Her Mountain Brothers

by Crowne, K. C.

  Her Mountain Brothers

  K.C. Crowne

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Hazel

  2. Ryder

  3. Wyatt

  4. Hazel

  5. Ryder

  6. Hazel

  7. Ryder

  8. Wyatt

  9. Hazel

  10. Wyatt

  11. Hazel

  12. Ryder

  13. Wyatt

  14. Hazel

  15. Wyatt

  16. Ryder

  17. Hazel

  18. Wyatt

  19. Hazel

  20. Ryder

  21. Wyatt

  22. Hazel

  Epilogue

  Boss Daddy (Preview)

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by K.C. Crowne

  All rights reserved.

  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.

  Created with Vellum

  Prologue

  Boone

  “Daphne, what the hell?”

  The woman hadn’t waited for an invitation before pushing past me into my apartment. It was midnight on a rare rainy night in Los Angeles, and a movie star was at my doorway. Life in L.A could often be pretty weird, but this was entirely new for me.

  Daphne snapped, “Is anyone else home?”

  “Just my roommate,” I said. “She’s asleep. My sister’s working late. What’s up?”

  Daphne pulled down the hood of her sweatshirt, her platinum blonde hair soaking wet. Even without makeup, she was drop-dead gorgeous - the next Charlize Theron. The type of woman who was so naturally beautiful it wasn’t fair to the rest of society.

  I glanced down the hall where Christina slept. Daphne and I were friends, nothing more. I had feelings for Christina, while Daphne was involved with our producer. I was just a stunt double for her love interest in the latest summer blockbuster, but we’d hit it off. We were an odd partnership – she looked like a supermodel with long, blonde hair, and large blue eyes, and me with my mop of curly red hair and freckles. But Daphne wasn’t like most people in Hollywood. She was beautiful, sure, but she also had a pure soul. She was definitely one of the good ones.

  She shoved a bag into my hands. It was heavy, too heavy for someone like her to carry alone. Her eyes darted around the apartment nervously.

  “Open it and look, but don’t say anything,” she ordered.

  “Okay,” I said, scratching my head as I unzipped the bag. As soon as I did, my eyes widened. “Holy shit, Daph--”

  She put a hand over my mouth, her eyes narrowing. “What did I say?”

  I closed the bag, and she removed her hand, pacing in my small living room. Inside the bag was more money than I made in a year. All large bills too. Where in the hell had it come from?

  “Can we go somewhere to talk? Somewhere no one can overhear?” she whispered, stopping a few inches from me.

  “Uh, sure, I guess.” I walked to the end table to grab my keys. “We can drive around if that makes you feel better.”

  “It would make me feel a lot better,” she said. “I don’t want to stay in one place, in case…” She trailed off.

  “In case what?”

  Daphne shuddered. “Never mind. I’ll explain everything, just drive. And leave that here. I don’t want to carry it around.” She pointed to the bag of money.

  I didn’t want it just sitting out, so I opened up the hall closet, which was filled with junk we never used, and tossed it inside before we headed out.

  She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt back over her head, and we walked out of my apartment together. I found it strange that she was alone this late at night. Being who she was, she had security guards on call.

  “My car or yours?” I asked.

  “I didn’t drive.”

  That took me by surprise. “Uber?”

  “Nope,” she said. “I snuck out. Didn’t want anyone following me.”

  I looked behind me as we walked through the parking garage, just to be sure. Her paranoia was rubbing off on me. A long time ago, I was the type to get into trouble, but since moving to L.A, I’d made a promise to my sister that I’d behave as long as she got me a job in the industry. She had, and I’d kept my promise. It was nice not worrying about police following me around or getting my ass kicked for one dumb thing or another.

  I hit the key FOB and my pickup truck’s lights lit up. Daphne raised an eyebrow at my choice of vehicles, but didn’t say a word. Yes, I lived in L.A and I still drove a huge-ass pickup truck. You could take the boy out of the mountains, but you couldn’t take the mountains out of him. Or something like that.

  We climbed in my truck, and she waited until I started the engine and exited the parking garage before speaking. Her voice trembled. “I’m sorry I just showed up like this. I had no idea where to go,” she said quietly. She was wringing her hands and shaking like a leaf. “When I found it, I just—Well, I just had to get out of there. I always knew Hank was into something dirty, but now I have proof.”

  “Slow down, Daphne,” I tried to calm her. “What are you talking about?”

  I pulled out onto the slippery, black asphalt, shocked that almost no one was out and about. L.A. was very rarely quiet, but it was raining. For some reason, a little rain shut everything down in the City of Angels.

  “The money. I found it hidden in my house,” she said. “I’m guessing Hank hid it, or maybe one of my security guards.”

  “And where did the money come from?” I asked.

  “How in the hell am I supposed to know?” Daphne snapped. She glared at me, but then took a deep breath. “All I know is that someone stashed a large sum of money on my property and—”

  She stopped talking. I gave her a second, and when she didn’t finish, I asked her, “And what?”

