Seduction
Seduction
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 © 2015 by Violetta Rand
Excerpt from
Sin
by Violetta Rand copyright © 2015 by Violetta Rand
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
L
OVESWEPT
is a registered trademark and the L
OVESWEPT
colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book
Sin
by Violetta Rand. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
eBook ISBN 9781101882689
Cover design: Georgia Morrissey
Cover photograph: SL ADV/Shutterstock
v4.0
ep
I’m not in the mood for any shit tonight. I’ve been on my bike for hours, driving way too fast for way too long. I’m hungry and thirsty and pissed off at the world. I don’t even bother using my directional as I turn into the Devil’s Den parking lot. I don’t feel comfortable leaving my Ducati where some drunk can slam into it. I snap the throttle and do a mini wheelie onto the breezeway in front of the building. I kill the engine and climb off. As soon as I pull my helmet off, the September wind whips my hair in every direction. Helmet head is never a good look. I bend at the waist and shake my long hair out. When I stand back up, I’m immediately drawn to the loud fight unfolding a few yards away.
I tuck my keys in my pocket and start walking. Cautiously of course. There are ten guys blocking the entrance to the club. I recognize the red and dark-blue security pullovers worn by the staff at the Devil’s Den. My sister’s fiancé often wore one. There are half a dozen Harleys parked nearby. And nearly as many Banditos (wearing colors) starting shit. I’m very close now. So close I can see and hear everything.
“Get the fuck out of here!” a bouncer screams.
“Give me my credit card.”
“Come back in the morning when you’re sober and talk to the manager. Until then,” the doorman says, “the bank asked the bartender to shred your card.”
“That’s bullshit.” The biker staggers.
Three gang members challenge the other doormen. I think Ultimate Fighting Championship and rub my thrill-seeking little hands together. I love fights better than movies. I barely manage to jump out of the way as a beer bottle whizzes by my head.
Holy shit.
This is getting intense. Fists fly. A fat Bandito falls facedown. Nine and counting. I’m not sure which way to look until the biker closest to me pulls out a switchblade. Fists are one thing, weapons another. He’s facing off with one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen. A gladiator, really.
They both circle, looking for an opening to strike. I’m getting nervous—frightened. I back up. I’m keeping my eyes focused in two directions. On them and an escape route.
The biker jabs and misses. The doorman stretches his arms out. I see his fingers wiggling to distract his attacker. “Come on, you fucking coward,” he challenges.
The biker lunges. Close, but he misses again. I’m
really
uncomfortable with this. I scan the sidewalk. Where’d that beer bottle go? I scoop it up. When I glance their way again, nothing has changed except there’s a second Bandito challenging the hot bouncer.
Not fair.
I hurry forward. The knife-wielding bastard has his back to me. It’s as if I’m invisible, there’s so much testosterone pumping around here. I grip the neck of the bottle tightly. The biker pounces, stabbing the doorman in the forearm. I see blood.
“Fuck!” He shakes his hand out.
The biker backs up a step and prepares for another strike. His friend is mousey and heckles. I’m inches away. My pulse is racing. I don’t think; I hit. The bottle shatters as soon as it connects with his skull. He yells. Turns and eyeballs me. Then he lurches. Blood is dripping down his left temple, onto his face. His eyes grow wide as he wipes the back of his hand across his forehead. More blood. I see it on his knuckles. I’m frozen in place, shocked by my actions.
“You bitch.” He stares at me, nostrils flaring. He’s grizzly-looking. Wide blue eyes, a big nose, and an unkempt coppery beard. I’ll never forget that enraged face. Never.
Sirens blare in the near distance. It’s a godsend. The Banditos scramble to their bikes. I retreat into the shadows, afraid to be seen. I listen to the sound of thundering motors. All six bikes peel out, leaving thick smoke in their wake. Fear spirals down my spine. The first minute I’m home I’m in trouble. No matter where I go something terrible happens. And somehow I always seem to be in the middle of it. I need to get out of here before the cops show up.
As I sidle away from the door, I hear someone nearby. “Step away from the wall.”
My eyes shut.
Shit. Busted.
I emerge, head down.
