Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  “We’re all driving once we get to the cars,” he reminds me, his voice unnaturally clear as the wind buffets around me, pulling me toward the door even as it tries to shove me deeper into the belly of the chopper. “And I’d rather be behind the controls than jumping out.”

  I glance at my phone again, sliding the little circle on the video replay back. There’s the white truck again. I can make out his silhouette, but only barely. It’s brighter in the air than it was on land. Dusk already fell. I narrow my eyes at the video, watching as the truck pulls forward.

  There. A movement, breaking the flat line of the seat beside him.

  As if someone had been crouched low to hide from the cameras, bobbing up a second too early. Who the fuck is in the truck with him? I’m afraid I already know. My gut was legendary in the navy. It’s not about a magical sixth sense. It’s a culmination of all my tactical knowledge and hands-on experience. A million different data points coalesced into a single decision—safety or danger. Life or death.

  “Hell,” I say.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Take me back to the compound,” I say, biting out the words. Except they’re already gone. Even at 150 knots it’s going to take twenty minutes. They already have a head start, and there’s only one place they would go, especially without telling me. Into the city.

  To practice that safe sex you told her about, my mind says helpfully.

  Jesus.

  “Sir?” comes Jeff’s voice. He wouldn’t normally question an order, but this isn’t exactly a mission. If I stay quiet another two seconds, he’s going to turn the chopper around no matter what.

  “Belay that,” I say, my voice harsher than I intend. “Keep going.”

  “Yes, sir,” he says, which is basically the same as asking what the fuck I’m thinking.

  I honestly have no idea. Why the fuck is she going into the city right now? The answer is simple: to put the safe sex talk into action.

  Which means she could be hooking up with some frat boy right now.

  All I can see is red when I think of some asshole in a club thinking Samantha’s an easy target. It would be easy to blame Laney for being a bad influence or Cody for helping her sneak out, but Samantha’s a smart girl. She knows how dangerous the world can be. There’s a fucking reason she isn’t allowed to drive around without an escort. But I haven’t told her every single reason. That’s on me.

  Yeah, I’ll take this jump, but I have no intention of tracking down a dollar bill.

  “Tell the boys not to wait up for me,” I say. That’s the last thing I get out before I step off the helicopter floor. The wind holds me tight in its grasp, sucking the air out of my lungs. I’m twisted and turned, and I let my body drift through it.

  Adrenaline surges through my veins, but I save it, save it, save it. That’s for later, when I find Samantha somewhere in the city. And whatever fucker thinks he can put his hands on her.

  SAMANTHA

  Bass reverberates through rusted metal and torn leather. The truck pulls to a slow stop around the corner from the club, hiding in the shadow of an abandoned warehouse.

  “I don’t like this,” Cody says, gripping the steering wheel like he’s forcing himself to keep it still. He looks about two seconds away from kicking the gear into drive and taking us home.

  “Of course you don’t like it,” Laney says, fighting to open the door. It fights right back, struggling to keep her inside as if it’s an extension of Cody’s will. She gives it a kick with her black heels, and the door finally springs open with a bereaved grunt. “You don’t like anything fun.”

  “We’re only going for an hour,” I say quickly before Cody can change his mind.

  Cody lives with his father in an apartment in town. His father isn’t around much, which is probably a good thing. Most nights he’s in a bar starting a fight.

  And spending the next day in lockup.

  Laney’s mother works for North Security. She’s on the Red Team, the most active group of soldiers, so Laney stays on the compound more often than not. The three of us made up a strange little band of friends, despite our many differences. Like the fact that Cody has in-out privileges at the gates without needing a security escort. That comes from doing work after school on the compound. Ironic, since he’s the only one of us who doesn’t live there.

  “Why did I agree to this?” Cody mutters, more to himself than to me. “Your parents probably know a hundred ways to kill someone. And they’re definitely going to kill me.”

  “No, they’re not, because they’re not going to find out.” Laney slams the door shut and then smiles sweetly through the dusty window, posing as if for a camera.

  I hide a wince in the back seat. It’s not a very well-kept secret that Cody has had a crush on Laney since the day they met. That’s not exactly Laney’s fault. She can’t help the fact that he has a crush, but she does seem to take a certain delight in tormenting him.

  “I’ll make sure she’s safe,” I promise, stepping out into the cool night.

  “Hell,” Cody says, and I close the door against the ache in his voice. He wants to be the one escorting her into a nightclub like the line of couples behind a velvet rope. Not as part of a secret night out and definitely not as our designated driver.

  “You’re mean,” I whisper as Laney links our arms together.

  “Maybe,” she says, sounding a little sad. “But this is for his own good.”

  “I still think we should tell him what we’re doing.”

  “He would never have driven us here if he knew.”

  Laney tosses her hair back, marching right up to the bouncer, bypassing the line of people. “Hey, sweetheart. We’re looking for a good time.”

  The man has arms the size of my head. He looks intimidating, and considering I live in a sprawling complex that houses armed mercenaries, that’s saying something. His dark gaze sweeps down Laney’s body, leaving no doubt that he’s weighing what he’s seeing.