  “And I overheard a phone call with Hank and some man named Charles or Charlie,” she said. “I believe Hank is laundering money for these guys.”

  “Does Hank know you heard him?”

  The reality of the situation was starting to kick in. It was no longer just weird; it was downright scary. If what Daphne said was true, Hank was laundering money for someone and stashing it at her house - it wasn’t the type of info you’d want people to know. I kept an eye on the cars around me, feeling the paranoia creep in the more Daphne spoke.

  “I don’t know,” Daphne said, her voice cracking. “It’s possible. After I overheard, we got into a fight and he left. I was so upset, I started going through his drawer and throwing his clothes out when I found the money hidden amongst his things.”

  “We need to go to the cops, Daphne,” I told her.

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts. We need to go, now,” I said firmly. She nodded, her lower lip trembling. This wasn’t a movie, this was real life, and my friend was in very real danger. I pulled an illegal U-turn and headed toward the police station.

  “Do you think they’ll believe me?” Daphne asked as we drove.

  “You’re Daphne Lambert. Of course they will.”

  Red and blue lights flashed in my rearview mirror, and I cursed myself. I’d been so preoccupied with Daphne’s drama I hadn’t noticed a cop nearby when making the illegal turn.

  “Yeah, but he’s Hank Cromwell,” she said. She looked behind us and frowned. “He controls half of Hollywood.”

  “He might control half of Hollywood, but he doesn’t control the police,” I said, pulling over to the side of the road. “And speaking of the devil, there’s one right there. Guess we can start by talking to him.”


  Daphne bit her lip and stared out the back window, her face red and blue from the reflection of the police lights. “I don’t like this.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “And it’s a lot faster than going to the station, if you think about it.”

  Daphne nodded but didn’t take her eyes off the approaching police officer. I rolled down the window and handed over my license and registration. He looked it over before glancing inside the truck.

  “I’m going to need both of you to step out of the vehicle, please,” he said, his voice stern.

  “What? Why?” Daphne asked. “It’s raining.”

  The officer leaned forward to get a better look at Daphne, and I assumed it was because he recognized her. Almost everyone in L.A. did when she was out and about.

  “Miss, I don’t like having to repeat myself. Step out of the vehicle,” the officer demanded.

  “Officer, please,” I implored, opening the car door. He stepped back to allow me to exit the vehicle, and as soon as I was outside it, he grabbed my hands and forced me against the side of the truck. “There’s a misunderstanding here. I know I pulled an illegal U-turn. We were actually heading to the station.”

  “Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Another officer spoke up, surprising me. He’d been standing near the side of the police cruiser but walked up to Daphne’s side of the car. “Miss, really, we need you out of the car, now.”

  Daphne sighed heavily before responding with, “Officer Derusso, is it? Do you know who I am?”

  I cringed at such a terrible question, but it was true. The very idea of making Daphne Lambert step out into the rain over a simple U-turn was outrageous. Especially since she wasn’t even the driver.

  “I don’t give a fuck who you are,” Derusso barked. “Get out of the car. Now.”

  “Daphne, just do it,” I directed her. “We’ll explain everything and I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  I hadn’t been cuffed yet, which was a good sign. My hands were restrained, but while the officer might be trained to take down criminals, he was an overweight guy in his fifties. I was young and fit, but I also didn’t want any trouble, so I did what I was told.

  Daphne got out of the car, and thankfully, the other cop didn’t handle her the way mine did me. He allowed her to stand at the side of the road in the rain and asked her a bunch of questions.

  “Why were you going to the police station?” he asked.

  Daphne looked at me, so I decided to do the talking. “She believes she has evidence of some illegal activity,” I said. “And we’d like to file a report.”

  “What kind of illegal activity?” Derusso questioned. He was younger and thinner than the officer in front of me, but still not in the best of shape. Come to think of it, neither one looked like cops to me, and that paranoid feeling started to creep up my spine again.

  I kept speaking for Daphne. “Her boyfriend—”

  Daphne interrupted. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  Oh yeah, he was married. Forgot about that. Easy to forget when the entire world seemed to know about the affair, but there was a wife at home, and it was one black mark against Daphne I did my best to ignore.

  I continued talking, but the cop that held onto me pushed me back against the truck. “Let her talk,” he growled.

  “Miss Lambert, if you don’t mind, maybe we can talk in the car?” Derusso said.

  “That sounds like a great idea to me,” the man holding me said.

  I glanced at Daphne, who looked nervously between the two officers. “I think it’s fine if we talk out here,” I said. “Or better yet, why don’t we all head down to the police station and straighten this out there?”

  “Right this way, Miss Lambert,” Derusso said. “We’ll only be a second.”

  I moved away from the truck, wanting to protect Daphne. The hair on the back of my neck was standing on end; something was not right. But the cop pushed me back against the truck. When I turned, he had his gun out.

  Yeah, there was some shady shit going down.

