by Katie Ashley
Copyright © 2015 Krista Ashe
Cover photo © Gergely Zsolnai/Shutterstock. Cover design www.isitdesign.co.uk
Author photograph by Lauren Perry
The right of Katie Ashley to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in this Ebook edition in 2015
by HEADLINE ETERNAL
An imprint of HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by arrangement with NAL Signet,
a member of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
A Penguin Random House Company.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN 978 1 4722 2915 1
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.headlineeternal.com
www.headline.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Praise for Katie Ashley
By Katie Ashley
About the Book
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Excerpt from the incredible Last Mile
Take a wild ride with Katie’s Vicious Cycle series
Find out more about Headline Eternal
About the Author
Katie Ashley is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Proposition series and the Runaway Train series, as well as several New Adult and Young Adult titles. She lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia, with her two very spoiled dogs. With a BA in English, a BS in Secondary English Education, and a master’s in English Education, she spent eleven years teaching middle school and high school English until she left to write full-time.
Find her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/katieashleybooks, on Twitter @KatieAshleyLuv, or visit her website www.katieashleybooks.com for news and updates.
Let Katie Ashley take you on a wild, powerfully romantic ride:
‘I was blown away. The tension. The suspense. The romance. The twists and turns . . . Katie Ashley’s ability to bring characters to life are incomparable . . . I never thought I could care about anyone like I do the Vicious Cycle series characters. They are so complex, so alive! . . . This book reveals a different side of Katie. Tough. Bold. Badass. Intensely beautiful and heartbreaking’ The Book Avenue
‘What does Katie Ashley do well? She writes beautifully sexy love stories. What she does really well is she writes wonderful men who are ready-made to fall in love with’ Literati Literature Lovers
‘You know how much we loves us a HOT read, and there is plenty of heat here, ladies’ Flirty and Dirty Book Blog
‘Full of everything I love in a romance book. A sexy, scared-of-commitment leading man . . . a very relatable, beautiful woman . . . drama to last for days, and a scorching love story that left me wishing this book would never end’ The SubClub Books
‘It was all fabulous. Steamy, romantic, swoon-worthy’ Smitten’s Book Blog
‘[Ms. Ashley’s] got me good and hooked’ Fiction Vixen
‘“Wow” is all I can say . . . If you are new to Katie Ashley, treat yourself. I promise that you will not be disappointed’ Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews
By Katie Ashley
Vicious Cycle Series
Vicious Cycle
Redemption Road
Last Mile
About the Book
A walk on the wild side goes horribly wrong for Annabel Percy, daughter of a powerful politician, when she is kidnapped and finds herself in a hell on earth.
Born and bred into the Hells Raiders MC, Nathaniel ‘Reverend’ Malloy lives for his brothers. But when he rescues a rival club’s captive, Rev makes it his personal mission to shelter Annabel from the nightmares that torment her.
As she heals, Annabel realizes she is developing an impossible attraction to her seductive saviour. Can she accept the life he leads, or will Rev walk away from the only life he’s ever known for the woman he was never supposed to love?
Want more sexy, gritty biker romance? Return to the dangerous and seductive world of the Hells Raiders motorcycle club in Vicious Cycle and Last Mile.
In loving memory of the strong, beautiful women who have influenced my writing, especially this book, by being the Steel Magnolias they were:
my mother, Ginger Ashe, my grandmother, Virginia Jackson, my aunt, Janet Davis, and my second mother and friend, Elizabeth McDilda Martinelli
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, thanks go to God for blessing me with the most wonderful career in publishing, along with the gift of storytelling.
To my agent, Jane Dystel, who always has my best professional and personal interests at heart and who is always in my corner with support and help regardless of whether it’s night or day!
To Kerry Donovan, my editor at NAL: I can never thank you enough for your understanding and consideration on this manuscript when I was sidelined by intense pregnancy nausea. You’ve been an absolute pleasure to work with on this series.
To the team at Penguin/NAL, thank you for making the release of Vicious Cycle so amazing and for all your promotional help on the series.
To my supportive street team, Ashley’s Angels, your enthusiasm, encouragement, and support mean the world to me. Thanks for loving me and my characters so much!
Kim Bias: Thanks for being my handler once again and checking in daily to make sure the book was coming along. Thanks for all your help making Rev and Annabel’s story the best it could be. I appreciate your support and friendship!
Marion Archer, my wonderful friend and editor from Down Under, you know I cannot put a book out without it first being seen by your eyes and having your plotting magic worked on it. Thank you for working me in with my extreme procrastination and writer’s block! Love ya hard!
