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Prologue
Jaxon
I can see her through the small crack in the door before I even enter my office. Hunched over my desk with the light shining through the window directly on her, she sits in my chair as she goes through my laptop, looking for what I already told her she would never find. My body stiffens as anger pulses through me. What the fuck does she think she’s doing? And what annoys me even more is her stupidity. Why do this when she knows I’m going to be home? And why not shut the door?
Unless she wants to be caught.
Unless she wants me to know what she’s doing. For someone who claims to be so bright, she sure can be stupid. My body tenses as I run my gaze over her. I’ve owned every inch of that body. I’ve done things to it that she should feel ashamed of. A smile brushes my lips as I remember the night before, her petite body under me, fulfilling my every filthy need. I’m going to miss her.
“Something I can help you with?”
She jumps at the sound of my voice, her green eyes growing wide with fear. Only I don’t believe it’s really fear. This woman has proved herself cold and calculated…a female version of me. I struggle to believe that anything would upset her.
“Jaxon,” she breathes. “I didn’t think you were home.”
I laugh, my hands deep in my pockets as I stroll across the room toward her. Bullshit. As much as I love this woman, I don’t believe a word of what comes out of her mouth. She tenses as I near her, the fact that I still cause that kind of reaction thrills me. She thinks I won’t hurt her because of our history?
Big mistake, princess. I’ll destroy anyone who gets in my way. Even those I love.
“You knew I was home, yet here you are in my office, doing the one thing I told you not to do.”
I feel strangely calm as I stand behind the chair she sits in, slowly running my hand down the curve of her neck. She sighs as my fingers trail inside her low-cut shirt, cupping her bare breast in the palm of my hand. Her body responds to my touch, her nipple hardening as I squeeze it between my fingers. My mouth closes on her earlobe and I bite down. Hard.
“You’re hurting me,” she gasps, trying to pull away. I grasp her harder, my cock tightening against the constraint of my pants. She likes the game as much as I do.
“You think you know pain, Brynne? Trust me when I say this: You know nothing. But if you keep this up, I guarantee you will regret it.” My voice is soft and controlled. I spin the chair so she faces me.
Leaning down, I wrap my fingers around her neck as her wide eyes fill with surprise. She panics as I increase the pressure until I can feel her blood pumping against my thumb. How easy it would be to snap that pretty little neck. I smirk, a feeling of satisfaction rushing through me as something I’ve longed to see fills her eyes.
Fear.
She’s scared. And she should be. She knows all too well how this works. She has every reason to fear me, but even then she’s underestimating my determination.
Because she has no idea how far I’ll go to protect my past.
Chapter 1
Charlotte
“Char!”
I look up and see Jess madly waving at me from the middle of the crowded bar. Walking past the well-stocked bar that lines the entire far wall of the converted warehouse, I head toward their table in the center of the room. I’m impressed with Jess’s choice of establishment. The trendy little place has much more class than I’m used to. It’s much better than the seedy sports bars Nick used to drag me to. That guy’s idea of a romantic night out was me eating nachos while I watched him and his friends scream at an oversized television.
I weave my way through the crowd, feeling underdressed in my faded jeans and fitted powder blue top. I should have known Jess would pick somewhere like this. Somehow, she and Dee managed to score a table on a night when it feels like all of LA is here. I laugh as she practically climbs on Dee’s shoulders, trying to get my attention, as Dee grumbles, trying to shrug her off. I put my hand up to let her know I’ve seen them, then head over to the bar to order a drink.
After the day I’ve had, getting drunk seems like a damn good option.
“What can I do for you, honey?” the bartender drawls.
The edges of his mouth curl up into a smile as his eyes roam over the low cut of my shirt and back up to my face. I push a loose strand of chocolate brown hair back behind my ear and shake my head. He’s making it very obvious what he’s thinking, and I’m not interested in the slightest. He’s cute—and probably the type I’d usually go for, with his dark hair and mysterious eyes—but the last thing I need in my life right now is a guy.
It’s been exactly two weeks since Nick broke up with me—or, more accurately, since I walked in on him fucking our neighbor. Naked and on top of her, he still tried to convince me that it wasn’t what it looked like. Apparently they couldn’t even make it to the bedroom, opting for the kitchen counter instead. I didn’t stick around to hear his excuses. Three years gone, just like that. It’s only during the last few days that he’s finally gotten the message that I have no desire to try to salvage our relationship.
“A dry white, thanks,” I say to the bartender, giving him a tight smile. I turn my attention to the crowd in the bar, which is my subtle way of letting him know I’m not interested in him or small talk.
“One dry white.” He smirks, pushing the glass acr
oss the counter. I hand him a bill and take my drink, not bothering to wait for my change.
I move swiftly through the body of people and over to the girls, slumping into the chair they’ve saved for me. My body language immediately alerts them to my bad mood and they exchange a look. It’s a look I see from them often; they know me all too well. I roll my eyes, not wanting their pity.
I’ve known Jess and Dee since we were fourteen years old. We attended West Meadows High School together, and somehow our friendship has survived the past ten years and is now stronger than ever. I’d do anything for them, and I know they’d do anything for me.
“Bad day?” Jess asks sympathetically, reaching across the table for my hand. They’ve been extra sweet to me since the breakup, even though I tell them over and over that I’m fine. And I am—mostly. “You had job interviews, right?”
I nod with a sigh. “The usual. ‘We’ll call you.’ But they never do.”
“They will. You just need to stay positive,” she encourages, reaching for my hand. “You’re going to make a damn good journalist when someone finally gives you a chance. What about the paper where you interned? That was a big one, right?”
I snort at her terminology. The LA Times is more than just “a big one.” It’s a dream for any up-and-coming journalist. Especially me. I’d do anything to work there. Hell, I’d do anything if it meant securing a job at any newspaper.
“They’ve thrown me the odd story, but they don’t have any entry-level work, and I’m not experienced enough for any of their senior roles.” I shrug, pretending it doesn’t bother me when it does. It hurts to be constantly overlooked, but I guess that’s what I get for choosing such a competitive career. The sheer number of graduates applying for the same positions I am is the reason I also majored in digital management. If I have an edge over my competitors, I have to catch a break eventually, right?