  I looked over to where Daphne was walking to the car with the cop, and then my eyes fell on the car itself. Instead of saying LAPD, it said Rossi Security on the side. These weren’t cops; they were glorified security guards with guns and fake badges.

  My heart pounded in my chest as I called out, “Daphne! They aren’t cops! Run!”

  Daphne turned toward me, and Derusso clocked her in the side of the head with his gun. The gun at my back didn’t even phase me anymore; I forgot all about it. Pushing myself backward against the man behind me, I knocked him off his feet. I ran toward Daphne, but Derusso had her in his arms, a gun pointed to her head. She was bleeding from her scalp and her eyes were hazy; she was clearly out of it.

  The man threw her into the back of the car, and gunshots rang out toward me. I couldn’t make it to the car in time. Derusso was in the driver’s seat. I booked it back to my truck, which was still running, and climbed inside, narrowly dodging the man who’d tried to hold me in place earlier.

  My tires squealed as I pulled away from the curb, following the fake cop car. They had their lights on, impersonating police and getting people to pull over for them. I was on their tail. The car faked right before turning left, cutting off three lanes of traffic. I was still behind them, but a car slammed into the side of my truck, and I spun out of control.

  “Shit,” I muttered, fighting to gain control of my vehicle. The driver of the other car was honking his horn, screaming at me, but he was alive. Thank God for that, because there was no way I was going to stop chasing the man who’d taken Daphne.

  I straightened the truck out, hit the gas, and drove as fast as I could in the direction the fake police car went. Their lights were no longer on, or not where I could see them. I drove for a while, hoping to catch up, looking down every side road as I passed, but there was no sign of them. I picked up my phone, prepared to call the real cops, when it rang. A blocked number showed on my screen, and I answered.

  “Boone Hudson,” a voice spoke on the other line. “We know all about you.”

  “Where’s Daphne?” I demanded, still searching for the vehicle.

  “She’s dead, I’m afraid,” the man said on the other end. “Or rather, she will be soon. There’s nothing you can do about her. But if you do exactly as we say, you might be able to save yourself.”

  “Fuck you,” I said. “Give me Daphne, or I’ll find you and kill you myself.”

  “That’s not how these things work. I make the rules, not you,” he said. “And the first rule is this - go to the cops, and Daphne won’t be the only one we come after. We know all about you, Boone. If you don’t care about your own life, maybe you care about Hazel’s.”

  The line went dead.

  Hazel

  Home sweet home. After a long day on set, all I wanted to do was go home, collapse in my bed, and sleep the sleep of the dead for the next ten days straight. Thankfully, I was finished with the show for a few weeks, so the days wouldn’t be so long and grueling. I had a chance to catch my breath, unwind, and relax before going back in and playing my part.

  No, I wasn’t an actress, but it seemed close enough most days. I did the hard work on set. I did the heavy lifting and the dangerous stuff the actual stars of the movies couldn’t— or wouldn’t— do. I had a background in gymnastics and martial arts, and while I couldn’t act worth shit, I was good enough at what I did that I could often work through fight scenes in one take, saving a lot of time and money— something the crew, the production staff, and ultimately the studio, appreciated.

  It didn’t hurt that I was a doppelganger for the show’s lead. We had similar body types, long, auburn hair, and pale, freckled skin. She might have been an inch or two taller than me, but nothing lifts in my shoes couldn’t fix. I took it as something of a badge of honor that no one could tell the difference between Victoria Sterns and me. She was a Hollywood A-lister and sex icon. Well, at least they couldn’t tell us apart in the middle of
a fight scene. I doubted I could pass for her on the red carpet, which was fine by me. I was never into ball gowns anyway.

  “Hello?” I called out to what appeared to be an empty apartment as I stepped inside.

  Usually, my brother was home before me, lounging on the couch in his boxers and a white muscle tee, eating some new Paleo snack or Keto-something. He had no shame. If it were just him and me, it wouldn’t matter. He was my twin brother and I didn’t look at him like that, but my best friend Christina had moved in with us about five months ago. I wasn’t quite sure how she felt about his usual state of dress— or lack thereof. She was usually so neutral, it was hard to tell what she was thinking.

  And just as the thought of Christina popped into my head, she popped her head out of her bedroom, a smile on her face. “You’re home early.”

  “Yeah, we wrapped up sooner than I thought,” I said, plopping down on the vacant for once couch, dropping my butt right where my brother usually sat.

  Christina came out of her room and joined me on the couch. She was still in her work clothes— designer slacks and a button-up shirt. She was a pretty girl and sometimes it felt like she was doing everything she could to cover it up or hide it. I often mused that she did it to make Hollywood take her more seriously. Unlike me, Christina wasn’t in front of the camera, but rather in the offices, handling marketing for the latest movies.

  Her short brown hair barely touched her chin, grazing it just slightly in a trendy bob. She had very large, brown eyes that were incredibly expressive. When you pissed her off, it showed in her eyes first. When she was angry, it was like you could actually see the fire burning bright behind her eyes.