Tied to His Betrayal Read online

  Tied to His Betrayal is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Stacey Kennedy

  Excerpt from Restrained Under His Duty by Stacey Kennedy copyright © 2016 by Stacey Kennedy

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Restrained Under His Duty by Stacey Kennedy. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  Ebook ISBN 9781101885666

  Cover design: Okay Creations

  Cover photograph: AS Inc/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Stacey Kennedy

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Restrained Under His Duty

  Chapter 1

  Darius

  I want a gun. A loaded, cold steel gun that I can wrap my fingers around and pull the trigger, taking a man down in the blink of an eye.

  I’m considering where to get this gun as I’m staring at the only woman I’ve ever loved. At Taylor Erickson’s beaten face. She’s right there within my reach, standing on the other side of the front door of Allie Parker, my half-sister’s condo. Taylor’s light hazel eyes are locked on mine, collapsing the stability and strength of my world.

  Minutes ago, I was enjoying Saturday night dinner with Allie and her boyfriend, Micah Holt. Now I can’t move. I’m not even sure I’m breathing. I don’t know how long Taylor and I have been in a staring contest that I won’t ever lose. All I know is every bruise on her face, burning them into my memory so I can repeat these marks on whoever hurt her. “The man who did this to you,” I hiss through my teeth, seeing tears well up in her eyes. “He’s dead.”

  I hear the hitch of her breath before she expertly shuts down emotion in that strong way she used to do when we were younger. But that’s not all I remember about her. I remember the way those pink pouty lips felt when I kissed her worries away. I remember how perfect and warm she felt wrapped in my arms, safe from a scary world. I remember how my fingers tangled perfectly in her long honey-colored, wavy locks, holding her tight against me.

  I can’t forget anything. She haunts me. Every damn day.

  “Oh, hush, Darius,” says my half-sister, Allie, pulling Taylor inside her condo. “No one is going to kill anyone.” She shuts the door behind her with a loud bang. “God, Taylor, you’re shivering.”

  I realize then that Taylor is soaking wet from head to toe. One look over my shoulder at the 180-degree view of San Francisco’s midtown shows me that it’s pouring rain outside.

  “I’m fine,” says Taylor, returning my attention to her. She wraps her arms around herself, face ashen. “Or I will be once I get out of these clothes.”

  “Need help?” Allie offers.

  “No. Geesh. I’ll be back before you know it.” She smiles at Allie before giving me a quick look that tells me all I need to know.

  She’s uneasy about seeing me again.

  Fuck, I’m wrecked in her presence, too. I force my muscles to loosen, my fingers to unclench, and my hammering heart to slow as I watch Taylor, with her bags in her hands, moving down the hallway, toward the bedroom.

  Silence surrounds us. Silence that is heavy and thick, saying so much without saying anything at all.

  When Taylor finally disappears and the sound of the bedroom door closing drifts into the living room, Allie mutters, “Jesus Christ.”

  I turn, finding her clear blue eyes wide when she looks between me and Micah, nervously twirling her long brown hair around her finger. I know she’s searching her mind for the same answers I want, like what happened to Taylor, but she seems stuck, unable to move past the worry for her best friend. I don’t have that problem.

  “Darius, where are you going?” Allie calls out.

  I ignore her question. In search of answers, and focused on the emotion crawling beneath my flesh, I leave Allie and Micah behind and move toward the bedroom. Once there, I knock on the door, intent to get them.

  “Come in,” Taylor calls from behind the door.

  I enter the bedroom, finding her sitting on Allie’s queen-sized bed, now out of her wet clothes and wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a light blue T-shirt. Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, but her skin is still a grayish color, lacking the rosy cheeks I remember. “Taylor—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Darius,” she interrupts coolly, pulling a pair of socks out of her bag. “No lectures. All right?”

  I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms. “Who says I want to lecture you?”

  She finishes putting on her sock, then lifts her head and gives me a lopsided smile. “Because I know you.”

  That smile is a sucker punch to my throat. Many of my best memories have that smile in them. “If you know me so well, then do tell: Why have I come in here?”

  Taylor doesn’t hesitate. “You want to know who did this to me and why it happened.” She puts on her other sock before continuing. “The answer is, an angry ex-boyfriend and drinking…lots and lots of drinking.” She zips up her bag, rises from the bed, and turns to face me. “And now you’re going to tell me that you want to hire security to watch over me because you’re concerned for my safety.”

  I don’t hesitate either. “You’re right, I do.”

  She moves toward me, voice soft yet stern. “I don’t want a babysitter, so that’s not a conversation we’re going to have.” Her fruity scent spirals in the air around me when she closes in. Her bright, intelligent eyes stare me down. “But because I know you won’t let this go. His name is Shawn Mason. And no, Darius, you’re not going to go and kick the shit out of him.”