“It’s a freakin’ chick, Craig.”
I look up. The gladiator rushes over. They both gape at me, amazed.
Craig?
That name sounds vaguely familiar.
“Robyn?”
I scrunch my face. I remember now. “Asshole Craig?” I ask, completely surprised. I didn’t recognize him in the semidarkness.
He edges closer. I focus on his injured arm. The cut is superficial.
Thank God.
“Marisela?” His eyebrows jut. “Robyn’s little sister?”
I slant my head. “The one and only.” I find a shred of confidence. We’re standing only a foot apart.
He looks down at me, a mixture of emotions on his face. Then his beautiful gaze sweeps down my body. “Leathers? Have a fetish?”
I frown. “A fetish?” I point to my Ducati. “Does that look like a game?”
He looks. My bike is sleek and black, hard to miss. “That’s yours?”
I cross my arms over my chest and nod. “Have a problem with that?”
He laughs. “No.” He shakes his head. “What a difference a year and a half makes. Want a drink?”
“I’m only nineteen.”
My age doesn’t bother him. “After what you did,” he says, “I don’t care if you’re
fifteen.
Come inside.” He half turns and looks at the door. “Ready?”
My legs are still a little shaky, but I nod and walk. He opens the door and I scoot inside. The music is ridiculously loud, but I follow him around a corner and into a quiet office. He pulls a chair out from behind a desk and slams it down. “Sit.”
Do I have a choice? I sit.
Expecting a thank-you, I’m stunned when he yells at me. “What were you thinking?”
I open then close my mouth. I’m offended by his less-than-appreciative attitude. “Really? That’s what I get for helping you?”
He growls. “Helping me? You’re a hundred pounds wet. What if that asshole stabbed you? What excuse would I have for your sister?”
“Where is she?” I seize the opportunity to change the subject.
He stops mid-sentence and stares at me. “You don’t know where Robyn is?”
“I haven’t talked to her in six months.”
“Why?”
“We lost touch,” I lie. “You know how it is.”
“No,” he says, “I don’t.”
“Quit harassing and tell me where she is.”
Craig sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “She’s married. Garrick and Robyn don’t work here anymore. Where have you been?”
“Austin.”
“I thought you were going to school at Baylor.”
I avert my eyes. Why does he know so much about me? “Not anymore.”
“What…”
“Stop.” I hold my hand up. “Are you an inquisitor or a bouncer?”
He straightens. “Head of security.”
“Wow,” I say sarcastically. “What a difference a year and a half can make.”
He throws his head back and snorts. “You’re a fucking smart-ass.”
His electrifying gaze makes my hair stand on end. I’m mystified by my body’s reaction to him. What girl wouldn’t be? Look at him. I remind myself about his sordid past. All the women. Including my beautiful sister. “Finally get over Robyn?” I ask, trying to cover up my thoughts.
He hesitates and sucks in a breath. “Until I saw
you.
”
Great.
I remind him of Robyn. Low blow. I shake it off.
Someone knocks on the door. Craig opens it, then sticks his head out. He talks for a second and then shuts the door again. “They need me outside. Stay here.” He leaves and I hear a click.
He didn’t
…I rush to the door and try to open it. It’s locked. I can’t believe it. Craig locked me in his office—it’s no bigger than a closet. I kick the door, but no one comes. I sit back down and watch the wall clock. Forty minutes later he’s back—with a glass of milk.
“I can’t believe you locked me in here.” I’m so pissed.
“Here.” He offers me the milk.
“Really?”
“If you drink it, you’ll grow up big and strong.”
I take a deep breath. “Why did you make me wait in here?”
“The cops were everywhere—did you want them to find out what you did? If you’re anything like your sister…” He pauses and stares. “Let’s just say locking you in was my only choice.”
“And that?” I point at the glass.
“For me,” he says, then takes a sip.
“Asshole.”
He shrugs, finishes his drink, and sets the glass on his desk. “What are you doing here, Marisela?”
“I already told you: I’m looking for my sister.”
“You look like hell.”
“Thanks.” I finger my hair. It’s tangled. “I drove straight through from Austin.”
