Page 1 of Shatter

Prologue

Harrison

Anxiety skitters like angry ants just under my skin. I'm uneasy, off-kilter, and I know exactly why. Watching my friends and co-owners pair up and start happy little families is a slap-in-the-face reminder of what I'll never have.

Because I don't want one.

I don't want a woman, a family, or someone to rely on me. I imagine asking a woman out, dating, moving someone into my flat, and adrenaline courses through me. Absolutely fucking not.

When we started The Envelope, I was under the assumption we'd all be alone until old age. Declan was too angry at the world, and Daniel so in love with a ghost that he'd never move on.

Now they've both partnered up and have children. Children that I love like my own – because I know I'll never have any.

It's better that way.

So, why am I so anxious? My fight-or-flight instincts kicked in earlier today, as if they know something's coming and this is just the calm before the storm. The electricity in the air when a storm is on the horizon.

I loosen my tie and join Declan and Daniel at our table. The girls are having a sleepover tonight at Declan's house with the kids, so it's just us at The Envelope.

I know both of them are going to duck out early to be home with their families, and a part of me wants to resent them for it, but I can't. They both deserve happiness.

Their women have been folded into The Envelope family beautifully and Serenity and Penelope are my sisters in every way except blood. I learned early on that blood doesn’t mean much when it comes to family.

We opened The White Envelope as a safe members’-only club that allows people to explore their sexuality and any kinks they may have in a safe, controlled environment. Hefty membership fees, background checks, NDAs and detailed consent forms allow members to play in an environment they know they can feel safe in.

After a round of greetings and back slapping, I sit, and before long, a whiskey is placed in front of me by a new female bartender.

She leans farther forward than is necessary, giving me a direct line of sight down the buttons of her blouse where her large tits make an appearance.

Unfortunately, she's barking up the wrong tree. I don't like flirts or forward women. I like the chase; the hunt. I like the impersonality of it. I don’t take my clothes off. The woman doesn’t either.

I scan the room and find a few of my regular pets. They know what they're getting into. I like to hunt; they like to be hunted. We both get off and go our separate ways, satisfied until the next Primal night.

Which has been less and less lately, if I’m being honest with myself.

Tonight is primal night. Maybe that's why my blood is simmering. I search for that need to hunt but it’s nearly non-existent. I’m bored.

My eyes scan the room again, wondering if there are any new pets I could explore. Maybe that’s what I need – to change things up. My eyes snag on a familiar pair of blue eyes. Blue eyes I'd know anywhere. Blue eyes half of the world knows. They sit atop cherubic pink cheeks dotted with a constellation of freckles and are framed by curly honey-blonde hair. She looks otherworldly. Like a cherub and an angel. And she's in my fucking club.

On primal night.

It's the last fucking place she should be.

Now I understand what my nervous system was trying to tell me. This is my worst fucking nightmare. One my even my fucked-up mind could have conjured.

"Abso-fucking-lutely not," I growl under my breath as I push from the table too quickly, causing my chair to topple over behind me. The sound of wood hitting tile is loud, even in The Green Room where sultry music pumps through the speakers creating an intimate atmosphere. I couldn't care less.

Her eyes widen as I approach, as does her smile. She's not surprised. She knew I'd be here. Of course I am; it's my club. But what the fuck is she doing here? What the fuck is she thinking?

Fury roars through my veins, and I'm pretty sure I'm growling. My fists clench and my muscles ache.

I storm up to her, gripping her arm tightly before she can get further into the club. She shouldn’t be here. She should be nowhere near the sinfulness happening behind closed doors here. But then I scold myself for not being gentler with her. I force my fingers to relax, even as I pull her down the hall, away from depravity and to my office.

She smiles up at me, faking coy. "Well, hi there, Harry," her voice is a deep purr, like thick honey drizzled over ice cream. I'm ashamed to admit it causes goosebumps to spread down my arms. Even as I scowl down at her. No one dares call me a nickname except the woman stumbling behind me.

I push her inside my office before finally allowing myself the outburst I need and slamming the door so hard it rattles. She flinches. Fuck. Guilt sinks into my stomach. She's just a child. Even if she's technically twenty-five.

I give her a wide berth as I round my desk, flatten my palms against the top, hang my head, and breathe. I need to get under some semblance of control before I do or say something I regret.