  I’m hearing what she’s saying, and even I recognize she thinks she doesn’t need me, but it’s been five years since I’ve had her this close. Christ, she smells good. She looks fantastic. I can barely contain myself, fighting against the yearnings to protect what once was mine. “You forgot to mention the final reason I came in here.”

  Her light brown eyebrows rise over her eyes. “Oh, yeah, and what’s that?”

  I open my arms to her. “Come here.” She might act like she doesn’t need me. But I know she does. Because as much as she knows me, I know this woman, inside and out. I know what makes her smile, I know what makes her cry, and I know what makes her moan.

  She’s not only an open book. She’s a book I’ve read thoroughly, cover to cover.

  Only a split-second hesitation drags out between us before she’s stepping into my arms, melting into me like she used to. My cock hardens to ste
el, and I angle my hips out, not allowing her to feel my greedy dick.

  Many moments go by, and only when she leans away do I dare release her. The tension in my chest fades a little at her more honest smile now. “Thanks,” she says softly. “I needed that.”

  She goes to walk by me, but I reach out, gently grabbing her wrist. Her gaze swings around to mine, and for a second I fear touching her was a mistake, until I see the way her eyes dilate and her breath hitches. “Don’t run from me just yet,” I murmur, tempted by the desire simmering beneath the surface.

  “Who says I’m running,” she rasps, holding my stare intently.

  She’s killing me here. Taylor owns me in a way no one ever has. One look, one statement, I’m putty in her hands. “You’re running from something.” I slide my finger above her bruise and beneath her eye, seeing pain in its depths. Pain that I’m sure she’s trying very hard to hide. But she can hide nothing from me. “Don’t be too strong, too brave, or too proud. I’m here, if you need me.”

  “Yes, I know you are, but I don’t need you to be my hero. This is my problem, not yours. Please let me deal with it.”

  She steps back, putting space between us, and coldness invades the air. It’s a chilliness I’m sure she senses, too. I clench my jaw, fighting off what I want to do, and that’s to keep her in my arms. “Just tell me that you’re okay and safe. Give me that at least.”

  She pauses. Then, “I’m okay and safe.”

  Before I can call her on her lie, she’s exiting the bedroom.

  I shut my eyes, inhaling and exhaling, pulling in the emotion tightening my throat. It feels like no time has passed at all since I last held her. I still love her. I never won’t love her. But Taylor wanted a life that I couldn’t give her. She wanted the fairy tale, and unless the hero likes the darker delights of sex, power, and money, then I’m not the right type of knight in shining armor.

  When I hear the conversation begin in the living room, I follow her, finding Taylor staring at the tabloid article on the coffee table.

  “What’s this?” she says, picking up the ripped-out piece of paper, reading the words printed on the shiny white page before dropping down onto the couch.

  Can Micah Holt be forgiven for the ultimate betrayal?

  Or will Allie Parker come between two billionaires?

  Knowing Taylor’s changing the subject to keep the focus off her, I take a seat next to her and help her put the attention on someone else for a little while. “This is our current problem,” I say, gesturing to the article in her hands.

  Taylor glances at Allie, who’s sitting across from us in the oversized chair, then at Micah, who’s resting next to my half-sister, on the armrest, and finally turns to face me again. “Sorry, I’m confused. What exactly am I looking at here?”

  “For the second time in a month…” Micah thrusts a hand through his jet-black hair; his dark brows are pinched over his bluish-gray eyes. “You’re looking at the tabloids actually getting something right.”

  “Wait. What?” Taylor’s head swings around to me, eyes narrowed. “You were mad about them dating?”

  “Mad?” Allie barks a laugh.

  The side of Micah’s mouth lifts, as that’s not exactly how it played out. Micah proved himself worthy of my baby sister. That’s the only reason he’s still alive, so mad might be putting it lightly.

  I shrug my answer, understanding Taylor’s surprise, considering Allie had no qualms about my dating her best friend. But I’m not Allie, or nearly as rational. Besides, Allie had been under my protection, given that I was tasked to raise her after her father and our mother died in a plane crash when Allie was fifteen years old. I’d become her guardian, which included keeping an eye on the men in her life.

  “Hypocrite much?” Taylor remarks, lifting a brow at me.

  “It is what it is,” I reply, draping an arm over the back of the couch, not defending myself. I would never apologize for being protective of Allie or Taylor.

  Taylor snorts at me, then focuses back on the page in her hands. “Okay, but explain this, I mean, even if you were mad at first, why is that so bad? There could be worse things written about you in the tabloids.”

  “While that’s very true,” I respond, not too happily, “few people knew that at first I wasn’t thrilled over the idea of Micah and Allison dating. So the fact that the tabloid knows something so personal is worrisome.”

  Allie adds, heavy concern in her voice, “And it’s just a weird story to focus on.”