He considers me and flops down in the chair. “Running from someone?”
I don’t like the direction this conversation is headed. “If you’ll let me out of here, I’ll be happy to leave.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“What?”
“You screwed up, girl.” He props his feet up on the desk and fold his hands behind his head. “The Banditos aren’t a high school street-racing club.”
“Yeah,” I say. Does he think I’m stupid? I know perfectly well what they are. “What’s that have to do with anything?”
“You assaulted Sargent, one of the vice presidents of the Corpus chapter. He’s a mean son of a bitch. And not likely to forget you.”
“I’m not that memorable.”
He laughs as he looks me up and down. There’s something different in his caramel-colored eyes this time. “Yeah—whatever you say. I can’t let you leave here unescorted. We’ll drive over to your sister’s house together.”
“I’m not leaving my bike here.”
“You can pick it up—”
“I’m
not
leaving it here,” I repeat, more defiant.
He drags his feet off the desk and leans forward. “All right. You can follow me.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.” He stands and walks toward me. He’s so tall—so gorgeous. He raises his hand suddenly and I jerk. “Easy, girl.” He scratches his chin. Then he clasps his hands behind his back.
“I’m just tired.” I hope he believes me.
He nods and reaches in his back pocket. “Here.” He offers his cellphone. “Call Robyn.”
I refuse. “I’d rather not. I’m counting on the element of surprise.”
“Just what were you doing in Austin, Marisela?” His gaze drops to my mouth.
I lick my lips nervously. Why’s he so interested in me? Or is he just curious by nature? I look at my watch. It’s late. “Can we go?”
“Sure.” He grabs his keys off the desk.
I can’t believe Marisela Gonzalez is standing in my office all grown up, in skintight leathers with windblown hair. She’s something out of a fantasy. I’d kill to fist my hands in that long, silky mane. I’m sure this is payback from some higher power. She’s nervous. It concerns me. Sargent worries me even more. This girl needs to leave town by tomorrow—she’s gonna be on every Bandito’s shit list by morning. She nearly bashed his brains in—he’ll need stitches.
I
almost need stitches. I look at my arm. It stings. She intervened at the right moment. I owe her, but I won’t ever tell her that. Girls shouldn’t act the way she did.
I hold the office door open. She gives me a
go to hell
look and heads for her bike. She mounts it like a pro and revs the engine. I can’t help staring. She slides her black helmet on and slams the visor down. I circle behind her to a take a look at her perfect ass perched on the seat.
Shit.
My mouth waters. I have to remind myself who she is. Likely off-limits. But I’ll enjoy the image of her on that bike for nights to come. She drives off the breezeway and stops. She stares at me and I point toward my Mustang.
I get in my car and rev my engine, too. I turn onto South Padre Island Drive, watching for her in my rearview. She’s gone.
Son of a
…I look right. She’s next to me and flips me the bird. I punch the gas and fly by her. Her little Ducati is no match for my car—for me. We race down S.P.I.D. until I put on my directional and merge left so she’ll know to exit off Weber. She does, and I drive another mile before turning onto Robyn’s street.
I see Garrick and Robyn a couple of times a month now. We’ve remained friends—worked out our differences after all the Carlos drama. I’m not sure how they’re going to react to Marisela. She’s entirely different from the silly little girl I drove to the grocery store so long ago. Her personality is sharper, more intense. And her face and body…I shake my head and park in front of Robyn’s house. The lights are on inside. I get out and wait for Marisela. She approaches me, carrying a small duffel bag and her helmet. “Where’s your stuff?” I ask.
She holds up her bag.
“That’s it?”
“What else do I need?” She twirls around and heads up the walkway to the front door. Her hot little ass speaks to me subliminally as she walks. Less than an hour talking to her and I’m already hooked.
What the hell?
She knocks and the front door opens. Garrick is in his pajama bottoms.
“Marisela?” He sounds as surprised as I was.
“Garrick,” I greet him.
“What in the hell are you two doing here together this time of night?” Here comes the big-brother act.
“It’s a long story,” I answer, eyeing Marisela.
Garrick holds the door open. “I suggest you both come inside and tell us.”