  My impromptu blouse and short shorts might look sassy enough to get into a club, but her red dress is the star of the show.

  “What’s your name?” he asks.

  “The name’s Jennifer,” she lies.

  “Sure it is,” he says, stepping aside to let us in. “I go on break in thirty.”

  Laney waves at him as we slip past.

  “How are we going to find this guy?” I shout to be heard over the thump thump thump. Someone stamps my hand, and then I’m shoved into a sea of people.

  Bodies move me back and forth, interchangeable, indistinguishable. My stomach clenches. I’ve never been around this many people at once. Strobe lights flash over the blinding white smile of a woman. The heavy-lidded eyes of a man. Writhing bodies that make plain the kind of sexual knowledge I could only pretend earlier, humping my pillow alone.

  Chapter Ten

  The word “music” comes from the word “muse” in Greek. The Muses were daughters to Zeus and Mnemosyne, and protected the arts, including writing, dance, and music.

  SAMANTHA

  The front looks like a warehouse with a bar installed. Laney slips a wad of hundreds to a bouncer, and we wind up in the VIP section in the back.

  Once we slip past the red velvet curtain, the scene changes completely. Deep leather couches create little islands for people to talk… or other, more physical activity. Raised sections of the floor surrounded by a metal railing put on a show.

  “Women only,” the bouncer says, nodding to the platform.

  “Sweet,” Laney says, grabbing my hand. “Let’s dance.”

  I linger near the entrance, reluctant to be the center of attention. There are other women dancing, and Laney was right about one thing—my impromptu outfit doesn’t look out of place. “We’re not here to dance,” I say. Laney is crazy smart, but she’s like a hummingbird, drifting from flower to flower, her body held in suspension only because of how fast she moves.

  She snorts. “Yeah, sure. Let’s stand at the door asking
every person whether they’re going to sell us incriminating photos. We’re trying to appear normal, remember?”

  That’s enough to push me up the short steps to join the other women. I can be normal, damn it. I can do normal things like dance in front of a bunch of men I don’t know in what basically amounts to my underwear… Acid rises in my throat. Oh God, I can’t do this.

  I’ve never heard the song that plays over the speakers, loud enough that the bass reverberates in my bones. That’s just another sign that I’m not actually normal. I can name the composer in a handful of opening notes for most classical music, but I don’t know what’s popular on the radio right now.

  A man reclines on the black leather, his skin a sharp contrast to the shadows, his gaze locked on mine. Most of the men are looking at the bodies in motion. He’s looking at me—with amusement.

  Panic wraps itself around my throat, and I close my eyes against the strobe lights.

  The darkness settles over me, and I can block out the dancing around me and the men surrounding us. It doesn’t matter that I don’t know the song. I know the beat. The notes. The rhythm. Music is a universal language, and it speaks through me now, moving my hips in time.

  In the best moments I don’t move the bow or the strings. It’s they who move me the way they need. That’s what happens now, a kind of perfect passivity. The bass takes hold of me. My body reacts to the overt sexuality of the lyrics, turning warm and then hot, molten by the time the track thump thumps its way to transition to a new song.

  I open my eyes and realize that Laney’s watching me, her eyes wide. And she’s not the only one. “I didn’t know you could dance,” she says, something like awe in her voice.

  Heat rushes my cheeks. “I can’t.”

  That makes her laugh, almost a euphoric sound, one that expresses the freedom that I feel in every breath after being caged for so long. “You should see yourself.”

  I can’t help but grin back. “You’re a maniac.”

  “Back atcha,” she says, throwing her arms around me for a hug.

  “I’m going to look around,” I say as I squeeze her back.

  There is no one more loyal or caring than Laney, but she’s already distracted by the music, shaking her booty with another woman when I duck beneath the railing.

  I glimpse broad shoulders in the crowd, and my heart skips a beat.

  It can’t be Liam, of course. He doesn’t know I sneaked off the property. He doesn’t know what club I’m in or that we paid our way into the VIP section, but that doesn’t stop the worry from bumping through my veins. Swallowing hard, I force myself to skirt the edges of the room, looking for someone who might be looking for me.

  Laney is right about one thing—we can’t stand at the door asking every person whether they’re going to sell us incriminating photos. Only about half of the clubgoers are dancing.

  The other half are standing around, looking sexy and faintly dangerous.

  Then I glance up at a dark balcony. There are no dancing people up there. Only a single man wearing a black button-down shirt and dark jeans. I recognize him as the one who watched me dance before. He could be any one of the men come to pick up girls, but he surveys the club with a sense of proprietorship, as if he’s above it all.

  His dark gaze meets mine, and an eyebrow arches in challenge.

  I feel my cheeks flush. Is this how I would react to anyone flirting with me? Except I have the sense that he isn’t flirting. At least, not only that. There’s a sense that he’s waiting to see whether I’ll react. Like maybe he’s looking for the buyer to incriminating photos.

  Circling the edge of the room I find a black spiral staircase with a thin metal railing. It leads me up to the balcony, where he remains with his forearms on the rail.

  “What’s your name?” this man asks.

  “Samantha,” I say before realizing that I could have made something up.

