He’s everything I hate. And he’s going to break me.
I thought I could take the law into my hands. I was wrong.
When I trespassed in the territory of the FBI’s most wanted, I thought I’d earn respect, maybe even a promotion. Instead, I was caught.
He’s going to strip me of everything -- my clothes, my pride, my limits. He’s going to make me endure shameful punishment and worse than that, pleasure.
I can’t help myself.
I’m falling in love with a monster.
Everything about him is just plain… criminal.
The girl in the vent makes the most adorable attempt at escape as I yank the grate off, grab her by the arm, and pull her out in one swift motion which sends her tumbling into my arms. A burst of hot air follows the cute little cork who has been stopping up the AC. Her squeal of shock as I yank her out of her hiding place is matched with the most gorgeous look of sheer terror. Makes my cock immediately hard.
Now, who is this?
Someone beautiful. She has dark silky hair, almond shaped brown eyes which hold fear and fire in equal measure. Her face has the kind of symmetry you see in models, but I doubt that vent spontaneously became a cute model vending machine.
I rake my eyes over her trembling body, searching for clues. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater. Could be a cop? No. Cops are cookie cutter. Height restrictions. Intelligence restrictions. They only take a certain kind of person to be a cop, the obedient kind, and there’s nothing obedient about this girl. Federal? Maybe. If she is, she’s a rookie, and she’s way out of her league. It doesn’t really matter what she is, or who she is, because she’s about to disappear.
“Jesus,” Brava grunts, getting up to look at her. Her reaction to him is one of visceral disgust. I see it in the curl of her upper lips and the squinting of her eyes, the way she tries to pull away from him. It only makes him get closer to her.
He takes a deep breath, sniffs her hair and extends his tongue to place a long, wet lick on her cheek. I literally feel the disgust shiver through her body.
“That’s enough,” I growl, pushing him away. “She’s mine. Find your own girl to lick.”
She shoots me a grateful look and tilts her head to wipe her face on her shoulder, then incredulity takes over.
“How did you find me?” She stammers the question, like I just pulled a magic trick.
How? The question is amusing. She either doesn’t know who I am, or she doesn’t understand me at all. I’m guessing it’s the former and the latter. My world is dangerous. There’s no such thing as a friend, only someone who hasn’t betrayed you yet. I survive by wit and instinct, and my senses are heightened like no other. I’m always aware of my surroundings. I can feel a gun being drawn across a room, so of course having that pair of pretty eyes staring at me through that crevice drew my attention. I knew she was there two seconds after I entered the room. She’s been distracting me this whole time, and I can’t afford a distraction. Or a loose end.
“I’ll take her,” I tell the cowering asshole behind the desk. “But this isn’t the end of things between you and me. You still owe me.”
“Y… you can’t do this.” She pipes up again.
She doesn’t sound very sure of that statement. Of course I can do this. I can do anything. I can do things other men wouldn’t think of doing, and things they would never dare do.
I don’t dignify her comment with a response. A hard look tells her everything she needs to know. She tries to hold my gaze defiantly and in the few seconds before she drops her gaze, I get a little glimpse into what’s hiding at the very core of her soul.
Good. She should be.
It's just as well Loki Renard became an author because other career paths proved disastrous. She was once thrown out of someone's house for trying to sell them citrus based cleaning product, and her brief brush with corporate life ended when she wrote profiles for her fellow employees likening them to various feral animals then attempted to negotiate the idea of not coming into the office and getting paid anyway. Perhaps if she'd had the dedication to slug herself in the face a la Fight Club, things might have turned out differently.
USA Today Bestselling author Jane has been writing since her early teens, dabbling in short stories and poetry. When she married and began having children, her pen was laid to rest for several years, until the National Novel Writing Challenge (NaNoWriMo) in 2010 awakened in her the desire to write again. That year, she wrote her first novel, and has been writing ever since. With a houseful of children, she finds time to write in the early hours of the morning, squirreled away with a laptop, blanket, and cup of hot coffee. Years ago, she heard the wise advice, “Write the book you want to read,” and has taken it to heart. She sincerely hopes you also enjoy the books she likes to read.