Cris Hadarly: Thanks for being such a dedicated friend and book supporter. I couldn’t make it in this business without you! Thanks for the fan art and promotion for my books.
Jen Gerchick, Jen Oreto, and Shannon Furhman: Words are inadequate to say how much I appreciate your friendship and support. You guys are the best book pimpers ever!
Michelle Eck and Karen Everett: Thanks for all your help on making Vicious Cycle and this series a success.
&n
bsp; To all my author buddies who are too numerous to list: I love you hard for your friendship and support!
The ladies of the Hot Ones and Smutty Mafia: You have my eternal love and admiration!
PROLOGUE
The whirring sound of his mother’s ancient hand mixer drew Nathaniel’s attention away from his homework. He sniffed the chocolate-scented air appreciatively. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as his younger brother, Benjamin, leaned on the counter, eyeing the mixture and waiting for just the right moment to stick his finger in and get a taste of the icing.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” his mother said, with an amused smile.
“But you said we could lick the spoon,” Ben protested.
“That’s if you get your homework done.”
With an exasperated sigh, Benjamin trudged across the worn linoleum floor and back to his chair next to Nathaniel. After he flopped down, he reluctantly took up his pencil.
“There. This one is done,” his mother announced. She had just put the final touches on one of the chocolate cakes she had spent the better part of the afternoon baking. He and Benjamin would have to wait until she was completely finished to devour the remaining icing.
His mother glanced over at Nathaniel. “Honey, would you do me a huge favor and run this down to Miss Mae’s?”
“Sure.” He rose from his chair and went over to the counter. “But you better save some of the icing for me.”
Smiling, she reached over and ruffled his hair. “Of course I will.” After putting the cake into a container, she thrust it into Nathaniel’s arms. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
He headed out the kitchen door and down the back steps. Mae Sanders lived three houses up the road from them on the right. All twelve of the houses in the semicircular lane, or compound, as people called it, belonged to members of his father’s church. At the top of the hill sat the old cotton mill office that now housed Soul Harbor, the church where his father was the pastor.
Carefully balancing the cake tray in his hands, Nathaniel made his way up Miss Mae’s flower-lined front walk and then up the three steps onto the porch. After he pounded on the door, it swung open. But it wasn’t the blue-haired, grandmotherly Miss Mae standing there. Instead, it was the tall, lanky figure of Kurt Miller, one of the homeless men from his father’s church whom Miss Mae had taken on to help her with work around the house. She had a soft spot for the less fortunate and always had one or two people living with her.
“Well, if it isn’t Nate the Great,” Kurt said, with a wide smile.
Nathaniel felt his cheeks warm under the attention. No one at church ever paid much attention to him. Compared to his two rambunctious brothers, he was quiet, the well-behaved and obedient one. But since Kurt had arrived two weeks ago, he had gone out of his way to make Nathaniel feel special.
Amusement flickered in Kurt’s dark eyes. “You brought me a cake? But it isn’t even my birthday.”
Shaking his head, Nathaniel replied, “No, my mama sent it to Miss Mae to take to the VFW for bingo night.”
Kurt stroked his chin. “That’s right. Tonight is bingo night.” Stretching his arms wide, he motioned for Nathaniel to come in. “She just left for the beauty shop and won’t be back for an hour. But you can leave the cake for her so you don’t have to make two trips.”
“Okay, thanks,” Nathaniel replied as he stepped over the threshold. All the houses in the compound were alike, so he knew the way to the kitchen. They had once been part of the row houses belonging to the cotton mill before it had gone out of business.
After setting the cake on the counter, Nathaniel turned to go, but Kurt stopped him. “What’s your rush?”
Nathaniel shrugged. “Just need to get back to my homework.”
“Ah, it ain’t goin’ nowhere. Why don’t you sit down for a minute?”
Even though he knew a spoonful of chocolate icing was awaiting him at home, Nathaniel felt it would be rude if he refused to sit for just a minute. Or at least his mama would think it was rude, and the last thing he wanted was to disappoint her.
After easing down into one of the straight-backed kitchen chairs, he looked expectantly at Kurt.
“How about something to drink?” Kurt asked.
“Um, okay. Sure.”
“How’s school?” Kurt asked as his footsteps creaked along the worn floorboards.
“It’s fine. Got all As,” Nathaniel replied.
“Good for you.” With his back to Nathaniel, Kurt glanced at him over his shoulder. “Got a girlfriend?”
Fiery embarrassment filled Nathaniel’s cheeks. “N-No, I—I don’t,” he stammered in reply.
“Don’t worry about it. With your looks, in a few years the girls will be all over you.”
