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What started out as a deal quickly became a friendship that
conquered monsters.
I killed, but I escaped
hell.
Emotionless.
Disconnected. Cold. A mannequin. It’s what I’d become in order to survive the
years held in captivity. I was able to endure the abuse and devastating loss as
long as I remained detached.
But he wouldn't let me.
Crisis, the bass
guitarist in my brother’s rock band, Tear Asunder. He’s cocky, rude, a total
man-whore. But the rock star has far more beneath the surface of his inked
skin, and he’s determined to make me laugh again.
He made me a
"deal", but really, it was blackmail.
His terms were simple.
Until his playful honesty became the building blocks to something unexpected.
Something strong enough to pull me from the eye of the storm.
Because even though I escaped years of abuse, it didn’t mean I
was free.
Haven
I
woke up to my phone buzzing on the nightstand. I rolled over and put the pillow
over my head. My leg muscles ached from my run last night, having pushed myself
farther and longer than usual. The wind had been strong, trying to unhinge me
with each step. I refused to give in. I’d win this fight. I’d kill the
monsters. I’d watch them bleed until they no longer lived inside me.
But they did. My last few episodes proved
that.
Buzz.
I sighed and tossed the pillow aside.
“Pick up your phone,” Crisis called through
the door.
Oh, my God. “What are you doing
outside my door?”
“Pick up your phone and find out.” I heard a
thump on my door.
I reached over and snagged my phone.
Move it, Ice. We’re
taking out the big tractor.
I scrolled.
Don’t ignore me, baby.
Third text.
I made coffee.
Fourth.
Okay, maybe not yet,
but I will.
Fifth.
I’ll just sit outside
your door until you get your ass out here.
I glanced at the time on the screen. Nine.
“It’s Sunday. I’m going back to sleep,” I called, then tossed my phone aside
and rolled over, tucking the sheet under my chin.
The door burst open and quickly shut again.
Crisis leaned against it, his lips pushed together with that familiar crease
between his eyes. “Our brother is a fuckin’ Terminator. I swear he has radar in
his head that goes off every time I talk to you.”
My eyes narrowed in on him; he was so full of
crap. “Crisis. Get out.” My brother wasn’t—
A light knock sounded on the door. “Sis?”
Shit. I sat up, making certain to keep the
sheets covering me because I was wearing a pink silk negligee with skimpy
spaghetti straps and it barely covered my breasts. Kat had bought it for me
when I first came to live with them, along with a drawer full of panties and
bras. She said, ‘every girl deserved to have beautiful negligee next to her
skin.’ At first, I balked, internally of course, wanting nothing to do with
anything sexy. But after a few months feeling the soft silky material on my
hands as I pushed them aside in my drawer . . . I tried one of them on.
I’d never had anything but cheap clothes, and
the negligee felt nice against my skin. It made me feel . . . good about
myself.
Crisis crossed his arms and I couldn’t stop
from glancing at his tatted biceps. Then my gaze trailed down his hard muscled
body to strong thighs clothed in worn jeans hanging low on his hips.
God, where was my head? It was too early in
the morning and I was wavering under the sweet clenching between my legs and
the whirl in my belly. He was a rock star, a hot rock star who was always on
social media. Triple hard limit.
“Haven? I just saw your door close.”
I cleared my throat and gestured to Crisis to
get away from the door before my brother barged in, saw him and jumped to
conclusions. He pushed away and came straight for me, his eyes sparking a mischievous
glow.
My brother knocked again. “We’re going to
brunch today at Georgie and Deck’s. I’d really like you to come.”
Fine. Crisis wanted to play . . . he froze
halfway toward the bed when I raised my brows and smiled. He shook his head
back and forth and mouthed, “Don’t do it.”
“Yeah, come in,” I yelled.
Crisis dove for the bed, threw the duvet up in
the air and landed flat on his stomach, the cover settling over him just as
Ream strode in. I lay frozen beneath the covers, my heart racing, and a whoosh
of blood charging through my veins. My breath hitched as warm heated air
brushed across my bare thigh and goose bumps popped up along my skin.
I walked
down the hall, pulled the elastic band on my boxers and glanced at my hard
throbbing cock. “You’ll have to wait a little longer, buddy.”
“Are you
really talking to your cock?”
I let go
of the elastic and it snapped hard on my abdomen. Haven wasn’t making coffee;
she was coming up the stairs with an armful of clothes. Fuck, she looked hot,
long blonde hair messy as if she’d tossed and turned in her sleep, and she had
sleepy eyes—adorable.
“Yeah.
He’s angry this morning.” I stood right in the middle of the top of the stairs
so if she wanted to get by, she’d need to brush up against me. It was childish,
but fuck, I was a guy.
Her brows
lifted. “Why is he angry?”
I smirked,
loving that she was down for a little play. “Placed an ‘out of order’ sign on
him.” Her brows drew together and her eyes flicked to my tented boxers.
“Doesn’t
look out of order.”
I laughed
and couldn’t help myself as I stroked the back of my hand down her cheek. It
took her by surprise and she swayed backwards. I grabbed her arm before she
toppled down the stairs and pulled her up onto the landing next to me.
A white
piece of clothing slipped from the pile she was holding and fell at her feet. I
smirked when I realized what it was, and took great pleasure in helping her out
since there was no way she could bend over and get it without everything
falling from her grasp.
I let her
go and crouched, picking up the white lace panties. I held them out and her
nose twitched like a rabbit sensing danger. “I like white. Prefer pink though,
for future notice. And lace I love.”
She was
trapped because if she snatched them from my hand, she’d drop the clothes and
if she didn’t then . . . I curled them up in my palm.
“They
aren’t mine,” she blurted.
God, she
was cute. “Darlin’ I know they are and I love that you’re denying it. Means you
care.”
Now that
raised a little heat in her cheeks and I liked it. Shit, I liked it a lot
because when I left a few months back, that would’ve never happened and now
that was twice. She was affected by me—good to know. “I don’t care.”
I shrugged
then turned to head back to my room to hide my newly acquired treasure. I had
no doubt she’d search for them the second I left the house. I looked back over
my shoulder and caught her eyes staring at my butt; could’ve been my back, but
unlikely. Really, it didn’t matter which. I was just impressed she was eyeing
me up.
“You can
look, but don’t touch,” I said.
Her mouth
dropped open then snapped shut. I disappeared around the corner, then heard her
stomping down the hall. Haven wasn’t a stomper. She was graceful, elegant and
controlled. Too controlled. And that part of her was coming down.
Haven’t read this series yet?
Grab Books 0.5 - Two in the
Tear Asunder Box Set
About the Author:
Nashoda Rose
Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling
author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes
contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.
When she isn't writing, she can be found sitting in a field
reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves
interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.
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