  North Security is located in Kingston, Texas, a small town that had plenty of undeveloped land for Liam to purchase twenty years ago. There are endless hills for his obstacle courses as well as natural features like lakes and cliffs and even caves.

  People in Kingston know the ex-military men who visit the security company. Sometimes they even know Samantha Brooks, the violinist who appears in newspaper articles.

  We’re in Austin right now, the city with a sprawling college campus and state government buildings and a bubbling tech industry. There’s no way anyone would know who I am. Except that he gives me a slight, knowing smile.

  “Samantha. You look different than the pictures online.” There’s nothing but ordinary lust in his eyes as his gaze dips to my silk blouse and the flushed skin it reveals.

  “You’re the one with the photos?”

  That same slight smile. “Let me get you a drink.”

  I narrow my eyes. I’m the one who’s going to be giving him money tonight, not the other way around. “Are you the person I’m looking for or not?”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “Not as far as I could throw you.”

  He laughs. “Smart girl.”

  I glance back at the platform, but I can only see a flash of Laney’s dark hair. She’s clearly enjoying herself, and I have no desire to put a damper on that. Besides, I don’t need her to make this exchange. I can do this and prove that I’m an adult. That I don’t need Liam North. Knots tighten in my stomach, because he would be furious if he knew I was here right now.

  Which is exactly why I need to do this. My imagination may not stretch that far, but I need to solve my own problems. Maybe then I’ll be able to move past this completely inappropriate and unrequited crush. Then I can move on to a quiet, boring life of endless practice, alone, alone, alone, playing the violin until my fingers fall off.

  Chapter Eleven

  Baritone Leonard Warren died onstage at the Met in 1960 just as he had finished singing Verdi's “Morir, Tremenda Cosi,” which means “To Die, a Momentous Thing.”

  LIAM

  Once I hit the ground, it takes twenty minutes to get to the drop point.

  A row of luxury cars stands at attention—an orange McLaren, a red Ferrari, a yellow Lamborghini. Hassan is already there, holding up a dollar bill and grinning at me. His smile slips when he sees my expression.

  “Something happen, boss?”

  He means did something happen with the Red Team or one of the other men. Something life or death. Samantha sneaking out at night doesn’t qualify, even if it feels that way in the heavy beat in my chest. “No, but I’m going to head out before the rest of the guys make it. I’ll catch up with you tonight.”

  He still looks concerned. “You sure?”

  “Positive.” I don’t want to disrupt the bachelor party any more than I will by leaving early. More than that, I don’t want any witnesses for what’s going to happen next.

  Mostly because I have no idea what’s going to happen next. I’m a man who makes a plan and sticks to it. There are contingencies built in at every step. No surprises.

  And somehow, somehow I’m fucking surprised.

  I decide to take a rebuilt silver Rolls-Royce Phantom because it’s the least ostentatious of the group, which isn’t saying much. The keys are hidden under the back wheel in a little case I know to be fireproof and highly secure. Luckily I already know the combination—I study the shape of the back; 1956, the year this car was manufactured, though not the year it was sold.

  That’s what Josh would pick.

  Sure enough, the case opens to a plain silver key.

  I’m driving down the dirt road when Josh and another man make it over the crest, their silhouettes in my rearview mirror. Hassan will let them know that I’ve tapped out, and I have no doubt that they’ll enjoy the evening on North Security’s corporate credit card.

  Cody answers the phone in two rings. There’s a pause. Then, “Yes, sir?”

  He’s not officially under my command, not the way the ex-military men and women are on payroll.
He does work for the company after school. Mostly he purchases supplies for the house and helps me build the training courses.

  So there’s no reason he needs to call me sir, but he does anyway.

  I’ve always found it endearing.

  Now I have to grit my teeth against the urge to swear at him.

  “Where are you?” I ask instead.

  A pause. “Sir?”

  “I assume you’re still with them. I know that even if you were stupid enough to sneak the girls off the compound, you would never leave them alone where anything could happen. Right, Cody?”

  A longer pause this time, one I imagine he’s going to break by blaming the girls for making him help them or try to play it off like it’s no big deal. Stronger men than him have cried when I use this tone. Give me the right answer or they’ll never find the body, that’s what this tone means.

  “No, sir,” he says slowly, and I have to give him credit. He sounds resigned to his fate, but he isn’t buckling. “I’m right here waiting for them, outside Club Melody.”

  “Don’t move,” I tell him before hanging up. “Not an inch.”

  He can follow an order, at the very least. He’s parked on the other side of the street from the club. Laney’s sitting on the back of his truck, legs dangling over. Both of them have a worried expression, which kicks my latent panic into high gear. I’ve been trying to reassure myself that teenagers go out at night all the damn time.

  But the solemn expressions of Cody and Laney make me want to radio in every single team under my command and declare a fucking war.

  “Where is she?”

  Cody swallows. “Inside the club. At least I’m pretty sure.”

  “It’s my fault,” Laney says, putting her hand on his arm. “I’m the one who wanted to go out, who convinced Samantha to come with me. And she was right there. We were dancing in the back, the VIP section. She took a break. I thought she was going to get a drink or something.”