Hell Bent

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H
ell Bent
, A Military Romance Novel

Copyright © 2015 by Emma Fawkes

Cover Design © by Silver Heart Publishing

Editor: PLG Publishing

A
ll rights reserved
.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

F
ind
out more about Emma and her upcoming books at
emmafawkes.com

F
or T
— you’re my dream come true.

I'm stuck as the Best Man in my best friend's wedding and I'd do anything to get out of it. I know the Maid of Honor is going to be some cheap skank and I'll be trapped with her all weekend.

Fuck, I guess it doesn't matter. It's not like I need to settle down with anyone any time soon. What's more important than my freedom?

Except when I see her, all I can think of is my hard cock and how I can make it go away. She's got a smart-mouth and a is such a man-hater. 

I don't need her. What the fuck is happening?

I can't get her body out of my mind, and her spunky temper isn't enough to scare me off. 

I don't need a man in my life. Especially not the stuffy entitled prick I'm bound to meet at this in-your-face, extravagant wedding. 

I meet him, and my determination flies out the window - along with my sense of shame. What am I doing, teasing him like that? I've never been easy, but all of a sudden I'm acting like the cheapest date in town. 

He thinks he can just show up at my place and I'll fall into his arms. Well, I've got a surprise for him too. 

He tries to convince me that he's worth my effort, my sacrifice. 

I don't want to believe him. If only I could stop myself.

T
hank
you for purchasing my new military romance novel,
Hell Bent
! I hope you enjoy reading it.

My first novel,
Unbroken
, introduced the characters in this book, although both novels can be read independently of each other, as
stand-alone
books with their own happily-ever-after endings and
no cliffhangers
.

To celebrate the release of my second book (and for a limited time), I’ve included
Unbroken
in this copy of
Hell Bent
!

Susie and Bryce’s romance builds from the story set in
Unbroken
, with some of the events taking place at the same time, so if you’re interested in the original story—or if you’ve read it before, but would like to refresh your memory—read it before you start with
Hell Bent
.

To find
Unbroken
, just refer to the table of contents at the beginning of this book.

I
really can’t understand
why Milly chose this maid of honor dress, but then that’s a classic joke and Milly always leans toward the classic. To say this hideous shade of green is flattering for anyone, particularly for my copper coloring, would be a polite stretch even in the most genteel of conversations. Milly is like that, though. She is the daughter of a state senator, and that entitles her to just about anything she wants. Senator Sabrina Hamilton is as inflexible as they come, and I’m sure she wants nothing but classic for her flaxen-haired daughter, Milly.

Milly and I have been friends for a dozen years, and she is the reason I have chosen my particular career.

“
D
o
freckles get bigger with time?” the girl with the fancy, professional-looking white roller skates asked as I was attempting to pick myself up from the mound of sand burrs where I landed.

I looked down at my second-hand, adjustable, strap-on skates and thought twice about trying to get up just this moment. The girl was smiling, as though she knew she was being impertinent and really didn’t care.

“What do you mean, get bigger?” I asked, not at all sure how she expected me to answer.

She laughed—a sort of musical sound that gave me the impression it had been rehearsed many times. “Silly, do they grow? When your cheeks get bigger, do you get more freckles or do the ones already there grow bigger?”

I frowned in thought, deciding whether she was mocking me. Surely no one could be that dumb. I figured I’d just ask. “Are you that dumb?”

A dark cloud of anger descended over her pale face, scrunching her nose and forming her lips into a pout. She stared a few moments and then burst into that laugh again. “Of course not. I just wanted to see if you were,” she teased and laughed again.

In that brief passing moment of darkness, I could tell she wasn’t accustomed to being addressed in such a manner.

“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to stand.

“Milly. My mommy is a mayor,” she said in a sort of singsong voice that also sounded practiced, enunciating the word “mayor” as if it meant “Queen of the World.” I instantly formed an opinion about Miss Milly, and that she was not accustomed to anything that even remotely resembled my life. “Mayor Sabrina Hamilton,” she went on to add. “Have you heard of her?”

