out, he’s not a solo act. He’s got a posse, and he sent them after me to murder me with their car.”
“Slow down.” Again he glanced over his shoulder, then gave her a look that clearly doubted her sanity. “A secret who? The brisket what? Wait, don’t answer,” he said when she opened her mouth to fill in the blanks. “I just need to know one thing. Are you supposed to be taking medication for anything? No judgment, I have impulse-control issues, so I know how it can be. I’m just wondering if you’ve missed a dose.”
For crying out loud… “Secret shoppers are employed by retailers to blend in with other shoppers, and we’re trained to spot shoplifters. Market Place has had a problem with big-ticket items disappearing, like brisket. That’s why this particular thief got branded with the name Brisket Bandit.”
“Catchy.”
“Thank you. I’m, uh, the one who made it up,” she added, while her face got hot. Great. Now she was babbling. Who cared about what name she’d slapped on her target? “Anyway, it’s taken a while, and we almost caught him over Labor Day weekend at the South Loop Market Place store a couple weeks back, but he got away before the cops could arrive.”