  Micah nods. “They could’ve juiced it up, making it far more interesting with lies.”

  Taylor cocks her head, her damp ponytail dripping water onto her bare arm. “But they’re not; they’re sticking to the truth.”

  “That’s right,” I say.

  Obviously reading between the lines, Taylor begins to frown. “Which I guess can only mean…”

  “There’s a traitor among us,” I confirm.

  Chapter 2

  Taylor

  A traitor. The tabloids. Darius.

  After sleeping in and taking full advantage of a quiet Sunday morning, I had a quick breakfast before heading out the door. Now, after I park my old, faithful black Honda Civic at the curb, I sigh at my rambling thoughts and walk down the street in Glen Park. Just when life seems complicated enough, fate somehow tests me further. But as I pass under a big oak tree, I remind myself that today isn’t about all the things I can’t control. It’s about being in the one place that’s safe. The one place where nothing in the world can touch me.

  When I reach the corner of the street, I take in the white two-story Victorian row house with a smile. My home hasn’t changed much in the twenty-five years my parents have lived here, except a window or two that the neighborhood kids broke playing baseball and a few coats of paint over the years to update the house. But that’s the house’s charm. It’s home to me. It’s the one solid in my life that never changes.

  Like I’ve done so many times before, I rush forward, taking the dark wooden stairs two at a time, passing by the white pillars and stopping at the blue front door. So much love existed in this house, I swear whenever I come home I can almost feel the energy vibrating like the house is going to explode and spill out into the sunny day.

  I grip the cool bronze handle and open the front door. “I’m home,” I call.

  “Taylor?” Mom’s surprised voice comes from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, it’s me.” I shut the door behind me and kick off my flats, inhaling the woodsy scent of potpourri that my mother puts in every room of our house.

  I hear the floorboards creak beneath her feet before I see her rushing into the living room, a big smile on her round face. She wipes her flour-covered hands on her apron, which does little to remove the flour. “Oh, I had no idea you were coming home, honey.” She gets closer, then stops dead, scanning my face. It takes another second before she has her hands on my shoulders, and her hazel eyes, the same color as mine, slowly widen. “What happened to you? Did you get in a car accident?”

  Instead of staring into her eyes when I lie, I move in to hug her. “It happened just the other day. I was driving in a friend’s car, but don’t worry, the car took the brunt of the hit. I’ve got some bruises, nothing more.” My mother cannot know about Shawn. She couldn’t handle such news.

  In the world of my mother, Pam, and my father, Jason Erickson, life has come with rainbows, sunshine, and unicorns during their thirty-year marriage. I have the parents every kid wanted. Mom stayed at home and Dad worked a nine-to-five job. There wasn’t a game, a recital, or anything throughout my childhood that they missed. And if it wasn’t for Mom’s endometriosis, I imagine they would’ve have many more children after me.

  I don’t want to worry her, and this would send her into an epic fit.

  “My goodness, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she says sternly, leaning away to examine me again. “How long are you here for?”

  “Forever, actually.”

  Her eyebr
ows shoot up, but it’s my father who speaks. “I take it that means you’ve moved back?” He enters the living room, dropping a quick kiss on my cheek. Dad’s tall and a little thick around the middle from sitting behind a desk the last twenty years, and his beloved recliner squeaks when he drops down into it. His eyes lift to mine then, and he gives me a quick study. “And what happened to your face?”

  “Jason,” Mom snaps, brushing her flour-covered hand through her short brown bob. “That’s a terrible way of welcoming your daughter home.”

  I laugh at Mom’s flour-dusted hair and then move to my dad, taking a seat on the flowered couch next to the recliner. “Nothing major. I got in a car accident.”

  Dad picks up the remote control off the table, his eyes narrowing on me. “You’re all right?”

  “Yup, all good.”

  His expression softens with his smile, instantly warming my heart. My dad’s smiles are offered with restraint. He doesn’t extend warmth to everyone. And somehow that makes them more special.

  “When did you decide to move home?” he asks, looking toward the door before addressing me again. “And where are your bags?”

  Where Mom’s innocent and naïve, Dad is suspicious and protective. “Allie actually offered for me to stay at her condo.”

  “Oh, that’s nice of Allie,” Mom replies, shaking the flour out of her hair. “She’s such a lovely girl. How is she?”

  “She’s good and madly in love.”

  “What wonderful news,” Mom says.

  My chest begins to lighten a little. No more questions about the bruises. No demanding I move back home. I made it out of this unscathed. I love my parents, but I love my independence, too.

  “Well, since you’re home, come on.” Mom waves me into the kitchen. “You can help me finish up the cookies.”

  Dad clicks the remote control, turning on the television, like nothing has changed. My parents are creatures of habit. If Dad’s not working, he’s watching sports. If Mom’s not cleaning, she’s baking.