I had gotten to my feet, the rusted skates making it difficult for me to keep my footing, and I had a feeling I was soon to feel another cluster of sand burrs in my bottom. “Should I?” I challenged, trying to make the storm come back so she wouldn’t notice how inept I was feeling at the moment.

“I suppose not,” she allowed. “What does your mommy do?” she popped the next question and held out a slim, white hand to help me steady myself.

It was a late summer afternoon, and the leaves in the nearby trees were waving at me with a beckoning shade. We were on a playground at the elementary school near the marine base. I was about to enter the sixth grade, and that meant I would be in the oldest class in our school. I had been looking forward to this year since I’d entered kindergarten. Six graders ruled on the playground, and it was finally my turn. I was hell bent not to surrender the status I had finally earned to this show-off girl nobody knew.

With determination, and despite how shaky I felt, I set off down the irregular, sand-covered sidewalk toward one of the bigger shade trees. It was hard work. The skate wheels were fairly rusted, and it took some real work to make them turn. In retrospect, I would have been faster if I’d removed them and just scooted my feet through the sand. Anyone who knew me, though, knew that Suzanna Leigh Thompson was not a quitter. Red hair and freckles notwithstanding, no one had the guts to mock me twice.

“Where are you going?” she called from behind me.

I was operating on sheer muscle power now, though, and couldn’t be bothered with this entitled princess. I had the tree in my sights, and that shade had my name written all over it.

“Hey, where are you going?” she called again, just as my skate toe hit a raised section of sidewalk, and I flew forward, landing with my cheek on the hot cement and my bare legs dragging behind, shedding skin and inviting my traitorous red blood to burst forth and run down my leg.

I heard a scream behind me and saw from the corner of my eye that Miss Milly was horrified by what had just happened. She threw her hands up over her eyes, and her mouth was open, getting ready to scream again.

I took stock of myself. Gingerly, I tried moving my arms first, and then my legs. Aside from the stinging that was becoming more of a burning pain on my right shin, I seemed to be in one piece. If only the pale ninny behind me would stop screaming… I was actually beginning to hate the sound of her voice.

“Hey!” I shouted over my aching shoulder.

She stopped shrieking, as though she was amazed I was still alive.

“Are you slow?” I called to her. I knew that sounded mean, but I couldn’t help myself.

Her mouth hung open, ready to begin the next chorus, but my question stopped her short and the pale eyes widened in surprise.

“Wha-what?” she asked in a sort of sob.

I rolled my eyes, as painful as it was, but it was necessary to take control of this ninny. “I said…” I repeated in a disgusted tone, “are you slow?”

Her head tipped to one side in a question. “You mean, am I stupid? No, I’m Milly Hamilton, and my grades are the best in my class,” she announced proudly, her head bobbing in definition.

“Okay, then, Milly Hamilton. Shut up. You’re making a fuss over nothing, and your mommy, the mayor, is gonna look like a fool with a daughter like you. Do her the favor of shutting up, will you?” I sassed her.

My leg was beginning to feel like it was on fire, but I wasn’t about to reveal even a grimace of pain. Not if my life depended on it. I was quickly losing interest in the ninny and wondered how I was going to get home without bleeding to death. After all, a girl who had made it all the way to the sixth grade should have some dignity, and staggering in with bleeding legs and a pair of rusty, recently broken skates wasn’t going to help my reputation one bit.

Then I got an idea.

“Hey, Hamilton!” I barked over my shoulder.

“You mean me?” she called back, skating closer.

I could hardly hide my impatient disgust, but I needed the ninny. “Do you see another Hamilton anywhere?”

Her voice was directly behind me then. She had evidently avoided the raised section of the sidewalk. “No, I’m the only one,” she answered with the obvious, and I choked down the disgust.

I tried to imagine a city mayor mothering this pathetic creature, but more important things, like the throbbing in my leg, were getting my primary attention.

“Okay then, Hamilton. Your mommy gives orders to… her staff… who follow them to the letter, right?” I heard nothing, so I assumed she was nodding but didn’t want to waste energy turning my head to find her, so I continued on. “So now, I’m going to give you an order, and you’ll follow it to the letter. Understand?”

