Ramsey Security (Ramsey Security #1-3)(71)

Every new place scares me, but Troy keeps me brave. We even take a cruise for our tenth wedding anniversary. Standing on the ship's deck and staring at the water, I remember the woman I was before Locke. She's a stranger now while the woman Troy first met is the weird friend I no longer invite to parties.

I once asked myself if I was really blessed enough to have Troy return to me. The answer was yes and remains yes even after all these years.

My name is Darla, and I'm finally at peace.





Live Wire


Bijou Hunter

Copyright ? 2015 Bijou Hunter



Book Summary

My name is Brad, and I'm falling for someone I shouldn't. No doubt Saskia's beautiful with the red hair and dark eyes of a vixen. When she smiles at me, I'm lost in animalistic heat. Why haven't I made her mine yet?



The object of my desire is a stone cold killer. Well a retired killer anyway. She meets my heat with her own, yet I fear her heart can never truly thaw enough to love me.



When an old threat resurfaces, Saskia enters my world. I was once a rising star in Hollywood, but violence forced me into the role of a recluse. In all these years, no woman ever tempted me out of my solitude. Not until the mysterious and all too complicated Saskia.



Screw it! I've lived my life too safe for too damn long. The alluring ice princess brings out my inner alpha, and I plan to claim the woman I need





1


Brad

The Past Rears Its Ugly Head

The decorative white gift box rests in the middle of the king sized bed. I stand in the small hallway at the entrance of the hotel suite and stare at the present left for me. I can see the name "Evan Motley" printed on the name tag. I shiver at the sight of my character's name from the short-lived and rather popular TV show I starred in over a decade ago. Trouble has returned for me.

I remain stuck in my spot. My cell hums in my hand, but I don't answer. All I can see, hear, and feel is the package on the bed. I stare at the wet, red spot under the package as its contents leak.

I'd convinced myself the demon worshipping cult was gone. Or they no longer cared about me. I honestly believed I'd hidden for long enough. All my lies feel childish now. Of course, they waited for me to resurface, and now they left a gift.

My mother enters the room, pushing past me while complaining about Houston traffic. We've remained locked away in the distant suburbs for so long that the city feels foreign to us now. Much like the painful fear in my chest, I'd forgotten how the real world works. The package on the bed brings everything back to me.

"What the...?" Mom says, pausing a foot from the bed.

Our financial manager enters the room next. Nell gasps at the sight on the bed.

"This could be a good thing," she says without thinking.

Always ready to say something positive, Nell can't finish because nothing good can come out of whatever is bleeding all over my pristine hotel comforter.

The police arrive while I sit in Mom and Nell's hotel room. One officer after another asks me questions, but I don't know the answers. The detectives who arrive an hour later straight out ask if the bloody gift is a publicity stunt to promote my new autobiography. They clearly believe I'm a Hollywood idiot pulling a ploy to increase buzz about my tell-all.

I learn later a human heart is in the box. The police suddenly take me seriously. Not that I care what they think. The authorities have proven useless in the past.

When two cultists abducted me from a Hollywood party, the police blew off my disappearance. They told reporters I was off partying, and my mom/manager was too protective.

Unable to separate my character from reality, the cultists believed I was the half-breed son of a demon. They intended to sacrifice me and bring forth their demon god. One of them even went so far as to carve arcane symbols into my back. All while I bled and suffered, I waited for the police to arrive.

When reality caught up with me, I chose to save myself. In the process of gaining my free-dom, I took the life of the male cultist. The police didn't find me, even after I used the cultist's phone. Instead, a nice old couple took me into their home and finally found me help. Hell, even when the police stumbled upon the woman cultist injured by the side of the road, they failed to get information from her. She hung herself in her cell without telling them a single thing.

Now in Houston, I realize we're on our own again. Looking at Mom and Nell, they've hidden away with me at our ranch for over a decade. We've lived safely until I decided to write a book about what happened those years ago. An author named Marx Hearton emailed me for over a year before I agreed to meet him. His persistence paid off when I agreed to work on the book. My long time therapist even thought the process might be cathartic.

"We need to hire someone," I tell Mom when the police leave us alone in her room. "I walked into that room without even f*cking checking. I've forgotten how to be afraid. Someone could have been waiting for me, and I was standing there like an idiot."

"I'll ask around," Nell mumbles, and I see genuine fear in her hazel eyes.

I stare into my mother's soft gray eyes. She's a strong woman, and I rely on her too much. We've been in this place before. A decade ago, I left Hollywood and my new career. We bought the ranch and kept to ourselves. Soon the world forgot about me. After a few years, I returned to writing songs for country musicians. I used a pseudonym, wanting to remain hidden from the world and the leftover cultists.