“I hope. I mean, I guess I want them to be,” Nathaniel murmured. He couldn’t imagine a girl ever being interested in him, and he was too shy to talk to them. He wished he could be more like his older brother, David. At fourteen, he always had a steady girlfriend, with others waiting in the wings.
Kurt set a mug down in front of Nathaniel. “Here’s some coffee to warm you up before you have to head back out into the cold.”
Nathaniel fought the urge to protest that his mother didn’t allow him to drink coffee, as he was afraid of looking uncool in front of someone like Kurt. So he took the mug and blew ripples across the dark surface of the steaming liquid. When he thought it wouldn’t burn his tongue, he took a sip.
Wrinkling his nose, Nathaniel eased the mug away from his lips. He surveyed the contents curiously. “This sure doesn’t taste like coffee.”
“I put a little nip of Jack in there,” Kurt replied, with a wink.
Nathaniel widened his eyes. “You put . . . alcohol in my coffee?”
“Sure. Why not? I was your age when I had my first drink.”
As Nathaniel continued studying the mug, he could feel the familiar tug of his conscience that happened whenever the angel and the devil on his shoulder waged war against each other. He was pretty sure his mother would fall to her knees in prayer for him if she knew, and then his father would tan his hide. Even though he should’ve poured out the mug’s contents, he couldn’t help wanting to taste a little more. “You won’t tell, will you?” he questioned in a whisper.
Kurt flashed him a toothy smile. “ ’Course not.” He nodded at the mug. “Drink up. Make it count.”
Shrugging away his doubt, Nathaniel took several more hearty sips. The more he drank, the more terrible the mixture tasted. He didn’t want to have any more, but Kurt urged him on. Once he had finished it, he set the empty mug down on the table.
“How do you feel?” Kurt asked.
Furrowing his brow, Nathaniel tried to make sense of what was happening to him. His head felt like it might fly away from his body. Within seconds, the room started spinning like it had the time he’d been caged in on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair. He’d desperately wanted to get off, but he’d been forced to endure the entire ride. At the moment, he wanted to stop the way his body was feeling.
A cold hand on his cheek caused him to jump. “Nathaniel, how are you feeling?”
“I . . . I can’t make it stop,” he murmured, his eyelids fluttering closed.
“Don’t try to.”
The next thing he knew, his body was being lifted out of the chair. He was dragged into Miss Mae’s bedroom. After the door slammed and locked behind him, his face was forced down onto Miss Mae’s frilly pink comforter.
“What . . . are . . . you . . . doing?” he questioned. It was a struggle getting each word out.
When hands fumbled with the button of his jeans, he tried to push them away. “I’m going to make you feel good, Nathaniel.” Kurt’s voice came from behind him.
Nathaniel didn’t want to feel good. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to be in the safety of his kitchen, arguing with Benjamin over who got more icing.
As he faded in and out of a dark, shadowy consciousness, harsh
hands roamed over his body. Just when he thought things couldn’t be any worse, pain like he had never experienced tore through him. Tears welled in his eyes, then streaked down his cheeks. His suffering seemed to go on and on, and he began to fear that it would never end.
But then, through the hellish haze, he heard someone come through the front door. From the loud clomp of the boots on the floorboard, he knew it was his father. His mother must’ve sent his dad to look for him. Just as he got the strength to raise his head to call for help, Kurt’s hand clamped over his mouth. His harsh whisper came at Nathaniel’s ear. “If you even think about screaming, I’ll cut your throat and all of your family’s. You got me?”
Nathaniel wanted desperately to scream. He wanted the nightmare, the pain, the humiliation to end. And yet even though he didn’t care whether he lived or died, he didn’t want anything to happen to his family.
But when his father didn’t appear at the door, Nathaniel let his hope die. He buried his face in the soft folds of Miss Mae’s comforter and wept. At the sound of a loud bang, he jerked his head up.
His father stood in the doorway. The unadulterated horror mixed with rage on his face caused Nathaniel to shudder with fear. He barely had time to brace himself for his father’s wrath before the gun came up and a blast came out of it so loud that the windows rattled.
And then, as his father called his name in a ragged breath, Nathaniel realized he had just traded one hell for another.
ONE
REV
THE PRESENT
I came awake to find someone shaking the hell out of me. Flipping open my eyelids to escape my tormented unconsciousness, I stared up into the concerned blue eyes of my brother Bishop. His hands gripped my shoulders so tightly I figured there would be marks. “What the fuck, man?” I questioned, slinging him away.
He tumbled back on the mattress. “You were having one hell of a nightmare.”
I sighed and rubbed my shoulders where his hands had been. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I want to wake up to your ugly mug with morning breath in my face,” I replied, trying to ease the palpable tension in the air.