Again, silence.

“Are you listening?” I barked in what I assumed was a mayor’s rough manner.

“Yes…” came the tentative whisper.

“Okay, here’s the plan. You are to turn around and go back to wherever you live and bring me back something to wrap my legs. Bandages, a clean sheet I can tear up, whatever you can find,” I ordered. I heard nothing. “And don’t tell ANYONE what you’re doing or mention me in any way, is that understood?” I barked again.

“Yes…” came the same tentative whisper.

I was amazed how quickly the bossy little ninny turned into an apparent coward in the face of danger. She must take after her father, who must be meek and obedient to his wife, I assumed.

“Go!” I ordered, and she gasped, but turned, and I could hear the skates rolling down the concrete in retreat. I hadn’t been sure she would do as she was told and I still wasn’t entirely sure she would, so I tried to sit up and take stock of my situation.

I pulled myself to a seated position and looked down at my knees and shins. They were crimson with my blood, and in fascination, I wet my finger in the stream and tasted it with the tip of my tongue. It was sort of salty and sort of metallic, and I made a mental note of this.

I did my best to brush away the sand that clung to the bloody areas, knowing that infection would be a risk. After all, I watched a lot of television and had learned a great deal.

With determination, I tried to scoot toward that shady tree, my original destination. At this point, there was nothing to do but sit and wait. Either the bleeding would stop, or the ninny would come back with bandages. I remembered then the stick of Juicy Fruit in my pocket and reached for it. It was sort of my stash against starvation, should I be captured and thrown into the hold of a pirate ship.

I loved pirate stories and often fantasized that some swarthy swash-buckler would spy me outside the Five and Dime and be so overcome with my beauty that he would follow me home and kidnap me, throwing me in the hold of his ship until we were far out at sea, at which point he would open the hold and clutch me to his blood-stained chest and claim me for his own. The daydream made me tingle in funny places…

I had gotten the idea from a movie I’d seen with Maureen O’Hara. She’d had red hair like mine and was my heroine. She was so beautiful, with her long slender neck, billowing hair, and flashing eyes. I fancied that my eyes flashed and noticed she was always being sassy when they flashed the most. Therefore, I practiced my sassiness in front of the mirror on Saturday nights when it was my turn to take a long bath.

There was still a wait ahead so I began to practice now, addressing a nearby mound of sand burrs. “How dare you assault me!” I accused. “You haven’t seen the end of this, I can promise you that! I will see you hang for this offense!” I continued, tossing my head as I haughtily threatened the offending plant, believing that I could see it shrink in stature as my words cut into it.

About this time, I finally heard the sound of roller skates on concrete and looked up to see the ninny approaching. She had some sort of bag in her hand, and I sat up straighter, my best Maureen O’Hara attitude upon my countenance.

“I’m back,” called the ninny as she approached.

“So I see,” I answered with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

She held out the bag as she skated closer, and once she was within reach, I grabbed it. It was some sort of drawstring satin bag, and I looked up at her in question.

“It’s my ballet bag,” she offered up.

“Of course, it is,” I sighed, opening the top to look inside and see a pair of what appeared to be socks. These weren’t just any socks; they were pink and white striped and were long enough to reach all the way over the top of my knee to my mid-thigh.

“Leg warmers,” she offered at the amazed stare on my face.

“Why did you bring these?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

“They’re clean, don’t worry,” she assured me. “They’re the only thing I could find that would cover both legs high enough,” she went on to explain helplessly.

I frowned up at her, questioning whether she really was the daughter of a mayor. “This is the best you could do?” I asked again, hoping she might have some bandages stashed in her pocket.

She nodded, and with a resigned sigh, I slid off my shoes and began to painfully pull the socks over my bleeding legs. Eventually, I got to my feet.

That was the day that Suzanna Leigh Thompson hobbled home in pink and white striped socks, stained with widening spots of crimson blood, hoping desperately that any swash-bucklers were busy elsewhere and would not observe her humiliation.